Playing With Death

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Facebook? Sure, why not? That’ll get us an older demographic.’ Jeff makes another entry on his increasingly long list of things to do on his smartphone notes app. He will sync them to his laptop the moment it is returned from the campaign’s IT team. His laptop has been running slowly over recent days and there might be a virus on it. He would not put it past the Republican team to try and hack his machine for intelligence about Keller’s campaign. That’s common, albeit illegal, practice these days.

  Obama was the first president to have a strong social media presence and had set the precedent. In the digital age, the public are more vocal than ever, and Jeff pays close attention to post reactions and analytics. Such analysis is vital since the current president largely by-passed traditional campaign methods and rammed his agenda home in a near-constant barrage of tweets and attention-grabbing publicity stunts. Jeff has been careful to depict Keller as an authentic man of the people, with simple, traditional family values and a military background. No bluster, bullying and hyperbole for him. But conveying authenticity to a jaded electorate disillusioned by post-truth politics is not an easy task. Jeff has been regularly updating Keller’s online status, uploading the latest publicity pictures, devoured and shared by devotees in a matter of minutes. A staggering sixty-three per cent of their fundraising has been achieved online.

  ‘Any developments with the StreamPlex campaign?’

  Jeff nods. ‘When the campaign launches, there will be a virtual billboard in the main dock and your Q and A avatar will be depicted outside the Capitol Building until the race is over.’

  ‘Excellent. Cost?’

  ‘More than you want to know. We’ve reached the upper end of our budget.’

  The American flag hangs draped on the back wall of the office. Jeff feels a surge of pride – as a young party worker he’d always wanted to be sitting in The Room where the real decisions got made. This is Jeff’s fourth Democratic campaign and now he is coordinating one of the most important elements of the senator’s message to the electorate.

  ‘I know, but it could really help us take centre stage. With the polls this close we need to keep pushing for every vote we can get.’

  Jeff nods. They had allocated most of the budget for social media, as they believed it would be key in harvesting votes.

  Jeff scans his notes. To date, Keller has 13.8 million Facebook likes, and the main aim of the campaign has been to show him as a good guy. Photos with his wife and daughter have been very popular. The recent tragedy of his son’s death broadcast live on social media and Keller’s abiding interest in the dangers, as well as the promise, of new technologies make headlines in a technology-obsessed society. Keller currently chairs the Senate Judiciary Subcommittee on Privacy, Technology and Law. It has been all about building a brand people like and will promote to others – a trialogue that gets more people on board.

  Jeff reflects that there have been some desperate attempts at smearing Keller with spurious claims from past lovers that he was a drug addict because he smoked pot when he was a student. But Keller weathered those storms, as well as his wife’s depression following Tom’s death. Jeff believes Keller is fundamentally a decent man. He deserves to win. California today and DC tomorrow, Jeff hopes.

  ‘To be honest with you, Jeff, I am a little nervous about tonight. Grindall is a great salesman and he really works it. He has a certain . . . mass appeal.’

  ‘He’s a certain kind of debater, sure enough,’ Jeff quips. Their opponent Braxton Grindall is nicknamed ‘the Pit Bull’ because of his browbeating debating style.

  Jeff’s eye briefly covets Pandora again, watching the nimble sway of her curved body. He leaves his chair to go to the window. She turns her head, her long mane of dark hair sweeping over her shoulder. Her green eyes meet his and she slips him a wink. She’s been giving him the eye and texting him for nearly a month. It excites Jeff to think that a young woman like her might be attracted to him. But he feels guilty about the quiet betrayal of Rose implied by his yearning. She deserves better than that. In truth, though, they have become distant of late. It’s not yet so serious that either of them has remarked on it, but the fact that Jeff feels tempted by Pandora is not a good sign. He has not cheated on his wife during the fifteen years of their marriage and is not confident that he knows how to begin to.

  ‘Joking aside,’ Keller says, ‘I think we should go over the speech and practise some Q and A too.’

  Jeff taps a file open on his smartphone. ‘Well Grindall will certainly bring up the issues of the president’s deportation programme, the budget deficit and the Social Media Bill you are proposing, which will divide the voters and the Senate as well. There’s a lot of heat on that bill. I think you should downplay it.’

  Keller shakes his head. ‘Jeff, listen to me. Last month a child died of neglect because her parents spent all day on the Stream. Your own wife pursued the Backwoods Butcher, who used social media to find his victims and then murder them. Educational results are plummeting across the country. Kids have zero attention spans. This bill is key to my campaign – we need more money directed at online policing in this country. It’s the future for my daughter and it’s America’s future too.’

  ‘I understand, Senator, but Grindall will attack you on that using the Fourth Amendment.’

  ‘I know, I’ll deal with it,’ Keller says. ‘Is everything ready?’

  ‘Yes, Price says the transport for the airport will be ready to go in an hour. We’ll have most of tomorrow afternoon to prepare in San Diego. We’ll reach the university at 18.30 to set up and soundcheck.’

  ‘Thanks, Jeff. You’re good at your job. You know how to quash the stupid stories and you know how to play the game. Keep it up.’

  Jeff nods, gratified at being appreciated. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  There’s a knock at the door. It’s Steven Derickson, the campaign IT manager. Black-haired, wearing a burgundy sweater over a white shirt, he exchanges a nod with the senator and steps aside to let Keller leave the room. He enters holding a laptop.

  ‘Hey, Jeff, got your computer back. You had a ton of viruses in there, man. It was filthier than a pig in shit.’ His round eyes stare at Jeff from behind his black glasses.

  Jeff blushes a deep shade of crimson.

  ‘You think I’m to blame for that?’

  Steven’s eyes go wide. ‘I was just saying – the reason why it wasn’t booting up was because the hard drive was screwed up with viruses. There’s some dodgy shit on there. Frankly, half of it I wish I’d never seen. Those Republican hacking fuckers are getting better all the time.’ He shakes his head in disgust before placing it on the desk. ‘I’ve beefed up the security, but do me a favour and don’t visit any . . . insecure sites, OK?’

  ‘You’ve put additional security on my computer?’ Jeff asks.

  ‘Just as a precaution.’

  ‘Look, Steven, I didn’t mean to snap. It just pisses me that someone is targeting my computer. We all share the same network, right? Could be one of the team inadvertently compromising our machines.’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘It’s probably one of the interns. We’ve had a few new guys start recently. You know what they’re like.’

  ‘There it is. It takes one dumbass to visit some porn site and the campaign gets smeared with the same shit by Fox News.’ Steven grins. ‘I’ll put a memo round. No jerking off on the senator’s time.’ Then he leaves.

  Jeff sits for a while in the office. He takes off his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. Derickson is right on the money. Jeff feels guilty, but he couldn’t help using what he thought was a virus-protected laptop to browse for porn to release the sexual tension simmering inside. Much as he loves Rose, their sex life has grown stale and he needs something fresh and different.

  Jeff strolls through the office. There’s a line of three people f
or the coffee machine and he takes his position in line. He taps his Facebook app. No messages. He types a message to Rose.

  Hey, hope your day’s going well. Getting ready for San Diego. Be home soon as I can. xxx

  Gripping his cup, he walks over to Pandora’s desk where she is stapling staff handouts.

  He reaches out a hand to rest on her shoulder. ‘Doing a good job, I see.’

  ‘No problem,’ she says, briefly placing her hand on top of his, gently dragging her polished fingernails across his skin.

  Jeff smiles. ‘Are you tagging along with us on the bus?’

  ‘Ummm, well, Fernanda told me I should probably work the phones here.’

  ‘Ignore Fern. She’s HR, but I’m the social media manager. You’re coming with us. No one gets any experience sitting alone in an office.’

  ‘Really? Thank you, Mr Blake.’

  ‘Jeff.’

  She brushes her hair to one side. Jeff tries to force his eyes away from lingering too long.

  ‘Oh, those handouts are just printing now,’ she says. ‘I also took a look at some of the blogs and chatter. There’s a lot of anticipation over the debate.’

  ‘There is indeed,’ Jeff says. ‘Bus leaves in an hour. You’d better bring an overnight bag.’

  ‘Oh, crap. I’ll need to buy some underwear then.’

  Jeff’s confused.

  ‘Because I wasn’t going, I didn’t bring anything . . .’

  ‘Oh, right.’ He blushes.

  She stares at him. ‘I can’t wait to see Keller and Grindall slug it out.’

  ‘Yep, should be good.’

  Jeff notices a few staffers watching them.

  ‘Gotta go. Give me those packs when they’re done.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Pandora smiles, grabbing her handbag.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Buying some clothes for tomorrow!’

  Jeff returns to his office. It’s a bad idea on so many levels. He gazes at the wedding band on his finger, remembering the day when he took his vows, and meant them. Maybe Pandora’s what he needs. She listens to him, she respects him.

  It’s what he deserves, after all.

  26.

  Jeff tells one of the male interns to carry the two suitcases towards the senator’s black SUV. Keller, on the phone, is already sitting inside and nods a quick greeting as he talks. ‘. . . Sweetie, listen. I just don’t think meeting some boy you met on the Stream is a good idea right now . . . Because I’m not at home . . . Because I’m your father, Amelia, that’s why . . . Just a second.’

  He cups his hand over the mouthpiece.

  ‘Jeff, I need to have a private word with my daughter. Teenagers – such a handful. Would you mind going down on the bus?’ He smiles apologetically.

  Jeff’s gut initially tenses with disappointment, but as he turns to look at the bus, he catches a glimpse of Pandora beelining towards the back.

  ‘Sure, Senator. Got my phone if you need anything.’

  ‘Thanks, Jeff.’

  Jeff climbs out and, taking the handle of his wheelie case, makes for the campaign bus. It’s blue and white with a massive image of Keller’s smiling face on both sides. ‘Citizen Not Politician’, screams the tagline, along with social media links. Jeff mounts the steps and sits down on the comfy upholstery of the luxury coach, pulling the navy curtain closed so he can rest his head against the window.

  He checks his own Facebook page: 4,152 friends. He smiles. Not bad.

  He types in ‘P’ and the first contact that is brought up is Pandora.

  He taps her black-and-white picture. She’s pouting, her fingers pushing her hair up behind her.

  Tapping on the various sections, he quickly reminds himself of the facts. She’s twenty-two, studied political science at Berkeley. She’s recently uploaded some casual holiday snaps which show her in a green bikini. The picture has 243 likes.

  Out of 991 of Pandora’s friends, most of them, he notices, are male. His heart skips when he sees she is listed as being in a relationship. So he ignores that detail.

  Pop-ping

  A blue message box, from Pandora:

  P: Hi Jeff. Have we got a nice hotel?

  Jeff feels a rush of excitement, tinged with a little guilt. He types:

  J: Well . . . I’m staying at the Premiere. I think the interns are at a bloodstained motel that CSI forgot to clean.

  P: Lol. This is going to be such a long journey . . . I can see you down the front. Can you see me?

  Jeff slides his glasses back on, leans up over his seat. Amongst the bobbing heads, he sees her dark hair. She waves.

  J: Gotcha. A few seats down from the bathroom. Great choice.

  P: Lol. You can’t exactly play hide and seek on a bus. :-)

  Jeff smiles. He likes this girl’s sense of fun.

  There’s a plucked harp string sound. It’s a text from Rose.

  Hey Jeff, good luck in San Diego. Tough case at the mo. We miss you. Don’t forget Robbie’s school report. xxx

  Jeff is just about to text back when pop-ping:

  P: Did you see my pictures?

  J: Which ones? The playboy photo shoot at the beach?

  P: What did you think?

  Jeff can feel his pulse starting to race. He wants to be with this girl.

  J: I think you’re way too beautiful and I’m way too old for you . . .

  There’s a pause.

  P: I wouldn’t be so sure . . . ;-)

  Pop-ping

  He looks down at the message screen. There’s a topless black and white picture of Pandora. Jeff instantly shields the screen to avoid anyone else seeing. He can’t believe this is what young women do these days. Pandora’s body is incredible.

  Alarm bells start ringing in his mind. His conscience screams at him to log off. But he doesn’t think he can help himself. Besides, he is in control of the situation. If it goes bad, it’s her word – a lowly intern – against his. It’s an unworthy calculation and he feels a stab of self-loathing. But it passes.

  J: A sight for my sore eyes, I can tell you.

  Jeff slides his phone back in his pocket. Closes his eyes.

  Pop-ping

  He sighs, pulls out his phone. Now what does she want?

  P: We should go for a drink.

  A drink. Normally so harmless. But now laced with ambrosia, or the bitterest of poison. The prospect of a drink scares Jeff like few things ever have before. But he is thirsty. So thirsty.

  27.

  Rose replies to Jeff’s text just as Dr Anita Chan paces down the white laboratory corridor. Dr Chan, a forensic scientist at one of the city’s private labs, had worked the evidence on Koenig’s case. Rose hopes that she will have uncovered some useful information to advance the investigation into Coulter’s death. Chan is wearing a long white coat over a blue sweatshirt and black fitted pants.

  ‘Rose, good to see you.’ She smiles. ‘How are things?’

  ‘To be honest, could be a lot better. Tell me you’ve got something.’

  ‘Somebody paid a whole load to prioritize this case. I got a month’s backlog of blood tests to do,’ Dr Chan says, leading her through to the laboratory. ‘And before you ask, I don’t have a name for you. The instruction came down from the DoD budget office. That’s all I know.’

  Rose doesn’t need a name. It has to be Maynard’s doing, but why is Maynard so interested in this case?

  Dr Chan’s laboratory is large, consisting of separate departments hidden behind grey doors along the length of a fluorescent-lit white corridor.

  Dr Chan opens her office door, bids Rose to take a seat.

  ‘Do you want the bad news, or the slightly good news?’

  Rose’s shoul
ders heave with disappointment. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘You must understand that the samples the Bureau wanted us to look at were badly burned, so possible evidence may have been incinerated. There are traces of semen in the suit, belonging to the victim. Might have been there when his scrotum was torn apart, or as the result of sexual activity. As for fingerprints, most of them found in the apartment match the deceased. The slightly good news is that there were traces of prints from another party, but we couldn’t find a match.’

  Dr Chan hands Rose a photocopy of the other person’s prints. Rose hopes that they might be linked to the killer, or at least someone who can provide a further lead.

  ‘And that’s it,’ Chan continues. ‘No sign of gasoline, or any other accelerants. The fire originated from the suit itself, most likely the electrical wiring inside the rubber. My guess is that it got too hot, some of the wiring melted and then the whole lot went up, setting fire to the chair in which the vic was sitting.’

  ‘My God, it must have happened quickly. He didn’t even have time to move.’

  ‘Not that quickly. That kind of fire takes a while to take hold. I’d guess Coulter was very much aware of what was happening to him.’

  ‘But we found no sign of restraints.’

  Chan nods. ‘I read the report. Which is why this is disturbing. As far as I can tell he just sat there while he burned.’

  They share a brief silence, filled with thoughts of the man caught in an inferno so intense that it fused him, his suit and his chair into one charred mass.

  ‘You ever seen anything like this before?’ asks Rose.

  ‘Never.’

  But it’s possible you will, she thinks, once Wade Wolff’s new toy enters the homes of millions of Americans. Rose starts along a new line of thinking. Is it possible the killer left Coulter for dead and found a way for the suit to set itself on fire hours, maybe days after he had left his victim? That would explain the absence of anything on the security cameras footage, once the overwrite limit had passed.

  Rose thanks Dr Chan for her efforts and leaves the office. There is nothing else to be gleaned from Coulter’s remains, it seems, and the funeral can now take place. The coroner had found no trace of propofol, or anything else, in the liver, ruling out the sedative angle. That had been a blow, as Rose was hoping it could have explained the apparent passivity of the victim as he burned. Brennan is still struggling to crack the hard disk encryption on Coulter’s laptop, and without a search warrant the software company won’t help with unlocking the data.