by P. D. Martin
Silence for a while before Stone continues. “Forensics did find a small piece of the bedside locker missing from the middle room.” Stone smiles, she’s got something. “The missing piece matches the fragment the ME found in Malcolm’s skull.”
“That positively places Malcolm at that house,” Darren says.
“What fragment?” Jonathan asks me.
How much do I reveal? So far we’ve been pretty straight up with Jonathan and I think it’s a good strategy. “A small piece of wood was embedded in Malcolm’s scalp. Now it’s obvious that he hit his head on that bedside table.”
“Oh.” Jonathan’s voice is hesitant as he puts the pieces together. It was most probably an injury that happened during sex but before death.
I move along to Chester. “How did it go with Chester and the sketch artist?” I ask Jonathan. We’d managed to track down Powers and call him in for the emergency sketches.
“Great. Looks just like him.”
“I’ve scanned it in and we’re running it at the moment against the computer database,” Darren says. “See what we get.”
“Good. And DialM? The one who’s got Ling?”
Jonathan shakes his head. “We’d just started on him when Detective Carter came and got me.”
“Okay, we need to get you back on that as soon as possible.” Underneath Chester I write Sketch completed and then Database search. I start a new column titled DialM and write Sketch to be done underneath it, with JC next to that.
I turn to Gerard. “Computers?”
“I want to concentrate on getting the location of the Web server and the cameras.”
“They’re mostly IP Webcams,” Jonathan comments.
“Yup, I know.”
I sigh. “And what does that mean?”
Gerard explains. “IP Webcams aren’t physically attached to a specific computer, rather they have their own IP address and generate their own URL. The Web site at murderers-club.com simply includes code that calls the Web feed from the camera.”
In a new column titled Computers, I write up Web server location, Camera location—Ling and Camera locations—bunker. “What am I missing?”
Darren answers. “The ads. Maybe we can find something out about who placed them.”
I nod and write it up. “And the limo.” I add that to our list too. “I know Hamill drew a blank in Vegas, but you never know your luck.” I go back to Chester’s column and add Helicopter pilot. “I don’t think it’s worth chasing registered helicopter pilots, but we should bear it in mind.”
I study the list. “Anything else?”
Everyone’s looking at the whiteboard. Hopefully we’ve got everything.
“What about—” Jonathan hesitates“—Brooke? We need her user habits.”
“And we need to check out her house,” Darren says.
Our background check on Brooke found she was currently living in Phoenix. We also discovered how she got her money—the stock market. She still works, but our BlackWidow is worth over a million.
“The laptop we’ve got belongs to the house, so her laptop must be at her place,” Gerard says. “I could get her user habits from that. There might be other computer evidence too.”
“Those Webcam locations have gotta be our priority. Your priority,” I say. “Someone will have to check out Brooke’s house firsthand, but you need to stay on the locations.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
I write Brooke’s house on the board.
“Okay,” I say. “So we’ve got Jonathan on the DialM sketch and Gerard on the Web stuff. Jonathan, you can help out Gerard when you’re done.”
“Cool.” Jonathan’s excitement is obvious, even for him.
“Stone, do you want to stay on the house and forensics? See if there’s anything more we can get out of it?”
Stone nods at me.
“Carter, we can take the ads and the L.A. limo. See what we can’t turn up.”
“What about Brooke’s place?” Darren says.
“I can follow up the ads and limo if you like,” Stone speaks up. “I’ll just be waiting to hear back from forensics on the house anyway.”
I nod. “Done.”
I mark in initials next to each task. Some of these will have to wait until morning, until business hours.
I feel a little strange barking out orders, but it’s what Rivers wants. This is a federal case, which means it’s the Bureau’s baby. And Rivers just happened to nominate me babysitter.
“And we should all try to get some sleep tonight,” I say, even though the thought of Ling in that basement at the hands of DialM makes me want to work everyone 24/7. But that’s not realistic, even for us.
Stone, Jonathan and Gerard nod and file out of the room to their respective tasks.
With the others gone, Darren speaks his mind. “You’re forgetting one thing.”
“What?” I ready my pen, mortified that I’ve forgotten something but also relieved that Darren didn’t call me up on it in front of everyone.
Darren smiles. “Your premonitions.”
I lean on the table with both hands and take a deep breath. “I really don’t know if I can see another person’s murder and not be able to stop it.” The last time I tried it was okay—even though I felt Jonathan’s fear, I only saw him running through the tunnels and looking at the cameras. But what if the next one’s another murder? I thought I’d gotten past this, but the prospect of what I might see and feel still frightens me.
“And you can live with the other alternative?” Darren’s voice is metered and he’s choosing his words carefully. But even so, I can read between the lines. The other alternative is that someone else dies and I wonder if I could have stopped it by opening myself up to the visions.
I sink into the chair. “No.” Why is it that sometimes your only two options are both so unappealing?
Darren lets the silence hang heavily in the room before he finally pushes his point, and pushes me. “You have to try again, Sophie. You know that.”
Even just talking about it brings on a few flashes of Brigitte’s death, of Cindy in the desert…of their fear. I’m not experiencing the visions again, but the memory is so strong that I may as well be. I shudder and change the topic. “Let’s get moving on Brooke and Phoenix.”
Darren shakes his head and takes several breaths to speak, but each time he aborts his attempts. “I’ll book the flight.” His voice has that controlled edge to it again and I can tell he’s annoyed with me.
“Fine,” I say, happy he’s moved onto the flight.
He opens the project-room door to leave. “Make your calls about the Australian girl. But then, Sophie, you need to see if you can induce another vision. You know that.” He keeps his eyes on the floor, not me, and while he doesn’t exactly storm out of the room, the flurry of movement and the forceful ways he closes the door make it all too obvious that he’s pissed. Pissed with me. I guess even Darren has his limits. Shit.
I sit with my head in my hands. I wish Darren was wrong. I wish I could walk away from these visions and dreams, but I can’t. Like he said, it’s a calling and I’ve repressed it for way too many years. But knowing he’s right doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t make me want to feel what a victim feels just before he or she is killed. It’s a horrific cocktail of overwhelming panic, that sense of being trapped, and regret as they mourn what they’re about to lose and what they haven’t done. But the violence overshadows all of that. Most people want to die peacefully in their sleep with their family in the next room; no one wants to be raped, tortured, and then murdered. We don’t want the last face we see to be that of a serial killer. Who would? And experiencing that sensation, over and over again with each vision and nightmare comes close to my idea of hell.
I wipe away a few tears that have trickled down my face, but I no longer know who I’m crying for—them or me. Maybe the tears are for everyone. I think of Ling and her parents. I have a duty to them and with Ling it’s not just my
duty as an FBI agent. I feel a stronger link with Ling because she’s Australian. I’ve chosen to live and work in the U.S., but that doesn’t change who I am. I love Australia and I don’t want a fellow Australian to die at the hands of DialM. Darren’s right, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do everything I could to stop that. I sit back up and force myself out of my puddle of self-pity. I will try to induce another vision, but first I’ll make the calls.
Five minutes later I’ve spoken directly to Ling’s parents, catching them just before they left for Sydney airport and the first flight to the U.S. I was going to call an old colleague, get them to contact Ling’s parents, but in the end I decided I owed them a direct call. No hiding anymore. They had lots of questions, of course, and I told them everything I could. The knowledge that their daughter is being held captive in an unknown location by a killer was far from comforting, but they deserved the truth.
I look at my watch and am surprised to see it’s one o’clock in the morning. No wonder I’m so tired. I bite my lip, aware that the tiredness will make me emotionally vulnerable, more affected by what I might see. But I have to do it, and it has to be now. Before I lose my nerve.
Ling is my priority, so I think about her and what we know about DialM—which isn’t much. Ling is his first victim from the club, and we’ve got nothing to put into VICAP to even try to get a match for him. I visualize Ling’s face, not from any photos but from the video stream.
I slow my breathing and take deep breaths, in and out. I try not to think about her parents on a plane, Darren and the others or what they’re doing. I just think about relaxing my body and clearing my mind. I don’t know how much time has passed, but it’s a sound I notice first.
A heart beats, and it’s not mine. It’s Ling’s. Her heartbeat is slow. She’s not afraid, she’s past fear and has moved onto acceptance. Acceptance that she’s going to die. I hear footsteps and I look up. A man comes down the stairs, ducking on the top steps to avoid hitting his head. He smiles at me, but it’s not a pleasant smile. My heart beats a little faster and fear rises in me. The man’s in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair cut short. He’s got soft, dark-brown eyes that are covered by round-framed glasses, but his other features are harsh. His nose is big and angular, his brow well-defined, his jaw square and wide and his lips are thin slits. He wears good clothes, like he’s dressed up to go somewhere, but his shoes are boots, and covered in dust.
He moves closer to me, his thin lips still smiling at me. He sits down on the end of the bed and I ball myself up tighter and move closer to the bedhead. But I’ve got nowhere to go, nowhere to run to. I bury my head in my lap. He reaches out and touches my foot. His hand is cold and clammy and his touch is enough to send a disgusted shudder down my body.
“Sophie.”
I look up as the door opens fully and Darren leans on the door handle, his body half in the room and half out.
“DialM’s with Ling now. He’s touching her.” Darren’s hand grips the door handle tighter.
I nod, small fast nods. “I know.”
33
The alarm is set for 5:30 a.m. but I wake up with a start at 5:25 a.m. to Darren’s cell phone ringing. I let out a moan—not even three hours sleep. I force myself up, and the tiredness feels worse than any hangover. My head is heavy and foggy, my mouth dry and my eyes seem to only be able to open a crack. Darren’s muffled voice travels through the wall, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. It’s gotta be about the case. I throw a fleece on over my PJs before making my way into the corridor. I lean against the wall, not willing to invade his privacy by knocking on his door. Within less than a minute his bedroom door opens.
“Shit!” he says, jumping back. He laughs, an embarrassed chuckle.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.” I manage a small grin.
“I’m still half asleep. At least that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.”
“What’s up?” I nod at the cell phone he’s still holding in his hand.
“That was the night shift. The computer’s come back with a match on the sketch of Chester. Except his name’s not Chester, it’s Heath Jordan. He served time for robbery and now he works in San Francisco for…” he pauses, as if allowing room for a drum roll “…a computer company.”
I shake my head. “Chester, Chester, Chester.”
He leans against the nearest wall. “San Fran first?”
“Yup. Phoenix can wait. Although I better go online again as my alter ego before we fly out.”
I decide to jump in the shower while Darren rearranges our itinerary. Twenty minutes later I emerge from my room, hair wet, but otherwise ready to go. My dark circles needed an extra coat of base this morning and my body is already chomping at the bit for its first coffee. Darren must have sensed this, because not only is he ready, but the coffee is on, with the brewer halfway through its cycle.
“God, you’re a lifesaver,” I say, eyeing the coffee.
“I need my life saved this morning too.” He rubs his eyes.
He looks tired, and doesn’t have the advantage of being able to smother his face with makeup. He gets two cups from the press and does a fast switch so one catches the drips while he fills the other with coffee that’s already made its way to the jug.
“I don’t know if I can even eat this morning.” I place my hand on my stomach. “The lack of sleep has made me a little queasy.”
“We can grab something at the airport.”
“What time’s our flight?”
“Eight. That’ll give you some time online, at the station.”
“That’ll be fun. Trying to think like BlackWidow on three hours’ sleep.”
Darren chuckles. “Well, you can pretend you’ve been busy with Jonathan all night.” He puts just enough emphasis on the word busy to imply exactly what I would have been busy doing, had I really been Brooke.
“Gee, thanks. Although I can’t say I feel very sexy.”
“You always look sexy.” He turns away as he says it, and I’m relieved eye contact is avoided.
I try to think of something to say, some response, but nothing comes to me.
Darren turns back toward me and manages a smile. “If Heath Jordan is our guy, you might not need to be BlackWidow any longer.”
“True. But maybe I should take the club’s laptop to San Francisco, just in case.”
“If Gerard will let it out of his sight.” Darren takes a gulp of coffee.
“You’re right, Gerard does need that computer.” I sigh. “This is going to be a tricky one to prosecute.”
Darren nods. “I hadn’t wanted to bring it up again. Certainly not in front of Jonathan.”
“No, definitely not.” I take a sip of the hot coffee. “Even if we find all the members, what will we get them on? Surfing the Net? We need to tie them not only to that Web site but to the murders. Without physical evidence linking one or all of them to our victims, we’re screwed.”
“The news items were pretty incriminating. And we’ve got the chat-room conversations you’ve been copying and pasting into the Notepad.”
“Let’s hope it’s enough.”
Darren takes a sip of his coffee. “We’re running out of options.”
“Sure are. And my vision wasn’t exactly a breakthrough.” I told Darren about my vision last night, but it only confirmed what DialM looks like—something we already had through Jonathan and the video stream. “We can’t wait around until they kill again. And not when one of them has got Ling.” I stand up and try not to think about what Ling’s going through. “At least we’ve got Brooke on all those other murders, but if we wind up with an accessory charge for this Heath guy…”
“You’re going to puncture something.”
“What?”
“Your lip.”
I’ve been biting my bottom lip as usual, a habit I can’t seem to break. I release my lip and smooth my tongue over it. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“I notice,” Darren mumb
les before taking another sip of coffee. “Like I said, we’ve got the Web site and the chat room stuff. They’ve said incriminating things in there.”
Darren’s still looking at my lips, but I push my self-consciousness away. “Will it hold up in court? Talking about murder and actually doing it are two different things. That’s the angle the lawyers will take.”
In law enforcement, we have to be very aware of our actions and their repercussions for a possible conviction, but sometimes it’s hard to balance that with our ultimate duty—to protect. We could use the two remaining contestants as bait. See who gets voted off, and wait at the house. But what if, like Ling, they’re not taken to the house? God knows where Ling is being held captive. I take a gulp of coffee.
Gerard arrives at the station about five minutes after us and looks worse than Darren and I combined. He’s unshaven and his more casual choice of clothing this morning—jeans and a T-shirt—further accentuates his disheveled look. It also makes him look a lot younger. You’d certainly never guess he was a U.S. government employee.
“You look like hell,” Darren says.
“Jonathan and I finished up—” he looks at his watch “—all of two hours ago.”
“Working on the location?” I ask.
“I was, but Jonathan was investigating a few suspect chat rooms and newsgroups I frequent.”
I raise my eyebrows but figure his sentence must have come out wrong.
“I frequent them for professional purposes. It’s one of our department’s initiatives, to look out for potential child molesters, online kiddy porn and other illegal activity or violent offenders. Anyway, most of the people I’ve met online are into kids, that’s our biggest problem in cyberspace, but a few have dubious enough connections that I thought they may have heard something about this club. Brooke won’t tell us what chat room the president recruited her from, but there’s no harm in looking.”
“Good thinking, Gerard. Any luck?”
“Well, no, actually. I’m closer with the Web stuff, but Jonathan didn’t find anything in the chat rooms and newsgroups.” He sighs. “So, time to be BlackWidow?”
