by Willow Rose
I hid my face in my hands, then shook my head. I had to stop doing this to myself, blaming myself. It was just so darn hard not to.
I rose to my feet and walked toward the door. “Matt…I’m…”
I didn’t get to open it before, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a car driving up into my street. It wasn’t just any car, and that was why it grabbed my attention. It was a big black limo, not a car often seen in Cocoa Beach on a Saturday afternoon. It drove up and parked in front of my house.
For a second, I wondered if it was Sydney coming home. She was filming a movie in Canada these days, so we hadn’t seen her in four weeks. But she would at least have called first if I knew her right. She wasn’t big on surprises.
As someone stepped out, I realized I was right. It wasn’t Sydney. It was someone else, just as famous, if not even more so.
“Oh, no,” I mumbled.
“Who is that?” Olivia asked, coming up behind me as I was staring at the Rockstar of the Cooking World, striding up toward my front door, wearing black sunglasses and a tight white T-shirt that showed his abs.
“Isn’t that…?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Oh, my God… What is he doing here?” Olivia asked, her voice growing shrill with excitement.
I exhaled. “My best guess is he’s coming to talk to me.”
She wrinkled her forehead. “You? Why would he come and see you? Don’t you think he’s here for Sydney?”
I gave her a look. “I know a few people in this world, too, you know.”
“Okay, sorry. I just didn’t know that you knew…him?”
“Because he’s too cool for someone like your mom?”
“Actually, I think he acts like an idiot on that show of his. But I know a lot of kids from my school who love to watch it and who idolize him. It’s not my thing, though.”
I sighed happily, thinking I had to have done something right with this child, at least. I stroked her cheek gently, wondering how I got to be so lucky when there was a rapid ra-ta-ta-da on my door.
Olivia gave me a taunting look. “You better open that.”
I grimaced, then took in a deep breath and braced myself for what awaited on the other side of the door. Him coming here after what had happened could hardly be a good thing.
Chapter 14
“Liam Berkeley?”
I bit my lip as our eyes met. His had changed drastically. He had also lost weight and seemed to be a shadow of the man I had met in Philadelphia two weeks earlier. His red-rimmed eyes looked down at me. The words seemed like they wouldn’t leave his lips. Seeing him like this made my heart ache. He spoke through gritted teeth, fighting to get it out.
“You…knew. You knew. How?”
I exhaled deeply. “Maybe we should go inside. I’ll make us some coffee. Or maybe something stronger? Wine? Whiskey?”
I stepped aside and let him into the living room, where he sat on the couch. The way he placed his hands in his lap with a resigned gesture and slumped his shoulders made him suddenly seem like an old man.
I rushed to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, then pulled out the bottle of whiskey that I had gotten as a birthday present from a friend whom I suspected had hoped I’d open it and he’d get to drink himself at my party.
I poured coffee in the cups and returned to Liam with glasses and cups and placed it all in front of him.
“I have some cake too if you like?” I asked.
He lifted his hand to stop me. “I don’t want anything. Except for you to sit down and explain this to me. Because ever since…that night, I haven’t been able to understand anything that’s going on. I need you to explain it to me; I need you to make sense of all this because I can’t.”
I nodded. “First of all, I am so sorry for what happened to your son…”
Liam closed his eyes briefly. “Tim.”
“Tim, yes. I am so sorry for what happened to him. I can’t even begin to imagine…”
Liam lifted his hand to stop me again. “I don’t want to hear it. Everyone says the same things, and it makes me want to puke, to be honest. No, you can’t imagine what it is like to lose your son. And why would you want to? Nothing could be worse in this world. Why would you want to know what it feels like?”
“I think people are just trying to be nice,” I said and grabbed a cup of coffee. My hands were shaking, and I poured a little whiskey into my coffee, thinking I needed it. Sitting in front of Liam under these circumstances, I needed something to keep me strong.
“I don’t want people to be nice to me,” he said. “I want them to talk to me like I’m a normal human being and not some fragile woman who might break into pieces any second.”
“Not a fan of women, I take it?” I said and took a deep sip from my cup.
He sighed. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant to say is, I need you to treat me the way you would have before this happened. You came to me. You told me my boy was going to die. You hold the answers, and now I want to hear them because I can’t stand all these questions in my head, all these things I can’t explain. Put me out of my misery and tell me why my son had to die. Please.”
I took another deep sip before I put the cup down while gathering my strength. “All right. I’ll tell you what I know. But first, I need you to tell me exactly what happened on the night Tim was killed.”
Chapter 15
“They say they got an emergency call from someone claiming to be Tim who said that he was inside our house and that he had just shot his mom and dad and that he was going to shoot himself. He told them he was armed and that he would shoot anyone who came to the house if they tried to stop him from killing himself.”
Liam leaned back in my old couch that I bought off Craigslist and took a moment to gather himself.
“I know they’re not lying since I heard the recordings, but the voice on that tape wasn’t Tim’s.”
“But the police had no way of knowing that,” I said. “I’m guessing it looked like the call came from your house, right? When they traced it?”
Liam nodded. “You’re right about that. I don’t know how that is even possible.”
“It’s not that hard today, using spoofing technology,” I said. “It can be an app or computer software.”
“I saw them from my window right before they stormed the house. You’ve probably heard it all on the news or read it in those magazines that are all writing about it. A hashtag with my name in it on Twitter exploded when it happened, or so I’ve heard.”
“They thought he was armed, right?” I asked. “When they came to your house? Because the caller had said he was and then your son made one wrong move and…well, they assumed he was going for his gun?”
Liam rubbed his stubble and nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly what happened. I wasn’t in the room, so I don’t know what he reached for, but he reached for something, and the police claim they were convinced it was a gun. It could have been his phone or maybe nothing at all. They’re still investigating it, though. I hope the officer who shot him will rot in jail.”
“In their defense, there had been a shooting just a week before where six officers got shot when approaching an armed guy in his home. It shakes them up and makes them anxious.”
“That’s what they keep telling me,” Liam said, breathing heavily. “They were only doing their job.”
“But, of course, your son wasn’t armed, am I right?”
“No! He’s never owned a gun.”
“But do you?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sure. We have a gun in the house. I have a permit.”
“If there is a gun registered to the address, it will have made the officers even more anxious, thinking the boy got ahold of your gun and shot his parents. That’s any uniformed man’s worst nightmare right there. They’re tense and scared even before they get there, and, of course, they’ll shoot if they have the slightest fear that he is carrying a weapon, and for all they know, he is, and he will shoot be
cause that’s what he told them on the phone.”
“So, now it’s my fault?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Okay, I’m not getting anywhere here,” Liam said, shaking his head violently. “I know you’re a cop or used to be, or whatever, so, of course, you’ll defend them, I kind of expected that. But what I came here to ask you is how you knew. How did you know something would happen to Tim? You said someone wanted him killed? Who and how did you know?”
I grabbed my cup and sipped more of the spiked coffee, then looked at him intently. “All right. But I’m going to need you to keep an open mind here.”
“I am as open as I can be,” he said. “Full-blown open.”
“And you’re sure you want to know? It’s not going to be pleasant.”
He nodded. “Yes. Absolutely certain.”
Chapter 16
Amal Bukhari looked at her phone as she boarded flight 456 from Atlanta to New York. She rechecked her email for the fifth time in the past ten minutes—still nothing.
Amal was waiting for an email from her agent. NBC wanted her for a big new live talk show, and she was awaiting the final confirmation. It was down to her and another famous YouTuber who had seventeen million followers, whereas Amal or IWondergirl, had eighteen million. According to her agent, she was in the lead and best suited for this job. But he was supposed to say that, wasn’t he? It was his job to make her feel confident and cheer her on.
Come on. Just say, yes.
Amal sat down in her seat and placed her bag with her computer under the seat in front of her. She was going to work on her bits during the plane ride. She was doing a stand-up show tomorrow night.
Amal checked her email again. Still nothing.
The road to success had been long for Amal, but it had been her own. Her Pakistani background didn’t make it easier, especially not when her family didn’t approve of what she did. They had cut all their ties to her except for her brother, Samir, who still called now and then when he wasn’t near any other family member.
Come on. I need that email before I have to shut off my phone.
The guy who was going to sit in the seat next to her arrived, and she got up to make room for him to get into the window seat. Amal had asked for a window seat because she hated sitting on the aisle, but apparently, there had been none available.
Amal checked her email again as the plane filled up around her. Her stomach was lurching, and it didn’t feel good. Shouldn’t they have decided by now? What was taking them so long?
I’m not getting it, am I? It’s because of my skin color; I just know it is.
The door was closed, and the flight attendant checked that their seatbelts were fastened. Amal stared at the phone, touching the screen lightly with her finger. The flight attendant came to her seat and spoke from behind a toothy smile.
“Please, turn off your cellphone now.”
Amal felt like making a snappy joke about phones and planes and why people had to shut them off, but she refrained. She didn’t feel like it. Instead, she nodded and returned the smile, then pretended to be shutting off the phone as the plane slowly rolled out on the runway.
As the flight attendant moved away, she checked her email once again, frantically tapping on the screen.
And there it was.
Heart in her throat, Amal opened the email and read through it, skimming it as fast as she could.
I got it. I can’t believe it. I actually got it!
Smiling widely, Amal shut off the phone and leaned back in her seat, just as the plane accelerated down the runway and, seconds later, soared into the air. Amal couldn’t help comparing the feeling to her career literally taking off, and she broke into cheerful laughter as they reached their cruising altitude.
Chapter 17
“It’s called swatting.”
I looked up at Liam’s face. I had poured us a second cup of coffee, and he was holding his between his hands.
“Swatting?”
I nodded. “It’s a criminal act in which the perpetrators call or message a target’s local nine-one-one operators, claiming a fake hostage situation or a bomb threat in progress with the expectation that the local police may respond to the target’s address or whereabouts with deadly force, more than often sending in a SWAT team, hence the name.”
Liam blinked. He stared at me for several seconds before sipping his coffee. “You mean to tell me that’s what happened to us? To my…to Tim? Someone called in and told them to go to my address…deliberately?”
“Yes. I’m afraid so. It’s something that has been going on for the past year or so. I’ve been trying to tell the local police about this; in your case, I even telephoned all the departments in Philadelphia and warned them that this would happen, that someone would call in a false incident. But…” I paused and shook my head.
Liam leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. I could tell he was fighting his tears. He started biting his nails vigorously.
“So, you mean to tell me that my…my Tim…died because of some…prank?” he asked, his eyes gleaming in anger.
I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure I’d call it that exactly. I think this guy is very serious and extremely brilliant.”
“What do you mean?”
“I believe what we’re facing is a serial swatter…someone who’s responsible for a series of these calls and many of them with deaths to follow. I believe this guy is responsible for eleven deaths so far all over the country. Not all are fatal, and I have traced him to other swatting attempts where no one died. But so far, eleven have. And those are just the ones I’ve detected. But there could be more.”
Liam looked at me, puzzled. “How do you know it’s the same guy who’s behind all those calls?”
“There’s a pattern that I have detected. First of all, many of them are called in at the same time of day. At exactly 8:56 p.m. is when dispatch usually receives the call. That’s the case in most of the incidents I’ve found. Second, I’ve found that he leaves clues as to who he’ll strike next. He seems to be choosing rich and famous people, YouTubers, gamers, or in your case, a famous cook’s sons. My guess is that he chooses celebrities to gain attention. He wants to make sure the story gets on the news. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it makes him feel proud like when some killers take a trophy from their victims, or maybe he feels stronger when the world knows what he’s doing and fears him. That’s one of the characteristics in his pattern that I still need to establish.”
“And you think it was the same guy who called in the emergency that ended up killing Tim?”
“I do. In my opinion, he’s a serial killer like any other. I think this is a murderer who is so clever that he has found a way not to have to do the actual killing and take responsibility.”
“It’s the perfect murder,” he said
“Exactly,” I said. “Because it doesn’t look like murder. He can sit anywhere in the country and do this. The police usually think it’s a prankster and may try to find the caller, via tracking the number it was called from, but when they can’t find him, they give up. The majority of the time, they don’t even try to find out who called it in since they simply don’t have the resources for such an investigation. They call it an accident or an unfortunate incident, and only the event itself is investigated. Last month, there was a similar event in Utah where a woman was shot in her home because the officer thought she had a gun when it was, in fact, a glittery cell phone. The public demanded that the officer stand trial. He did and was sentenced to ten years in prison. So, it’s not like it’s not taken seriously; they’re just not seeing the real issue. The problem is that the investigators in these cases usually focus their investigation on the event itself. They almost never dig really deep into what started the event, who the caller was because they can’t find him and don’t know that this person is not just a prankster. And they don’t talk to one another across state lines about this. That’s why they don’t realize they have a serial
killer on their hands. But they do. He’s a killer who has swatted and killed more than eleven times.”
“But you did. You dug deeper and found a connection between these calls. Why?”
I exhaled and sipped my coffee. “Let’s just say I’m not like most detectives.”
Chapter 18
Liam was back to biting his nails again. I wanted to tell him to stop, that there was barely anything left to bite, but then I remembered I did it myself when I was agitated or even scared. I bit my lip or my nails.
I rose to my feet, then walked to the counter and found a folder. I opened it and pulled out a sheet of paper.
“This is the earliest case I have found so far. I call him victim zero. His name was Peter James. His gaming name was EvilPeterPan, and he had more than six million followers on YouTube. On November 4, 2018, at exactly 8:56 p.m., the emergency operators in New Orleans received a call from a guy who called himself Peter James. He said that he had shot his father in the head and was holding his sister and mother as hostages, that he was armed and going to kill them, that he had poured gasoline all around the house and was going to light them on fire. The police arrived at the scene and shot him on his front porch. It didn’t help that he was African American. Police claimed he was armed, but that was later proven to be wrong by investigators. He’s the earliest one I’ve found so far. But there might be others. I just don’t have enough time in the day to find them.”
“What made you realize that it was the same guy?” Liam asked and leaned forward. “And why did you start looking into it in the first place? I mean, it looked like ordinary police activity, right?”
I paused and took in a deep breath. “I know someone it happened to.”
“Really? Who?”
I pulled out another sheet of paper from my folder. “This one. Victim six.”
“Let me guess. He’s also a gamer, right?”
