Antisocial Media (Gray Spear Society Book 11)

by Alex Siegel

  Detectives immediately peppered him with questions. He appeared anxious and confused. He walked over to the smoldering wreckage of the burnt building and stared at the ashes.

  "I guess he doesn't love his wife much," Hanley said.

  "Why?" Marina said.

  "He obviously didn't stop to visit her in the hospital. He got here too quickly."

  She nodded. "Good point. I suppose trophy wives are easy to acquire for a man like him."

  She waited patiently for her opportunity to move in. Eventually, the detectives left Terman alone. He didn't have much useful information to offer them.

  Marina wandered over to him and said, "Mr. Terman?"

  "Yes?" He looked at her with a dazed expression.

  "We need you to see something. Would you mind following us?"

  "Sure."

  She escorted Terman away from the crowd of officers, and Ipo and Hanley trailed behind. They walked at a casual pace which wouldn't attract attention.

  As soon as they were behind a building and out of sight, Marina injected venom into Terman's neck, and he collapsed onto the dirt. She searched him, found his phone, and turned it off. Ipo picked him up by the arms and chest, and Hanley grabbed his feet.

  "Let's move!" Marina said.

  The team began to climb the hill. The hike back to the van would be hard and sweaty for the men who were carrying two hundred pounds of dead weight between them. Her job was to offer moral support, and she was happy about that. Sometimes, being a woman had advantages.

  * * *

  Peter Hastings was feeling a lot of stress. He had his face in his hands, and he was trying to remain calm.

  The troubles at the Terman estate were the cause of his alarm. People had been knocked out, and a fire had been set. Peter sincerely believed his mysterious enemies were responsible. The timing of the attack was too coincidental.

  Now Mr. Terman himself was missing. He had disappeared from his own home while the police were supposedly watching. His phone was off, so Peter had no way to track him. It was obvious the earlier attack had just been a ploy to draw Terman out. Abducting the CEO of Soulfriends had been the goal all along.

  Peter now had a serious problem. He had to assume Terman would be interrogated, and the spineless executive would quickly break under torture. He didn't know much, but he knew enough to compromise the grand plan.

  Peter had to stay one step ahead. He had to anticipate what Terman would tell the enemy and take preemptive action.

  Peter forced himself to settle down. This was like a game of chess, and his opponent had just made a bold and unexpected move, but the game was far from over. Peter was a master chess player, and there was no reason to think he would lose. He might have to use a piece he had kept in reserve though.

  He began to type.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marina checked the angle of the sun. It was getting to be dinner time, and she had missed lunch. She was hungry.

  A moan drew her attention downwards. William Terman was waking up.

  He was hanging by his feet from a tree limb. The inverted position had made his face red and a little puffy. His wrists were tied behind his back, and the same rope was wrapped around his chest to immobilize his arms. All he could do was wiggle like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

  The team had returned to the Santa Cruz Mountains to perform this interrogation. Marina couldn't get enough of the fresh breeze which sometimes smelled of the ocean and sometimes of pine. They were surrounded by forest, but she could glimpse spectacular vistas between the trees. The next mountain over was a dark green mass in the distance. A squirrel scrambled up a tree.

  Terman blinked his eyes. "What's going on? Who are you? Are you with the sheriff's department?"

  The Spears were still wearing their deputy uniforms, but the clothing didn't look new anymore. It had sweat stains and dust from hiking up and down steep hills.

  "That's not important," Marina said. "We brought you here so you could answer some questions."

  He squirmed. "Why am I tied up? Are you going to torture me?" The pitch of his voice went up with each word.

  "That depends on your responses. This could be a quick and painless conversation if you're honest with us. Otherwise..." She looked over at Hanley.

  He was wearing a butcher's apron and a paper face mask. He had a rusty hacksaw in his hand.

  Terman pulled frantically on the ropes, but Marina had tied them tight.

  "Tell me about Soulfriends," she said.

  "What do you want to know?" he cried. "Our marketing strategies? Our sales numbers? What is this about?"

  "Domestic violence has spiked all over the Bay Area. There are a record number of divorces. The social fabric is being torn apart, and we think Soulfriends is responsible."

  "That's absolutely ridiculous. We're just a social media company. We have an app that helps people make new friends, and we make money on advertising. It's harmless fun. Everybody wins."

  Marina crouched down and brought her face close to his. "You're changing lives, often for the worse. That's not harmless."

  "But it's not illegal," Terman said. "There are a hundred other social media companies out there. It's a gigantic business with billions of dollars in revenue. Why are you picking on me?"

  "We think your company is far more dangerous than the others."

  "I don't see how." He shook his head. "Do you have any statistical evidence to back up your claim? I want to see hard numbers. Otherwise, this is just wild speculation. Besides, social media isn't new or dangerous. People have chatted by the water cooler for a hundred years. In the old days, wives traded gossip while they were doing laundry. Boys and girls write love notes. The content hasn't changed, and the only difference is the means of delivery. Electrons and pulses of light convey our social interactions now. It's vastly more efficient."

  Marina stood up. "And vastly more profitable. Human relationships shouldn't be exploited for financial gain. They shouldn't be engineered to maximize revenue."

  "Don't be so naïve. Marketing has always been about establishing a relationship with customers to generate sales. Professional relationships are at the core of every business. Hell, my wife married me for my money. I'm not stupid enough to think otherwise. As long as she looks nice at parties and gives me what I need in bed, I don't mind, and there's nothing wrong with it. Why are we having this argument, anyway? You still haven't proven my company is dangerous."

  Marina stepped back to confer with Ipo and Hanley.

  "This isn't going the way I expected," she whispered.

  "Maybe he doesn't know anything," Hanley murmured.

  "That's not likely. I'm just not asking the right question."

  She went back to Terman and said, "Who owns Soulfriends?"

  He clenched his jaw. That's the right question, she thought.

  Marina continued, "According to your website, you're the founder, president, and CEO. You must know all the dirty secrets that your company is trying to hide. Tell them to me."

  "Do you have a subpoena?"

  "We're not the police or federal agents."

  "Is this corporate espionage?" Terman said.

  "No. We're just private citizens with a keen interest in your sordid business practices."

  "Doing this to me is criminal. You could go to prison for a long time. If you let me go, I promise I won't tell anybody."

  Marina sighed with impatience. Like most executives, he obviously believed he could talk his way out of this mess. She nodded to Hanley.

  With his heavy rubber apron, mask, and hacksaw, he looked like a psychopath from a horror movie. The expression in his eyes showed he was uncomfortable with the situation, but Marina didn't care. It was time for him to grow up as a legionnaire.

  He went forward, grabbed Terman's index finger, and pulled it back. Hanley slowly began to saw it off.

  Terman screeched like a girl. "Wait! Stop! You don't have to do this!"

  "Apparently, we do," Marina
said. "You're not telling me anything."

  "I'm not really the founder of Soulfriends. My website lied. I own less than one percent of the company. I'm just an executive they hired to play the role of CEO."

  She raised her eyebrows. "But you still make decisions?"

  "Some, but not the important ones."

  "Ah." She smiled. "This is exactly the kind of dirt I need. Who, pray tell, makes the important decisions at Soulfriends?"

  Terman bit his lip. Hanley sawed his finger a couple more times, and blood began to drip onto the dirt.

  Terman howled in pain. "I don't know his real name!" he gasped. "I just get text messages from him. He calls himself Ice Crusher."

  "An anonymous individual controls Soulfriends?" Marina said. "How is that possible?"

  "He seems to know about everything that happens there. I don't know where he gets his information, but it's always accurate. If he has a problem with somebody, he finds a way to make them go away. To be honest, Ice Crusher scares me. I believe he's the real founder and owner."

  "But you don't know?"

  "I'm not allowed to look at the corporate charter," Terman said. "I don't even know where it is."

  "You didn't think this fraud was suspicious?" She glared at him.

  "The job pays really well, and I'm not hurting anybody. Maybe Ice Crusher is very shy and doesn't want any publicity. Some people just aren't cut out to be high-profile executives."

  She sneered. "Or maybe he's hiding from the authorities."

  "I don't know anything about that. Let me go, please."

  "Tell us how to find him," Marina said.

  Terman yanked on his ropes. "I have no idea! I never met him. I don't know what he looks like. I don't even know if he's an employee. He could be living on an island in the South Pacific. Physical location doesn't matter these days."

  "I'm sure you can be more helpful. You just lack motivation." She looked at Hanley. "Saw it off."

  His shoulders slumped with resignation. He sawed off Terman's index finger while the man thrashed and screamed in pain. Finally, Hanley tossed the amputated finger into the weeds. Blood spurted onto the dirt.

  After Terman settled down, Marina said in a harsh whisper, "Let me explain my position. Soulfriends is causing a lot of pain and suffering. Your company is destroying lives. It is my job to understand this phenomenon and possibly put a stop to it. I have no problem with cutting off all your fingers and toes if that's what it takes to move this investigation forward. You're a greedy, selfish, unethical man."

  "I was just hired to do a job," he whimpered. Tears were running down his forehead.

  "A job you don't understand, working for a person you don't know. You should've asked the right questions when you had the chance, but all you saw was the money. Ice Crusher picked you because he knew you were easy to control. And human relationships are not just a component in a fucking business model!"

  She punched him in the unprotected stomach. He gasped and coughed.

  "Talk to me," Marina growled, "or I'll cut you to ribbons." She held her hands like claws, and venom leaked from the tips of her nails.

  Terman was quivering in terror. "There is one guy who might be able to help you. The CFO, Bill Conway. He helped launch Soulfriends. He was there at the very beginning. He knows who Ice Crusher really is!"

  She snarled. "Then we'll talk to him next."

  "What about me?"

  "I'm going to cut you down and let you go, but there's a catch. I'll put you to sleep for a little while first. You'll wake up alone, and you'll have to walk out of these mountains on your own."

  His eyes widened. "Which way is out?" He looked around.

  "That's a good question." She winked. "Choose your route wisely, or you'll be hiking for the rest of your short life. Dehydration and exposure will kill you pretty quickly out here. And watch out for the mountain lions. I'm told they can be quite pesky. You can use your time alone to think about the choices you've made in life. I'm sure your wife won't be sad about inheriting your fortune. She's just in it for the money, after all."

  She jabbed her fingernails into his neck and put him to sleep. After he passed out, she used a knife to cut the rope above his feet. He hit the ground head-first. She cut his legs free, but she left his arms tied behind his back. She didn't want to make things too easy for him.

  "Let's go," Marina told Ipo and Hanley.

  The team started hiking towards the van. It was parked about half a mile away on the crest of a ridge.

  "Remind me never to get on your bad side, ma'am," Hanley said.

  "I will," Marina said.

  She took out her phone, pressed the speaker button so everybody could hear, and called Min Ho.

  "Hello, ma'am," he said.

  "Look up Bill Conway, chief financial officer of Soulfriends."

  She heard typing.

  "OK," Min Ho said. "What do you want to know?"

  "Where is he?"

  There was a pause. "At his home in Saratoga, according to his phone."

  "In the middle of the work day?" Marina said.

  "That's the information I have."

  "How convenient for us. We'll go there next. Send me the exact address."

  "Yes, ma'am," Min Ho said.

  She hung up and picked up her pace. "Where is Saratoga?"

  "South of Cupertino," Ipo said. "Not too far from here."

  "We'll eat a quick dinner on the way. All this torture is making me hungry."

  * * *

  Ipo parked the van across the street from an impressive home in an exclusive neighborhood of Saratoga. The architecture was a variant of Spanish Colonial Style. The tiled roof used a mixture of yellow, red, and brown clay tiles. The walls were made of stacked, flat stones with a rough, natural finish. Most of the house was single-story, and it occupied a large lot. A huge arch covered in brown stucco framed the front door. A cute, little bell tower had a real bronze bell in it.

  Two Santa Clara County police cars were parked in the driveway.

  "That's not good," Marina said.

  Ipo and Hanley nodded.

  Everybody got out of the van. They were still dressed as Santa Clara County deputies, but dust and sweat had made the uniforms look shabby. Marina didn't feel like changing costumes though. These would still work even with the stains.

  She called Min Ho on her phone. "The police are here," she said. "What happened?"

  He typed for a moment. "Some kind of suicide. That's all I have."

  "Oh. Thanks." She hung up. "Suicide," she reported to her two legionnaires.

  Hanley frowned. "I'll bet it's the guy we came to talk to. Ice Crusher knew we would get his name and got to him first."

  "A reasonable hypothesis," Marina said. "Come on. We need to check it out anyway."

  Night had fallen, and the air had cooled noticeably. She shivered a little and wished she had brought a jacket. She was reminded that February was the middle of winter even in the Bay Area.

  She led her small team to the front door of the house. It had an old-fashioned, iron knocker, and when she used it, the door boomed.

  After a moment, the door opened, and a middle-aged woman looked out. She had brown hair, but Marina could see her gray roots. The woman's mascara had run down her cheeks from crying. Her pretty, blue eyes were badly bloodshot. She was wearing a black and white polka dot dress.

  "Mrs. Conway?" Marina said in a gentle voice.

  The woman nodded dumbly.

  "Do you mind if we come in? We just have a few questions."

  Mrs. Conway stepped out of the way. Marina, Ipo, and Hanley entered the house.

  The main room continued the traditional Spanish style. The walls were made of stucco instead of standard drywall. Exposed beams crossed the ceiling, and they looked like real, aged wood. A giant, stone fireplace dominated the center of the room.

  Two officers were standing there, and they were wearing the same kind of tan and green uniforms as Marina. One man came over to gre
et her. His nameplate read, "Det. Longwell," and he was very well groomed. She had no choice but to admire his perfectly trimmed mustache and thick, black hair.

  "What are you guys doing here?" he said. "We didn't call for help."

  "We came to interview Mr. Conway," Marina said calmly.

  "About what?"

  "You didn't hear? His boss, William Terman, disappeared today. His home was attacked. We were hoping Conway would have some information."

  "Oh." Longwell furrowed his brow and lowered his voice. "You're too late. He committed suicide an hour ago."

  The widow sniffled and ran out of the room.

  "I'm sorry to hear that," Marina said. "How did it happen?"

  "He popped his car into reverse, jumped out, and stuck his head under the wheel. It crushed his skull like a melon."

  She stared at Longwell. "Gross."

  "Yeah. A strange way to commit suicide. I've never seen anything like it before."

  Marina remembered another mission in the tiny town of Lemonseed, Illinois. The residents had suffered a rash of bizarre and gruesome suicides. Conway's peculiar death was another bit of circumstantial evidence that God's enemies were possibly involved.

  "You're sure it wasn't murder?" Marina said.

  Longwell nodded. "Pretty sure. He came home, put on his best suit, kissed his wife, threw down a shot of whiskey, and killed himself. The wife heard the car crash into a tree and ran out to investigate. She didn't see anybody else."

  "Was there a note?"

  "No. Hey, this is my case, not yours. Stop asking so many questions."

  She put her hand on his neck and gave him a dose of venom. He tried to swat her hand away, but it was already too late. He collapsed after a few seconds.

  The other officer ran over. "What happened?"

  Marina put him to sleep, too.

  "Do you ever run out of juice, ma'am?" Ipo said.

  "I have about ten full doses in me. Then I need a day to recharge. Get these bodies out of here before the wife sees them."