Snuff

by E. L. McKenzie

  With his other senses impaired, he listened intently. It sounded like there were others in the vehicle with him. They were not moving—probably unconscious – but he could hear their breathing. His space felt extremely limited – maybe bunk beds tightly stacked with the captives secured? He had no idea what he was dealing with.

  As the vehicle continued to bump along, The Doctor heard one of his players rousing. He turned and adjusted the volume of gas to the back of the RV ever so slightly. The elevated level would put whoever it was back to sleep.

  Sunday ⌁ day 7

  “Do you know this Gary Knight?” Phyllis asked Nick as she read the news on her iPad. She had fixed breakfast for both of them while he obsessed over next steps for each of the investigators. Strange as it might seem, they coexisted peacefully in the same space, including the bedroom. This puzzled Nick, but he accepted and even embraced it. Until they dealt with their grief over losing Alisha and with their longstanding marital issues, he preferred a sense of normalcy.

  “Nah, not really,” Nick replied. “I know who he is.”

  “I’ve met him at a couple of functions. He seems like a nice enough guy,” she continued passively. “Do you know what happened to him?”

  He was reading the sports section of the Denver Post and not paying particular attention. “No, what happened to him?”

  As was becoming her routine, she quickly became irritated with him, “That’s what I was asking you. Do you know what happened to him?”

  He looked up from the paper and asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ll air drop you the article. It says he’s missing.”

  He read the article, noting the byline. He suspected he would meet the writer, Mr. Wylie, in the not too distant future.

  Coalition of Values Leader Missing

  By Thomas Wylie

  Denver Post Investigative Reporter

  The Denver Post has learned that Coalition of Values leader Gary Knight is missing. According to sources inside the Coalition of Values leadership, Mr. Knight disappeared after his appearance on the first day of a seminar in Sacramento and has not been seen since.

  He was scheduled to make several appearances throughout the three-day event but has failed to do so. The Coalition of Values is a Denver-based organization founded by Mr. Knight.

  When reached for comment, Coalition of Values spokesman Glenn Armstrong said, “We are extremely concerned that our leader is missing and are doing everything within our powers to find him and bring him home safely. Our organization is working closely with local law enforcement.” The organization declined to offer anything beyond this prepared comment.

  (twenty-three months ago)

  Mike was on the video call with a man who called himself The Doctor. “This is pretty rough quality. Where did you get this?”

  “The source is unimportant. As for the quality, I believe the content speaks for itself,” replied The Doctor.

  “How much do you want for this?”

  “What are you prepared to offer?”

  Mike was conflicted. He had to own this. It was a treasure. If it was a fake, it was a masterpiece. And if it was real, morality notwithstanding, it was worth a small fortune. He had done this long enough that money was not the issue. He simply had to make the best deal possible.

  A long-time owner of a now-failing adult video store, Mike was also nostalgic for the old days, when things were done in person. With the dark web, secure communications, and all sorts of identity masking, it was difficult to read people. StreamApp, the dark web’s preferred discreet communication application with a state-of-the-art masking feature, was great, providing a robust platform of talk, text, and video. But it was no substitute for in-person meetings. He better understood why experts say seventy percent of communications is non-verbal. On a remote, secure site, it was difficult to ascertain the veracity of the person on the other end. He did require video communications upon meeting a new supplier to mimic some of the advantages of one-on-one meetings.

  “Before we get down to business, tell me a little about yourself,” Mike said casually. He liked to know as much as possible about his suppliers. Given the nature of his business, few shared details.

  “As you already know, I go by The Doctor,” the man replied.

  “Great, Doctor, and of course you know me. I’m Mike. Tell me a bit more about yourself.”

  “That’s not going to happen. Are you interested in this or not?”

  “It’s short, it’s rough, the editing is—” Mike started nonchalantly.

  “I’m not looking for a critique, I’m looking for a buyer,” the man impatiently interrupted. “How much would you be willing to pay for this?”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll give you $100,000, crypto transfer right now.”

  The Doctor sighed deeply. “That offer does not warrant a counter. I thought you were a serious buyer. I’m going to conclude this call,” he said, as he moved to shut down the video feed.

  Mike had used StreamApp’s video functionality enough to recognize the signs of someone preparing to disconnect. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m going to find someone who will show me the respect of the art I have produced.”

  “Let’s start again, sir. How much are you asking for this video?”

  “I believe a feature of this quality should bring no less than $750,000. I am prepared to continue to shop this until I receive at least that amount and will probably not stop short of $1,000,000.”

  “Do you believe you will have merchandise like this in the future?”

  The Doctor chuckled. “You are simply seeing my first production. I have several more of this quality already completed, am in the process of finalizing several more, and am in production of even more. This production is crude. The quality will become Hollywood level as I improve my craft. I have the equipment and am developing the know-how.”

  Mike was suddenly chilled. While he knew this was probably the most valuable video he would ever hold, this man terrified him. If this video was real, and it looked authentic, this was the man one who perpetrated this as author, choreographer, director, producer, camera man, and ultimately, murderer.

  “I am prepared to make you an offer I think you will find compelling. But before I do, what questions do you have about my process?”

  “Explain the technology,” he said. “StreamApp provides a one-time view, which is why I sent it to you that way. But how do I securely provide this film to you, and how do you deliver to your customers?”

  “The encryption is incredibly sophisticated, and, at the same time, easy to use,” Mike explained. He had become an expert in the use of data encryption. “First, I will set up a new email address. It will be untraceable. You and I will use this. I recommend any time you do use this, work from a computer you don’t otherwise use, and from a location as far away from your home as possible.” Mike explained he had stolen identities in order to create these fake accounts. If they ever were traced, the person tracked down would be an innocent victim of Mike’s schemes.

  Mike continued. “We will use a discreet email address each time you have a new product. Once the transaction is complete, we will delete the account.” He paused.

  “I’m following,” The Doctor said.

  “We will never actually send an email from that account. Rather, you will access it to upload the video. You will create an email but leave it unsent in drafts. You will then use a burner phone to let me know it’s available. I will access the draft email, download the video, and then delete the draft email. Simple as that.”

  “Got it,” The Doctor replied.

  “As for encryption, I will provide you with an application to use. That will be the first draft email we use. In the email, I will provide detailed instructions. You will then upload the video, let me know it’s available, I’ll access it, ensure it is delivered properly, then I’ll make the crypto transfer to you.” As Mike paused again, The Doctor remained quiet for an uncomfo
rtable amount of time.

  “Mr. Smith, do you really want me to deliver the product to you before you pay me?”

  Mike chilled again. “That is my normal process, yes.”

  “Then we will handle it that way,” The Doctor replied. “You do understand the risk you are taking if that money does not arrive, correct?”

  “I assure you, sir, I will not violate your trust.”

  “And I assure you, sir, that if you do, you will only do it once. Now, explain to me how you are able to deliver this product to your customers without them making copies and giving it to others.”

  Mike paused before answering, weighing the price of revealing trade secrets against angering a possible psychopathic killer. Pragmatism prevailed.

  “I use an application developed by a dark web hero who goes by The Tysonator. It’s called DFWM, which stands for don’t fuck with me. Once a file is uploaded to DFWM, by design only one person can ever access that file. Upon receipt in the DFWM app, the user will perform both a retinal and fingerprint scan. Verification of both is the only way the file can be accessed. The file can be copied any number of times, but since it is accessed only through DFWM, no one else can see it. Clearly the customer can let others view his video if he likes, but he can’t provide them an accessible file. To the best of my knowledge, no one yet has unencrypted DFWM.

  “One further attribute DFWM employs is technology that disallows a video recording of the streaming video. Somehow they have developed the technology to encrypt the feed from other recording devices. In simple English, no one can video the video.”

  “Makes sense. How do you create multiple copies for multiple customers?”

  “For each sale, I have to create a separate DFWM file. Needless to say, DFWM gets their cut.”

  “Got it,” The Doctor said. His tone implied he wanted no further detail.

  “Lynch, can I see you a minute?” Chief Detective Bosworth hollered at him from his office.

  “What’s up, boss?” Nick inquired as he entered Bosworth’s office.

  Bosworth, who was already seated, looked up at Nick from the mountain of paperwork.

  “First of all, I’m glad to see you here on a Sunday. I don’t believe I’ve seen you work over a weekend in a long time.”

  Nick nodded.

  “How’s the investigation going?” he asked.

  “Which one?”

  “Don’t be cute,” Bosworth barked, clearly not in the mood.

  “You saw my write-up from the trip to Seattle, and—”

  “Seattle. I’m glad you brought that up. I had a call from the Chief of Detectives there, and, evidently, your good buddy the Chief also got a call from Chief Ferguson in Seattle. Did you piss off everyone you saw up there, or just the people we care about?”

  Nick gazed past Bosworth, pondering this newest development. “Those guys are jerks, Chief,” he explained. “They’re still defensive over what happened with that child porn case, and no matter what I did, it made them mad.”

  Bosworth nodded, although his body language and rolling eyes clearly indicated he wasn’t buying it. His next comments dripped with sarcasm. “Terrific. Then I’m assuming you made great progress on the case and are about to make an arrest?”

  Nick measured his next words carefully. “I know you were not supportive of me going to Seattle. However, I do believe I made quite a bit of progress. Steven Blair was into some things he shouldn’t have been, and I am certain it led to his demise. Your comments notwithstanding, I believe the trip was worthwhile.”

  Bosworth glowered at him, unconvinced. “That’s great, Lynch. I’m so happy for you. And because I’m so happy, I would like to share some of that happiness. I’m so happy, and I know you’re so happy, that I’ve decided we should share all of this happiness with a third person. What say we share our happiness with Vince Burleson?”

  It took a few seconds for what Bosworth was saying to sink in. “Huh?”

  “I’m so impressed with your progress and your brilliance in getting this most difficult case solved, I’d like for you to share some of that brilliance with one of our younger detectives. You know Detective Burleson, I believe?” It was a rhetorical question; all the homicide detectives were acquainted.

  “No Chief, I don’t need any help on this case,” Nick replied flatly.

  “I like you. You know I do. I pride myself on being a good boss and fair with the folks. But I’m going to tell you a couple of things that are going to hurt your feelings, and it’s time. First, as your friend and colleague, I’m sorry you lost your daughter. But as your boss, I really couldn’t care less, other than how it impacts this department. You’ve skated for three months, and if you don’t know it, it’s because you have friends in high places, and, frankly, because you’ve done a great job over a whole bunch of years.”

  Nick’s ears were burning. He didn’t need to hear this.

  “To be perfectly honest,” Bosworth continued, “you’ve been worthless to me and to this department. With the difficult economy, budget cuts, and everything else, I really don’t have room for someone who doesn’t pull his weight. I appreciate the fact you’re chasing some cold cases. And any of those getting cleared is a good thing. But I cannot afford having one of my top detectives chewing up payroll chasing cases that couldn’t be solved – when, of course, he’s not at The Shamrock in the middle of the day drinking away any productivity my department might enjoy. Guess what? Time’s up.”

  He continued. “I gave you this assignment to test you, to get you back into the rhythm. This should have been a slam dunk, finished practically before it started. But, instead, you’re turning this into the next Ted Bundy case, up to and including going to Seattle, and I really don’t appreciate it. You need to solve this simple homicide, put it to bed, and move on to more challenging assignments. I’m very specifically assigning Burleson to keep an eye on you, to see where you’re screwing around here. Because, sorry as I am about Alisha, your time is up. Either you get this shit done or you’re going to get fired, people in high places or not.”

  Bosworth sat back in his chair, clearly furious, having regurgitated three months of frustration in a few short minutes. “Detective Burleson has already been briefed on my expectations. You will have him fully briefed on the progress and fully integrated into the investigation by close of business today. If there are no further questions, this meeting is concluded.”

  Bosworth looked down and started reading, clearly through with this confrontation. Nick rose, defeated and angry, and slowly walked out of the office, down the stairs, out of the building, and into the fresh snow blanketing the Front Range.

  Gary Knight’s head was screaming with pain. As he woke, again, he began to take stock. He kept his eyes closed, hoping not to attract attention from his abductor. Gary believed he could use his intelligence to help him in any situation; this would require tapping the extremes of his abilities.

  Without opening his eyes, he could tell it was still pitch black. As he slowly wiggled his hands and feet, he realized he was no longer tied up. He rolled his tongue around and felt that the gag had been removed. His mouth was a cotton pit; he was aching for some water.

  As he slowly moved his arms to begin to survey his immediate area, a blinding light came on. This did not surprise him. The lights were triggered by a motion detector that would also notify his captor that he had roused. He shielded his eyes until they adjusted, then began looking around the room. It was tiny, six feet by four feet with a mattress on the floor and a large glass of water sitting in the far corner. He grabbed it and quickly gulped it down.

  “You’ll want to save that glass,” came the voice out of nowhere. Gary looked around anyway. “You’ll need it when that water passes through.” The voice laughed and the lights went out.

  “Who the hell are you?” Gary screamed. “What do you want?” Silence.

  In the darkness, Gary explored the room. He found the small slot through which food and drink would b
e provided. He also found a steel door that was impenetrable. There was nothing he could do but wait.

  Later, he came out of his stupor as the bright lights came on. He did not know if he had been asleep or simply in some sort of trance, but now he was waking up.

  The voice boomed, fully awakening him. “Gary Knight, as I live and breathe. I am so happy to have you here. The founder of the Coalition of Values movement. Mr. Morals himself. Welcome to my humble abode.”

  Gary was starving. It felt like he had not eaten in days. He had taken full advantage of the glass and filled it with urine, setting it in the far corner lest he spill it.

  “Who are you?” he heard himself saying.

  “You can call me The Doctor. I’m most pleased to have you here. You will be receiving some food and more drink in a little bit, and if there’s anything else I can get you, well, tough.” The lights went back off.

  “Doctor, doctor,” Knight pleaded futilely.

  Monday ⌁ day 8

  Nick arrived in the office late the next morning, still suffering from the effects of too many Wild Turkey’s and Coke. It was all getting away from him. While he had made good progress on a number of cold cases, truth be told he had even more success drowning his sorrows. He recognized the signs that he was slipping into an alcoholic’s patterns, unreliable, impulsive, and angry, with poor decision-making to boot. He and Phyllis continued their strained existence. Jenny was fully involved in preparing for the Purdy trial. Now he was trying to accommodate his boss’s requirement that he partner with a new homicide detective, a person specifically charged with critiquing Nick’s work product. About the only thing he could rely on was whiskey; it was the one constant that never let him down—at least not until the next morning.