Patrick Bowers 08 - Every Crooked Path

by Steven James

  “We’re not saying that all the children were necessarily killed by the same person,” Tobin replied.

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “That the children were killed by the same group.”

  “The Final Territory?”

  “That’s our working theory, yes.”

  “With all due respect, Detective, I think your personal interest in this case has clouded your judgment.”

  I spoke up: “Then it’s clouded mine as well.”

  Everyone looked my way. The chief gave me an especially icy glare. “What action steps would you propose?”

  I counted them off on my fingers as I listed them. “One: Romanoff—we need to locate him. He’s the key to finding those three remaining missing children and he can lead us to the Final Territory. Two: realtors—see if any of the eighteen families had open houses before their children were taken. Three: locate known associates, and check occupations and residences of Garrett Higgs. Four: Tribaxil—Either Randy McReynolds took it himself or it was administered to him. In either case, someone obtained it. I want to know how hard it is to get, where it’s distributed, and where you might be able to get it on the street. And five: finish processing the lab results from the deaths of Stewart and McReynolds last week.”

  Assistant Director DeYoung handed out assignments to team members.

  When he was done, I went on to explain the geoprofile to everyone, and as I got into the spatial analysis and the kernel density interpolation I could see their eyes start to glaze over. “Okay, let me put it this way: taking all the locations into account, studying the timing of the abductions and the sites where the bodies were found, we’re going to be looking for a different location other than Romanoff’s house as the home base for this crime series.”

  “But I thought that’s where things pointed?” Maria Aguirre said.

  “For the current crimes, yes. But that was before I had all the information about the timing of the previous abductions and the states where their bodies were found. Note how they move south as the year gets cooler.”

  “What does that mean?” Chief O’Toole’s curiosity was touched with cynicism. “Our guy was migrating south for the winter?” He seemed to say it as a joke, but no one laughed.

  The guy was really starting to get on my nerves.

  “It means that whoever was responsible might have worked a seasonal job, heading south as winter rolls in and then back up north again in the spring.”

  “A seasonal job?” Officer Hinchcliffe asked. “Like what?”

  “Landscaping or construction, for instance.”

  “Building the homes of the victims?”

  “The timing doesn’t work for that, but seeing if any of Higgs’s friends worked seasonal jobs would be a place to start.”

  He offered to look into it.

  The conversation tilted toward the Final Territory.

  Tobin took the floor again. “The people who run international human trafficking organizations are incredibly well-funded, often reside in countries that don’t have extradition treaties with the West, and are experts at using Tor and at covering their tracks. They know the Dark Web’s hidden corners and back alleys and they capitalize on that knowledge. Some of these groups cross from child porn trading to hosting live molestation of children.”

  DeYoung asked, “What do we know for sure about this one?”

  “Very little, definitively,” Tobin admitted. “We’re looking for a private site, a secure, closed online community. It’s likely we’ll need to find someone to invite us to join it. They’ll have encrypted SMTP servers.”

  “So how do we get invited to one of them?”

  “It’s not easy. There’s usually a pretty extensive vetting process. There’s a whole online culture that you have to be able to navigate and understand. They’re good at weeding out newbies and law enforcement officers who might be trying to infiltrate their groups. A common membership requirement is that you have to upload a certain number of files or videos to their collection.”

  Ms. Aguirre put the pieces together. “So that makes sense, then, when you hear about someone being arrested with a couple hundred thousand images or videos on his computer—like the Wonderland Club or others similar to them.”

  “Yes. In most Western nations it’s illegal for law enforcement officers to possess or distribute child pornography.”

  “Makes it pretty tough to infiltrate those groups.”

  “It does, because unless you share those images, the site’s administrator won’t give you the access credentials to download their material or communicate with other group members. And once you’ve posted them, you’re facing jail time. Depending on the nature of the images or videos you upload, you could be looking at life in prison.”

  The more Tobin spoke, the more an idea took shape in my mind about how we might be able to move forward on this.

  In total, the briefing went nearly two hours.

  After we’d closed things up and the team members were rising to head off to their assignments, I said to him, “We need to talk to someone who knows his way around Tor. Not someone from law enforcement. Someone who knows those back alleys and hidden corners you were talking about.”

  “But how are you going to get access to one of these communities without uploading images or videos of child pornography?”

  “By getting someone to help us.”

  “Who?”

  “A person who’s done it before.”

  “And you have someone in mind?”

  “Yes. Hal Lloyd.” During the briefing I’d pulled up his file and now I spun my laptop toward Tobin so the screen faced him.

  “He was a computer consultant that Cyber called on sometimes,” I said. “Turned out he was as perverted at using the Internet as he was gifted at navigating it. I knew the agent who originally worked his case. They found more than ten thousand images of child pornography on Lloyd’s computer but suspected he’d cached a lot more that they were never able to find on the Dark Web. He was arrested for propositioning an eleven-year-old girl. They found out he’d also molested an eight-year-old. If anyone can get us an invitation and log-in credentials to the Final Territory, it’s him.”

  Assistant Director DeYoung and Ms. Aguirre were talking with each other in the corner. She glanced my way and I sensed that they were talking about me.

  Tobin read off some of the charges against Lloyd. “Two counts of lewd or lascivious exhibition, four counts of transmitting images harmful to a minor, using a computer to solicit a child for sex, contributing to the delinquency of a minor . . . Unlawful sexual conduct with a minor . . . Criminal child molestation . . . This guy’s a real piece of work. How much time did he get?”

  “He was sentenced to twenty years.”

  “So, maybe he serves ten or twelve with good behavior?”

  “Yeah.” I hated the way the system worked. “Maybe.” So far he’d been in for three.

  “And why would Lloyd be willing to help us?”

  “I’m still working on that.”

  “So where is he? Rikers?”

  “Albany Federal Penitentiary.”

  DeYoung left, but Ms. Aguirre was watching me from across the room. When I made eye contact with her, she started walking my way.

  Great.

  “That’s a bit of a drive,” Tobin noted.

  “Probably three hours or so, depending on traffic. I’ll head up by myself.”

  “No. I’m coming along. I want to talk to him too. When are visiting hours?”

  “I’m a federal agent. They’ll let us in as soon as I ask them to.”

  “I like the sound of that.” He pulled out his phone. “Let me make a couple calls first, clear my plate.”

  When Tobin stepped away to do that, Ms. Aguirre saw her chance and addressed me. “Agen
t Bowers.”

  “Ms. Aguirre.”

  “Do you have a moment?”

  “Actually, I was just on my way out.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Now’s not good. As I said, I’m about to take off.”

  “With Detective Cavanaugh?”

  “Yes.”

  “First thing in the morning, then. Eight thirty. I’ll be in my office.”

  Something to look forward to.

  “I’ll see you then,” I said.

  She strode away, her heels click-clattering briskly against the floor.

  Tobin returned. “What was that about?”

  “We’re going to have a little sit-down tomorrow morning,” I said. “I’ll probably get a reprimand.”

  “Well, at least you know the ropes.”

  That was the same phrase Jodie had used with me last week. “You’ve been talking with my partner.”

  “That is possible.”

  I might have glimpsed a smile.

  He summarized his phone conversation: the realtor who’d been in charge of his home was no longer with the firm, and when he followed up with her, he found that she was living in North Carolina and had no records of who might have attended an open house eight years ago in New Jersey.

  So, a dead end.

  Before leaving, I had some of the guys from Cyber download onto my laptop the special browser needed to surf on Tor.

  While they were working on that, I checked my email and saw a note that Mr. Edlemore over at the ICSC had found some references to Blake. There wasn’t anything specific for us to follow up on, just a few more arrows pointing in his direction.

  Tobin and I contacted the Albany Federal Penitentiary warden and had him send us Lloyd’s prison records, which would include his visits to the infirmary, time in solitary confinement, and the specification of any additional charges that might have been leveled against him since his incarceration.

  A little light reading for the trip.

  Finally, we touched base with Jodie, who was heading off with Agent Descartes to the investment firm where Ivan Romanoff, the man who owned the house in Princeton where I’d found Lily and D’Nesh, worked. They were going to talk with his coworkers to try to find out anything they could that would help us zero in on his current location.

  Then Tobin and I climbed into my car and left for the Albany Federal Penitentiary.

  56

  First thing that day after getting to his desk, Francis had called the psychologist whom Dr. Perrior had recommended to him to find out if she could get him in sometime this week.

  It went to an answering service, and he left his name and number, requesting that she call him back as soon as possible.

  All morning and all through lunch he’d been distracted thinking about Skylar.

  She hadn’t responded to his friend request on Krazle.

  It might’ve been that she just hadn’t checked her account.

  Or it might have been that she didn’t want to be his friend.

  Now, at his afternoon coffee break, as he kept an eye out for her to come into the Mystorium, he thought of her and of graciousgirl4.

  There was something about spending time with an actual person, not just chatting with someone online, that made it seem even more real than an online relationship.

  Graciousgirl4 is just someone I’ve chatted with, that’s all.

  No, she’s more than that. You know she is.

  But I like Skylar better.

  Why don’t you meet graciousgirl4 and see which of them you like more?

  I don’t know.

  All you have to do is meet her. You don’t need to do anything else, just go and meet her. See her. Say hi. She told you she was eighteen.

  I know, but what if she’s not? What if she’s younger?

  Then you just leave. Walk away. You’re not the kind of person to take advantage of a teenager.

  No, I’m not.

  But if she is old enough, then you can maybe spend some time with her. Get to know her a little bit better. After all, what does age have to do with love? Who’s to say that—

  But I’m not in love with her. And what about Skylar? I like Skylar. And she’s my age, or at least closer to my age, but—

  Go online and look up graciousgirl4. Just to see. Then you can be done with her. Tonight, at home, you know how to do it. Check, and then it’ll all be over and you can move on with Skylar.

  No, it wouldn’t be right.

  You just need to see her before you end this.

  I shouldn’t be thinking these things. I shouldn’t be wondering these things.

  You haven’t done anything. You wouldn’t do anything.

  But how can you say that? I might. Anyone is capable of making a mistake. If they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. It can happen to me. It happens to people every day.

  Not to you. It won’t happen to you.

  Thoughts wrestling with each other.

  Tugging him back and forth.

  Skylar didn’t come in the door of the coffeehouse and Francis wondered if maybe, since he hadn’t said yes to going over to her place yesterday, she might be feeling hurt or offended or might have thought he wasn’t interested in her.

  He hadn’t heard from her all day: no calls, no texts. Maybe she’d changed her mind about him, about getting together today.

  That’s why she didn’t reply to your friend request on Krazle.

  If he lost her, all he had was graciousgirl4.

  He remembered telling Dr. Perrior last week that it was like there was a line in the sand.

  To see it is one thing.

  To know it’s there, to approach it and stand there, maybe sliding your toe up to it, or maybe kneeling down and tracing it with your finger.

  That’s one thing.

  And that’s what you’ve been doing with your chats, Francis. You’ve been seeing how close you can get without stepping over.

  This far and no farther.

  This close and no closer.

  Safe on the side you’re supposed to be on.

  If there was anyone who should’ve known that, it was him. With what he did at work. With all he’d seen, yes, he should.

  Yes, he did.

  So that was one thing.

  Seeing the line.

  And then there was crossing it.

  He knew the tactics abusers use to get close to children.

  Yes. It would be possible for him to see graciousgirl4 even if he didn’t set up a time to meet her.

  Just back-trace her IP address and turn on her computer’s camera. You can do it without making the light go on. Just get a glimpse of her. Then you’ll be able to tell how old she is. Then you can stop chatting with her.

  But what about Skylar?

  This’ll be it. The last time with graciousgirl4.

  I need to end things with her. I have Skylar now.

  You don’t have Skylar now. She doesn’t know you. If she knew you, she wouldn’t like you. Not if she really knew you, what you see, what you think, what you—

  Stop!

  It was ten minutes after two.

  Skylar still hadn’t come, hadn’t texted.

  She’s not coming. She changed her mind. She doesn’t like you.

  Okay, tonight.

  Just to make the voice go away, just to make the questions go away.

  Yes, tonight he would back-trace to graciousgirl4’s IP address, get his answers once and for all about her, and then be done with her before he crossed the line for good.

  But that is crossing the line.

  No, it’s just finding out how wide it is.

  If nothing else, at least those voices in his head would stop. Then he could move forward getting to know Skylar better
and maybe even visiting her place or inviting her over to his.

  Maybe they would even be together someday. He’d never been with a woman before, never in that way. It was something he wanted before he died, no matter how soon or how far out that day might be.

  As he was thinking about that, Skylar pushed open the door, scanned the room, and as soon as she saw Francis, she made a beeline for him and apologized, “I’m so sorry I’m late. Don’t be mad. Were you waiting long? Oh, I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

  “No. I just got here.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too.”

  “Do you want some coffee?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  While they ordered their drinks, she explained that she’d forgotten to charge her phone and it’d died and she’d missed the train she’d been hoping to catch and she would have let him know she was running late if she could have, but that she was glad he was here because she did want to see him today. She really did.

  She didn’t say anything about not accepting his friend request on Krazle.

  He didn’t bring it up.

  Though he’d been looking forward to seeing her, now that she was here he was nervous too, because he’d been thinking about that other woman.

  Skylar didn’t know about graciousgirl4.

  And she never needs to.

  No, she didn’t. And Skylar never needed to know about his chats either, or the things Francis sometimes thought of doing and the dark temptations he sometimes had to try so hard to resist when he was chatting with graciousgirl4 on Krazle.

  Some things were best kept secret, especially when they might hurt someone else—so that’s what he quietly told himself as Skylar recounted her day and her hectic trip across the city to see him.

  57

  On the drive to the prison, Tobin and I took turns alternating driving and looking through Hal Lloyd’s records.

  Now, only a few miles from the penitentiary, Tobin was at the wheel and I was perusing Lloyd’s list of visitors over the last three years. One name jumped out at me: Jewel Vernett.