by P. D. Martin
Gerard takes the question. “The president controls the Web site, so he can pull down the news items and the whole site whenever he wants,” Gerard says. “If he thought something was wrong, this site could be gone in a matter of seconds. End of story. But a chat room normally creates log files on each computer, which is something the president wants to avoid.”
I nod and move to the very first news entry, titled “Welcome to the Club.” I click on it and again copy and paste the text into Notepad before actually reading it.
Darren stands up. “This is sick stuff.”
“Yup.” The first news item talks about the launch of the Web site and the building preparations for the bunker, plus the auditioning process.
I move my cursor to the item titled “Brigitte eliminated.” Just reading the entry makes me want to puke. I’m about to click on it when Gerard grabs my arm.
“This is the last news piece you can access.”
“What?”
“The Web stats will show that BlackWidow has come in to visit these pages. It would look suspicious if she suddenly accessed every single News item. It’s not something Brooke would do. She’s presumably read all these before, and reminiscing would account for only two to three pages.”
“Damn.” I know he’s right.
“The Web master could even have a system set up that sends him a warning signal if one of his users accesses older pages. He may already know you’re in here, and be waiting for your next move.”
“Would he really be keeping that close an eye on it?” Darren asks.
Gerard shrugs. “I don’t know. But it is possible.”
I put myself in his shoes. “I would be if I was him.” I sigh. “Okay. This will be the last.” I click on the entry.
We all scan the article, which includes a record of bidding on Brigitte.
“Holy shit!” Jonathan says. “Two-hundred grand.”
Darren lets out a slow whistle. “Now we know how this project is being funded.”
“Yes.” I look up and stare into the distance. “But it tells us more than that.” I look back at Darren. “It tells us that all our players, our club members, are wealthy. How many people have got $200,000 hanging around?”
“Where did Brooke get that kind of money? Last I heard sales reps didn’t make millions.”
“We can go ask her in a second. But either way, she and the others have money.”
“Wealthy serial killers.” Darren shakes his head. “Just what we need. Can you imagine the lawyers when we do bring these guys in?”
“How’s it going?” We all turn around to the source of the voice—Detective Stone. I assumed she’d gone home to get at least a couple of hours’ sleep.
“So-so. What about the Catalina Foothills house? Anything?” Darren asks.
“Forensics is still there. It’s going to take a while.”
Jonathan can’t control a shudder. I’d almost forgotten we had one of the victims standing with us. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t discuss this in front of you.”
“No,” he says, recovering. “I might be able to help. I want to help. And the more I know about what’s been happening outside the bunker, the better. Then we know stuff from both sides.”
Jonathan’s hit the nail on the head. That’s why I need him sitting in on this investigation. It’s a very unusual situation, but he’s been on the inside, he knows at least part of what the club has seen on their video streams. And that knowledge could prove more than invaluable, especially if I’m going to continue to masquerade as BlackWidow.
“Stone, Chinese?” Darren holds up the nearly empty fried-rice container.
“Love some. I’m famished.” She grabs a bowl and loads up before leaving the room.
We refocus our attention on the computer. Clicking on another news item may be suspicious, but going to the next menu item—The Contestants—is plausible user behavior for BlackWidow. I click on the menu item and the page shows photos of each of the eight original contestants, four rows of two people. Most of the photos have red crosses through them, indicating the person is “out”, which in this case means dead. Each photo has two links directly under it, one labeled “Bio” and the other labeled “Audition tape.”
“Go to mine.” Jonathan points at his photo. “She’d do that anyway. If she still had me.”
I click on the top link, and view Jonathan’s bio.
Name: Jonathan Cantor
Age: 25
Height: 6’
Weight: 185 pounds
Eye color: Green
Hair color: Dark brown
IQ: 128
Occupation: DJ/bartender
Family: None—mother dead, father MIA
Home: L.A., California
Reason entered: To support Susie and needs money.
President’s take: Jonathan is an idealist, a laid-back pacifist whose lack of ambition has seen him waste his intellect.
His father ran out on his mother and him when Jonathan was only two, and his mother died of breast cancer three years ago.
His existing relationship with contestant Susie Dean should make for interesting viewing to see how they position themselves in “the game.”
His anti-war, anti-violence standpoint will make for some dynamic clashes with Danny Jensen too!
I anticipate Jonathan will go out somewhere in the middle of the game, and that he’ll raise around $50,000 for our cause.
“I wonder how much I did go for.” Jonathan smiles, but it’s forced.
Clicking on the link titled “Audition tape” launches a video stream. “That’s my original audition tape.” He pauses. “You don’t need to watch that.”
Despite Jonathan’s embarrassed protests, we watch the rest of the five-minute video.
“Susie told me to say most of that junk. I didn’t really care if I got on the show or not, but I had to pretend for Susie.”
In Jonathan’s case I think he’s telling the truth. He went along to help a friend, not for his own dreams of fame and fortune.
The next section of the Web site is titled All Streams, and the page shows lots of different thumbnails of video streams.
Jonathan moves his head closer to the screen. “That’s all the cameras in the bunker.” He scans through them. “Jesus.”
There are about fifteen streams in total, including one in the shower, one in the toilet and several others scattered around the underground dungeon.
Jonathan points to one stream of a small room. “That’s the Blue Room, where we had our say after the challenges.”
“It’s not blue,” Darren says.
“No. It was supposed to indicate blue mood—you know, sad because one of us would be going home.” His fists clench. “Home. Those bastards.”
I scroll down the page to the last row of video streams. “What about these ones?” I want to know the answer, but I’m also hoping the diversion will calm Jonathan down a little.
“They’re from the challenge area.” Jonathan looks at Gerard. “Near the main control area.”
“The challenges weren’t in or near the bunker?” Darren asks.
“Some of them were. The food one and the isolation chambers were in the bunker. But the others were at another location. Chester had a van, like a military van, that we’d all pile into. It was about a five-minute drive away, but we were blindfolded so I’m not sure in which direction.”
“What sort of setup could you see?” Gerard asks.
“One large building, like a warehouse. But there was a big-ass satellite dish on top. My bet is that’s where the Web server is. I could hear a generator going. They’d need A/C to keep that computer equipment cool.”
Gerard nods. “This is a big operation. All the tech stuff alone…”
“Money’s obviously not an issue for these perps,” Darren says.
“True. And this president is probably very wealthy. Unless the members paid a large joining fee.”
“We could always ask Brooke.” Darr
en motions to the interview room.
“Look!” Jonathan points to the screen and a pop-up message that says AmericanPsycho has entered the room. “They’re all online now.”
“Excellent.” I rest my hands on the keys, ready to start typing. “Looks like he changed the rules for Ling. Hopefully he’ll do the same for me.” I change my status from away to online and once more prepare myself to enter her mind and their world.
NeverCaught: Hey, BW. Did he manage another round?
BlackWidow: Sure.
AmericanPsycho: Satisfied customer?
BlackWidow: Oh, yeah. Worth every cent.
AmericanPsycho: Good to hear. So, is he dead?
BlackWidow: Well, actually…
NeverCaught: Don’t know what you see in him.
BlackWidow: I’m hoping to extend.
AmericanPsycho: Why?
BlackWidow: This is my final one and I want to make it last. No more boys left after Jonathan.
AmericanPsycho: There will be a series 2, BW.
“A second series?” I take my fingers off the keyboard and squeeze my fingers into claws. “What a bastard.”
Darren’s hand rests on my shoulder. “At least we know this was the first time, the first series.”
Jonathan’s eyes are reflected in the laptop’s screen and I see them widen. “God, you’re right,” he says. “I didn’t even think of the possibility that we might not have been the first chumps.”
“You’re no chump,” Gerard says through half a mouthful of Chinese.
I look back at the chat-room lines, but my anger is still bubbling close to the surface.
DialM: I can relate, BW. I’ll still have Ling, for some time. Why throw away such a good thing?
NeverCaught: What a load of **. Psycho, the rules! Why did I have to play by the rules?
I look up at Darren. “I bet he’s talking about not being able to use his normal MO, the knife. He’s pissed he had to play by the rules and now others don’t.”
“He certainly comes across as a spoiled brat,” Darren says.
“He fits the profile for Brigitte’s killer.”
Darren nods. “Yes, he does. And hopefully Psycho will listen to you, not him.”
“Let’s see how I go. I’ll play to his ego…”
BlackWidow: So, can I have longer?
AmericanPsycho: DialM’s extension was pre-arranged.
BlackWidow: Come on, Psycho. A second series will be months away.
AmericanPsycho: It will take a while to find eight new contestants…
BlackWidow: Please! I can’t go back to my normal routines, not after you’ve shown me this. It’s just…well it’s beyond my wildest expectations. You’re a genius.
AmericanPsycho: Thank you.
BlackWidow: So, how about it? Just a little bit longer?
AmericanPsycho: How much longer?
BlackWidow: Until Sunday? Then I can finish my part of the game in style.
AmericanPsycho: I thought once you had them, sexually, you lost interest.
BlackWidow: This is different. We’ve got this house all to ourselves. No need to rush. Not like my normal outings.
DialM: Perhaps you should let her have her fun. At least we have two more chances, with Susie and Clair still in the bunker.
AmericanPsycho: Okay, BW. He’s all yours. But don’t leave that house. I don’t want anyone seeing you.
NeverCaught: This is bull**.
AmericanPsycho: Never, I’m the president. I decide. Besides, what you wanted wouldn’t have worked with our plans, but a few extra days doesn’t put any holes in the “new serial killer in town” front.
BlackWidow: Thanks, Psycho. And I’ve got no reason to leave the house. Plenty of food in the kitchen and Jonathan can take care of my other needs.
“I’m going to log out now. We need to start chasing down some leads.”
BlackWidow: Gotta go.
DialM: Yes, you’ve got things to do.
BlackWidow: Thanks for the extension!!
BlackWidow has left the room.
It’s time to get moving.
32
We sit in one of the project rooms, exhausted but ready to break up the leads. Around the desk are Stone, Darren, Jonathan, Gerard and myself. We’re involving Jonathan in the meeting, hoping he’ll provide some insight.
“So, we’ve got three days.” I stand up and move to the whiteboard, needing the visual representation to help me divvy up the leads. “Let’s start with the victims.”
Stone pushes her glasses further up onto the bridge of her nose. “The guys managed to track down Danny Jensen’s mother and inform her that her son is missing, believed dead. They have also contacted the Australian embassy and told them that we believe one of their citizens has been abducted.”
The Australian girl… “I’ll call some friends back home. Get them to pay her parents a personal visit. And I’ll contact the embassy. Who did the guys speak to there?”
Stone goes through the notes that had been passed on to her. “George Keen.”
I walk over to my own notepad and jot down the two tasks. Back at the whiteboard I write up Danny’s and Ling’s names with a little tick next to each one.
Stone continues. “Malcolm and Cindy are covered. Then we’ve got Brigitte Raine. Her mother lives in France and I’ve spoken to the French embassy here too.”
I write up Brigitte’s name and put a tick next to it, too.
Stone moves down her list. “Okay. Then we’ve got those still in the bunker. For the two women left, we’ve told their relatives that they’re missing and that we’re investigating their disappearances. So, we tracked down Susie Dean’s parents—”
“Shit, I should have told them.” Jonathan puts his head in his hands. “I didn’t even think about that.”
I put the lid on the whiteboard marker. “Jonathan, you’ve had other things on your mind. And sometimes it’s better to hear these things from someone you don’t know. It makes it…easier somehow.” In my experience, people’s reaction to news like this varies greatly—from total denial, to speechless shock, to violent anger. A loved one passing on the news can interfere with the person’s emotional release. “Besides,” I add, “if they knew what was going on, I’m sure they’d prefer you were helping us find Susie.”
Jonathan nods.
I take the lid off the marker and write down Susie’s name with a little tick next to it. I look up at Stone, ready for her to continue.
“Clair Kelly’s parents live in San Diego, and we’ve informed them. They’re going to be a tough one.”
“Clair’s father,” Jonathan says, instantly realizing what the problem is.
Stone nods, but the rest of us are still in the dark.
“Fill us in, Stone,” Darren says.
“Her father’s a retired cop.”
“Damn!” Darren releases his pen, which falls onto his pad with a small thud. “He’s going to be on our case.”
“He’s older, seventy, but yeah, apparently he’s already called a few times and was talking about flying over,” Stone says.
“We’ll deal with that when it happens.” After adding Clair’s name to the board, I place a little tick next to it. “Okay, the house,” I say, moving along to the next part of the whiteboard and starting a new column. Again I look at Stone.
She picks up her own notebook. “The real-estate agent rented it out over the phone and received a cash payment for two months’ rental. The person who rented it sent cash in the post. The agent no longer has the envelope and didn’t notice the postmark.”
On the board I write down Phone, Cash and Two months. “What about an ID on the caller?”
“The caller said his name was Bob Jones and supplied a fax copy of his birth certificate and a Nevada driver’s license.” Stone hands out photocopies of the documents. “I’ve checked with Nevada and both the birth certificate and driver’s license are fakes.”
I roll my eyes. “Great.”
“Chester,” Jonathan says. probably American Psycho “Looks that way.” I write Chester on the board underneath The house and then again as a new column. “Let’s talk about Chester in a moment. What about forensics?”
“They’re still processing, but they haven’t found much, other than Brooke’s and Jonathan’s prints. Whoever was in the house before them—”
“Brigitte and NeverCaught,” I say. “And probably American Psycho and Cindy.”
Stone shakes her head. “The place is clean. Someone’s been through it with a fine-tooth comb.”
“They’ve been very careful in every other area, so it wouldn’t surprise me.” I hide my disappointment. “Then again, the president was also setting the others up. He could have left their prints or DNA but he didn’t.”
“Why?” Stone asks.
I think about it. “He wanted to test us. He wanted it subtle. Another dimension to the game, to the bunker.”
“He’s setting them up?” Jonathan is confused.
“Yes.” I fill him in. “Malcolm had a tattoo of a rose on his wrist and Brooke leaves a rose next to her victims. Cindy didn’t have anything.” I look at Darren. “I don’t think we missed it. The president killed Cindy, so he didn’t need to leave a clue pointing to one of his members and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave us a clue to his past crimes.” I turn back to Jonathan. “And with Brigitte she was posed differently and there was plastic at the scene. Both elements have been linked to another killer active in North and South Dakota. The president was playing you, the contestants, and playing the members. He gets off on the duplicity, the control.”
“Can’t wait to haul his ass into jail,” Stone says.
I nod my agreement. I’m also looking forward to drafting a profile. Some elements are already obvious in my mind, but I’ll need to get into his head and draft the complete profile. He’s going to be one tough SOB to crack. To come up with a scheme like this, his IQ must be through the roof.
