This time Mark ignored her.
“What about work?” Richard asked.
“One part of controlling schizophrenia is to reduce stress. From what I understand, work is not terribly stressful for you Mark. So my thoughts are that after several more therapy sessions and once the medication kicks in, if it looks like you can control your behavior and avoid drugs and alcohol, I would think that in a month or so you could return to work.
“In the meantime, remember that cocaine worsens symptoms. Janice will appear more often if you use it. Exercise is critical. It will help you. If you have a sport, get back to it. If not, find something interesting and physically challenging. Something that will engage your mind and body and that can leave you physically exhausted. That should help you sleep too.
“Given what I’ve seen so far, you should be able to get back to a normal life if you can stay with the management program. It may sound easy, but it won’t be. There may be some relapses, but we can work through them.
“Suffering from schizophrenia sounds bad. But it’s not like you have terminal cancer. You can control the outcome. In that respect, you’re luckier than a lot of people.”
And so, here he was, out of the hospital and about to do his first outpatient session with Doctor Samantha Louis. Mark was hopeful. He was also more frightened than he’d ever been in his life and he had no idea why.
4
Ashima James pulled her plugin Toyota Prius into her Pacific Heights garage in San Francisco. She felt lucky to have been able to buy this house, and guilty too. Part of the money came from the divorce settlement with Michael. But the big surprise was that in spite of the divorce and the fact that she’d ruined his life, Michael had left her as beneficiary of a large insurance policy.
Now she had this very expensive house. It was paid for and with the separate apartment for the downstairs tenants, it generated a good income too.
Michael was dead, but Ashima’s life went on. If possible, it was better than it had been before. She was independent, teaching at a private school not far away, and was active in local women’s groups. She even had time to pursue ballet, something she’d given up after leaving the university where she’d briefly majored in Dance.
Her daughters Brittany and Francine were grown and now had their own lives. They called individually or together at least once a week and she received countless text messages. What more could a mother want?
Francine was happily doing environmental research in Oregon while Brittany was living on the East Coast, struggling to keep a job in Washington DC. But Ashima was worried about Brittany.
Brittany had had issues since she was a little girl. Finding her baby brother’s body was a horrible experience which left her paranoid. Until she was a teenager, if she saw a mushroom growing in a field, she’d panic, sure it would find a way to kill her because some child had told her that mushrooms were poisonous and could kill you.
Being molested by a baby sitter a few years later just exacerbated her psychological and ultimately social problems, and although it looked like Michael, who’d been her stepfather since soon after her seventh birthday, had helped her get her life under control and become successful, ultimately, the underlying damage resurfaced. Brittany demanded that Ashima divorce Michael and focus on her instead of Michael.
For a brief period after the divorce, as Ashima spent more time with her, Brittany seemed better. But Ashima would later learn that even during this ‘calm’ period, Brittany had gone out of her way to destroy several people’s lives – costing a professor his job after claims of sexual harassment, sending an innocent young man to jail for stalking her. Then, with Michaels’s suicide, Brittany lost all semblance of control. She became hysterical and even violent. She was hospitalized for a while but with medication, when she took it consistently, she seemed to function almost normally. Unfortunately, Brittany frequently stopped taking her meds and inevitably fell back into paranoia, lashing out at colleagues and friends, attacking them verbally or in writing with no sane justification, and after losing another job, she’d end up hospitalized again.
Each time, Ashima hoped that the cycle would end. She did her best to help, but Brittany wanted her independence and there was only so much Ashima could do from nearly three thousand miles away. Yes, Ashima worried about Brittany. But Brittany was old enough to lead her own life. That’s what she’d chosen to do and Ashima could only make herself available.
Still, aside from Brittany, Ashima had no worries. In spite of all the bad things she’d done in her life – neglecting her daughter, causing Michael’s death, and some things she didn’t want to admit, her life was perfect. She was very lucky indeed.
Ashima made her way up the stairs and was pleased to see a Unixpres package on her doorstep. She had tracked the package since she placed her order for custom dance shoes a few weeks before, and it was here today as promised, just in time for her dance class tonight. Her other shoes were worn out and provided no support. These had been custom designed for her based on measurements and impressions that she’d sent in to the company. She couldn’t wait to try them on.
Closing the door behind her, she took off her coat and shoes and used one of her keys to cut the tape holding the package together. She didn’t even get to see the shoes before the explosion killed her instantly, blowing out several windows and destroying the front entrance to her beautiful Victorian home.
5
“Mr. Gray?” Joyce, the receptionist called as George pushed through the glass doors the New York Sentinel’s offices. “These two policemen are here to see to you.”
“George Gray?” the stocky older one asked, setting down his coffee and extending his hand. “I’m Detective Mike McKensey and this is Detective Bob Simpson. Can we have a few minutes?”
George didn’t even blink. Although he’d been with the Sentinel less than two years, talking with the police had become almost routine. He’d started doing crime reporting not long after he began working. He hated to admit it, but he found the investigations intriguing. Most were solved quickly by the police, but some of the more complex ones actually relied on information reporters could provide.
“The Golden Gate conference room is empty,” Joyce offered.
“Thanks Joyce. Detectives, please follow me.”
Once seated in the spacious conference room with floor to ceiling windows that looked out across the City towards the Transamerica Pyramid, George asked what he could do for them.
“Well,” Detective McKensey began. “We’re looking into the murder of Ashima James. We-“
“Ashima is dead?!” George exclaimed. “What happened?”
“You knew her?” Detective Simpson asked, clearly surprised.
“Absolutely. I interviewed her for a story a bit over a year ago. What happened, and why are you here if you didn’t know that I knew Ashima James?”
“Actually,” Detective McKensey began. “We were following up on an email you received which threatened to kill the wife of an entrepreneur. Ashima James was killed by a package bomb last night as she arrived home.”
“Good God!” George exclaimed, clearly shaken. Was he responsible for Ashima’s death? Of course he was. If he’d never written that story, Ashima James would be alive. But no. He couldn’t go there now. He was a professional and the police needed his help. He needed to hold it together in front of the detectives. He needed to step back, to be objective, to control his emotions.
George closed his eyes, visualized himself running through the redwoods near a creek in the Santa Cruz Mountains, took a deep breath, and turned his attention back to the detectives.
“Sorry, you really caught me off guard. What can I do to help?”
“Mr. Gray, we believe the suspect will contact you again. From the email, she or he, and I believe strongly that this is a man, wants to use you as forum for his agenda. We want to work with you. Your help will be essential in catching him. We’ve already spoken with Mr. Levinberg and he’s assured
us that the paper will cooperate in the investigation.”
“Please call me George. Of course, I’ll do whatever I can.
“Okay. We’re Mike and Bob. Have you checked your email this morning George?”
“I worked from home this morning and most of the way to the City on Caltrain. I didn’t have anything unusual when I shut down my laptop at the station. Let’s go to my cubicle and take a look.”
The two detectives followed George through a maze of cubicles filled with reporters busily at work either on the phone peppering people with questions or typing furiously. George stepped into his cubicle in the middle of the chaos.
“Have a seat if you want. You can grab another chair from Johan’s cubicle across the way. Sorry - it’s kind of tight in here.”
George pulled a laptop from his backpack, placed it in the docking station and powered it up. “It’ll take me a minute to log on.”
The two detectives scanned George’s space, noting the miniature basketball rim, a framed desk photo of a gorgeous redhead with stunning green eyes, and a picture of George crossing the finish line of that year’s Race through the Redwoods with a digital clock showing 40:32.
As George paused, waiting for his system to load, Detective Mike McKenzie commented, “If I remember correctly, that’s a damn good time for the Race through the Redwoods. I did it a few years ago and I think my time was just under fifty minutes. You must have finished up there.”
George smiled sheepishly. “I love to run and I especially love trail running. That race is a bit demanding with the single track, steep hills, roots, and ruts, and of course, the crowd. But yeah, I got lucky. No falls, no twisted ankles, and I didn’t have to wait much to get past others on the trail. I finished 11th overall and 3rd in my age group which isn’t too bad considering I work sixty to eighty hours a week.
“So you run too?”
“Yeah, I run. Running has been my primary stress reliever for years. I usually ran trails in Land’s End or in some of the parks in Marin, but my wife, who now does Ironman Triathlons, got me into Triathlons a few years ago so I now mix my running with swimming and biking. You should try it.
“I could probably handle the bike, but I’d never survive the swim. I can swim, but it’s not something that I do well, unless dog paddling counts.”
Looking back at his screen, George continued.
“Mail is up and yeah, it looks like he emailed me again though I don’t know if you’re aware that there may be two different people emailing me with similar encrypted email addresses. I guess legal sent you the one from the murderer, but there’s another guy or woman, who says he or she wants to expose corrupt Silicon Valley moguls. My gut tells me they’re not the same person and my boss Morris agrees that I should check out the stories once he or she sends me something to investigate. I suspect legal might have a problem with you guys seeing those but I really have no way to know before opening them which person might have sent them. Even this one. But with the subject ‘one down’, I suspect it’s the guy you’re looking for. I’ll open it. But if it’s the other guy, I think you need to leave it to me. Is that okay?”
“Give us a minute.”
Mike and Bob walked down the hall, out of earshot. They returned a good ten minutes later. Mike took the lead.
“We called our Captain and he talked to your lawyer. We’re agreed. We’re to disregard anything you believe is not from the perp unless you ask us to take a look at it. Are we good?”
“Sounds right to me. Let me open this one.”
George opened the email and called them over. “Yeah, it’s from him. Take a look.
The two detectives leaned over George’s shoulder and began reading.
--------------------
From: d67jki7r3pj5 < [email protected])
Date: October 3, 20XX 08:43 AM PDT
To: George Gray
Subject: One down
George ol’ Buddy,
I really appreciated your article on Michael James so I thought I’d kick off my bitch cleansing by eliminating Ashima James. Don’t feel bad. She got what she deserved. While I didn’t know Michael James personally, I recognize the brilliance of his work. The world needs geniuses like him and needs to be rid of women who would prevent them from fighting the good fight to make the world a much better place. This woman killed a genius as sure as if she’d put a gun to his head. Of course our justice system would never stop someone like her, so I had to. The world is a better place without her.
She was an easy target. My next will be a bit more difficult, and it will take me a few weeks to line everything up, but don’t worry. I’ll give you some clues a few days before so you can help the police try to stop me. But you really shouldn’t. My targets don’t deserve to live and continue to ruin lives.
It’s going to be fun working with you George. Try to enjoy the ride. It won’t last forever.
d67jki7r3pj5
--------------------
“Bob, why don’t you give Sameer a call and get him down here,” then turning to George, “George, I’m sorry, but I’m going to ask Sameer Bodepudi, one of our best techs, to take a look at your system and this email in particular to see if he can spot something useful. As promised, Sameer will disregard anything that doesn’t concern this case and he’ll keep that confidential – he won’t even tell us about it.
“While we wait for him to get here, why don’t you fill me in on Michael James. Although our perp says he didn’t know him, you never know. We’d like to pick up on anything you have, notes, thoughts, and of course, your article to see if it gives us any leads.”
Bob, who was still on his cellphone nodded at Mike.
“Can we go back to that conference room? We’re going to want to take some notes.”
“Sure. I’ll ask Joyce to bring in some coffee.”
Just then another email popped up with a similar From address. The subject read ‘Our First Target’.
“Should I open it?”
“Yeah, We’ll head to the conference room. Come get us if it’s the same guy.”
George opened the mail.
--------------------
From: g87olh6t9wi8
Date: October 3, 20XX 09:32 AM PDT
To: George Gray
Subject: Our first Target
Hello George,
Thanks for the tweet. You should find our first target quite interesting. I suspect you’ll be able to write a number of stories not just about our Bad Guy, but about the practices he’s used and their impacts on unsuspecting people. You will definitely be able to make a big difference in the lives of many of the exploited people in our world.
Our Bad Guy is Ryan Hamilton, CEO of lotsofjobs.com. You may be familiar with the site. As a job seeker, you pay a small fee, and enter detailed information about yourself, your likes, dislikes, and your experiences, both personal and professional. lotsofjobs.com not only generates a perfect resume for you, it also matches you with employers and creates associated cover letters guaranteed to get you in the door of at least one – or you get your membership fee back.
The site does not discriminate. It finds all kinds of jobs from high level professional to blue collar positions. It can find jobs overseas and it can find jobs for people who want to come to this country. It even finds jobs for illegal immigrants - somehow that has found its way under the radar of the immigration authorities.
The Artificial Intelligence (AI) engine that Hamilton created is a brilliant piece of work and he earned millions from it. But for some reason, that wasn’t enough for him. You see, George, the AI engine categorizes people. It’s up to the designer to decide which categories candidates can fall into, what to look for in prospects. For example, you could create a category of people with few personal connections who are interested in working outside the country. Or, people from outside the country who are desperate to get in. Or, young runaways
willing to work in a different city.
If you were unscrupulous, what could you do with people like that? Does human trafficking come to mind? As it turns out, Hamilton has made more money from human trafficking than he has through the legitimate side of lotsofjobs.com. And it’s all kinds of trafficking. Obviously, there’s sex trafficking where teenagers and young people are sold to buyers here and overseas and young people in other countries who come to the US expecting a legitimate job and then get coerced into the sex trade. But Hamilton also makes quite a bit of money from indentured servitude and slavery where people are ‘sold’ as workers to foreign governments or are brought into the US to work as servants for the rich. In the latter case, one of lotsofjobs.com’s affiliates arranges temporary visas and travel, but lets the visas expire. At that point, the ‘employee’ is illegal. They work in slavish conditions with no recourse to the authorities. Yes. Hamilton is a piece of work.
To get you started, I’ve attached information about four of his victims, who, until now, have been afraid to come forward. Marta and Eva Macdonald escaped from a sex worker service here in San Francisco a few months ago. Jimmy Abrams is a mechanical engineer who managed to evade his captors in Saudi Arabia, and Roberto Rodriguez is currently employed as a tutor for Maxim and Amanda Rivas. They work at the Salvadoran Consulate and paid to have Roberto brought in to tutor their children. He’s now a slave.
If you’re still skeptical that all of this is tied to lotsofjobs.com, the second attachment includes a thread from lotsofjobs.com and a fictitious profile I created which fell into one of the trafficking categories. That profile is of an 18-year old teenager, ‘Michelle’, who has been offered a position in Croatia. The hiring firm is a front for a sex worker service.
The Misogynist Page 3