Playing With Death

by Simon Scarrow

  At first Koenig lived in dread of discovery. But the days passed, and then weeks, and months. When the Holmes family began to raise concerns about their missing daughter, no one suspected the plastic surgeon she had been seen with at the restaurant and Koenig realized that it was possible to make people just disappear, except for the few keepsakes he cut from their bodies.

  A few months after Kayla’s murder he began to hunt his prey in earnest, picking his victims from online dating and sex sites that had exploded across the internet and the Stream like a virus. Some he’d have sex with, men as well as women, and then anaesthetize them as they slept before taking them down to the basement. It was only after the first few kills that he had taken to filming the process, and months later that he set up KKillKam and began to upload his video files.

  KKillKam had swiftly become a hit amongst the shadowy online community of the dark web. Especially when it was realized the torture and deaths were real and not some skilled amateur experimenting with make-up effects. There were still those who claimed KKillKam was a fake, and to quash such accusations Koenig had begun to leave evidence of his work for the authorities to find. Enough to allow for an identification and also enough for Koenig to leave his calling card – savage genital mutilation – so that the Bureau would be able to tell his kills from those of any interloper hoping to take credit for his handiwork.

  After the disaster at the cabin, Koenig managed to escape to the small underground shelter he had built a few miles away for just such an eventuality. There was a small stock of food and water, a change of clothes and fifty thousand dollars in cash that the IRS had never suspected even existed. And there he had holed up for days while his hunters assumed he had made it as far as the interstate and escaped in a hijacked car, or hitchhiked out of their clutches.

  Eventually they called off the search of the immediate area, and he had left it a further week before emerging. He’d rented a trailer in Oregon at first, having grown a beard and dyed his hair in order to remain undetected. He stayed inside, severing all contact with anyone who had ever known him and living off water and snacks he bought from a small store without security cameras. He’d had to abandon all his belongings at the cabin. And that was a bitter loss.

  All thanks to that bitch, Special Agent Rose Blake.

  Koenig frowns, the plastic surgical plate under his chin and on the top of his forehead creasing slightly. He scrolls back through his smartphone. He’s taken hundreds of selfies and videos to keep a log of his self-surgery. He trudges into the bathroom, yanks on the cord of the overhead light. Syringes lie near the sink where he has been regularly injecting collagen filler. His face is swollen and sore. Gone are his signature good looks, replaced with plainer features. His own mother wouldn’t recognize him. His hair is now black as opposed to blond. Ear pinning, chin reduction, brow lifts.

  He returns to the bedroom and examines the image of Rose again.

  This makes things interesting. He now knows what his new video masterpiece will be: an FBI agent. To announce his return to the world he will give his fans a show they will never forget. And he will show those fools at the Bureau that not even they are safe from him. Koenig cracks a smile, grimacing in pain. He holds the smile for a painful selfie and then he goes back to the bathroom to inject more collagen into the base of his jaw.

  That bitch took his face. He will take her life.

  There are preparations to be made. He does a search for Special Agent Rose Blake on his laptop and comes up with a long list of links to news reports, mostly print, but some videos as well. After scanning several links he comes to a news package on Gabby Vance’s vlog archive. She’s very helpful, giving a brief overview of the FBI’s failure to capture Koenig, and homing in on the undercover agent sent in to expose the killer. Was there more to her failure than the FBI let on? Vance asks earnestly to camera. Was there a cover-up of the FBI’s mistakes? There follow shots of Vance trying to run down and interview Blake’s colleagues and members of her family: her husband, son, father and sister.

  ‘Nice . . .’ Koenig pauses the video as Scarlet’s angry face is caught by the camera light. ‘Very nice . . . Well, hello, Scarlet. I am so looking forward to meeting you.’

  42.

  The next morning, Rose, Owen, Brennan and Baptiste sit in the latter’s office. None of them have slept, as they spent the remainder of the night trying to pursue the initial leads presented by the new case. Baptiste raises the question that is preoccupying her team.

  ‘OK, so we have strong links between this death and the Coulter case. They’re known to each other. They have both worked for the same company, in the same field, but not on the same project, as far as we can be sure. They were both wearing those suits and wired up to their computers at the time of death. But then, one goes up in flames and the other is beaten to death. At both locations there’s no sign of forced entry, and the killer’s been damn scrupulous about leaving a clean crime scene. So far CSI and forensics say there’s no third-party fingerprints on the door, no hair, no blood, no saliva, no DNA. That’s pure tradecraft, right there.’

  Owen arches an eyebrow and clears his throat. ‘You suggesting that this might be a pro? Black ops maybe?’

  ‘I hope not. I really do. But let’s assume that this one is not on Uncle Sam, unless we have watertight evidence to the contrary. So park that thought for now, Owen . . . If Coulter was a first kill we would expect some decent forensic evidence. So it’s possible that we’re looking at a perp who has killed before. They’re good at what they do.’ She pauses. ‘Which means we may find more bodies. Rose has drafted a preliminary profile. Rose?’

  ‘OK. The perp is likely to have knowledge of computer hardware, and the military Skins in particular. Physically strong enough to overpower his victims and brutally murder them, and intelligent enough to avoid leaving physical evidence. And he’s got hacking skills. The victims may have met the killer online. On the downside there are significant differences between the killings. Coulter’s death was messy, while Shaw’s was far neater, like the killer was so confident he had left no trace behind that he didn’t need to burn the evidence. Most homicides are committed by someone known to the victim, so we should focus on the relationships closest to the victims, but that’s brought us nothing so far. Serial murderers are not usually acquainted with or in a consensual relationship with their victims – in the normal sense. But something has to link the victims. Serial killers are successful killers, who learn from their experience, refining their methods, or “design”. I just hope we can learn fast enough to catch him. There’s something else.’ Rose pauses. ‘Coulter’s . . . genitalia was crushed. If that’s the same with Shaw, then we do have a possible Koenig link, or copycat.’ She pauses and shakes her head. ‘At least that’s what I’d have speculated based on the Bureau’s previous experience. But this case is nothing like anything we’ve come across previously. Even the most accomplished killers leave traces at the scene of the crime. But we found nothing . . . Nothing at all.’

  There’s silence before Baptiste hisses, ‘It’s fucked up. That’s for sure.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ adds Owen. ‘Two male victims? That isn’t like Koenig. He kills women in far greater numbers. I’d expect one or both to be women, if it is him resuming his career.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Rose concedes. ‘It’s possible this is the start of a new pattern, a new direction for him.’

  Baptiste nods. ‘Thanks, Rose. Owen, I’d like you to start sifting the records and see if there’s anything in the open cases of the last two years that might link to the two latest killings.’

  ‘I’ll get on it first thing after the meeting.’

  ‘We have another link,’ Baptiste continues. ‘One that is more difficult to account for. The closed chat message from Dr Woodman asking Shaw to meet him. We know that’s not likely to have been sent by the first victim. Unless w
e’re dealing with the undead. Right?’

  Brennan nods. ‘I checked the routing. There was no delay stamp. It was sent less than a minute before it reached Shaw’s inbox.’

  ‘So the sender is someone other than Coulter, and that sure as hell makes them a person of interest to us. Any chance they can be traced?’

  ‘Afraid not,’ says Brennan. ‘I traced the message to an IP address on a server located in the Turks and Caicos Islands. Out of our jurisdiction, and besides, you know how those assholes refuse to give up any details about their customers. That’s a dead end.’

  Rose says, ‘Whoever sent the email, Shaw never made the meeting at the pier. He wouldn’t have had time to get to the coast and back. And we were stationed outside. All the same, I’ve asked the police at Berkeley and Embarcadero to check the CCTV for any sign of Shaw at any of the piers in the area.’

  ‘Well, someone sent him that message. And I want to know who.’

  Rose clears her throat. ‘Whoever it was, Shaw knew them. Why else would he agree to meet on the pier, even if he never made it there? It would help if we could access all their exchanges. Any luck on Coulter’s hard drive?’

  Brennan shakes his head. ‘I’ve tried everything. Coulter’s encryption is bulletproof. At least so far. He was good at software security, and then some.’

  ‘What company did you say Coulter worked for?’ asks Baptiste.

  ‘Peek Industries,’ Rose says. ‘A private contractor out in Falls Church, Virginia. They do projects for the military. Cutting-edge stuff. But they’re not going to offer us any help, not unless we force their hand through legal channels, and that could take months.’

  ‘And then there’s Maynard . . .’ Baptiste mutters. ‘Pushing me hard for results.’

  ‘What if he’s at risk?’ asks Rose.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maynard knew both victims. He’s close to the projects they were working on.’

  ‘Shit . . . There could be something in that.’

  ‘Are you going to say anything to him?’

  Baptiste thinks a moment. ‘Not yet. What hard evidence do we have to support the possibility that he’s in the sights of whoever killed the victims? Whether that’s Koenig or not?’

  ‘Maynard’s definitely involved somehow,’ Rose says. ‘He’s hiding things from us. I think we should lean on him.’

  ‘Maynard’s heading up special projects for the DoD. Of course he’s going to be cagey about certain details.’ Baptiste says. ‘Before I say anything to him, I want real, hard evidence to back us up. Then there’s the small matter of finding a judge who agrees there is probable cause. It’s going to take time. All the same, Maynard remains, at the very least, a person of significant interest and I will speak to Washington, see if we can get a light surveillance package. But it’s going to be a big ask, given his position.’

  ‘Sonofabitch . . .’ Owen shakes his head. ‘Now I remember! That perp in the cells of Palo Alto PD knows about Peek Industries. DarkChild – Samer. He’s hacked a number of different companies. But I’m pretty sure one of them is Peek. He got deep into their network. He might know about their security systems or at least have some idea of how to break Coulter’s encryption . . .’

  Baptiste leans forward. ‘Just to be clear, what are you suggesting? We use a perp to hack into Peek’s computers to look for material on Coulter and Shaw? Are you nuts? You know how many laws we would be breaking?’

  ‘That’s not what I was thinking. Not yet, at least. It’s just that Samer might be some help with the encryption on Coulter’s hard drive, maybe Shaw’s machines. The least we might get out of him is some useful intel. Of course, if we sweeten the deal on the charges he’s facing he might prove very useful.’ Owen shrugs. ‘It’s worth a try. After all, we’re not getting very far by ourselves. If he can help then maybe we can cut him a deal.’

  Brennan’s expression hardens. ‘What? No way! You’re going to let a criminal onto our team?’

  ‘Just a suggestion.’ Owen shrugs. ‘After all, how far have you got in breaking through Coulter’s encryption?’

  ‘I need time.’

  ‘How much time?’

  ‘That isn’t a fair question. It all depends . . .’

  ‘So what are we talking about? Days? Weeks? Months?’

  Brennan clamps his lips together in a thin line.

  ‘He’s got a point, Brenn,’ Rose interrupts. ‘As the perps get smarter, so must we. Especially online. We have to think like them and work like them.’

  Brennan shakes his head.

  ‘You’re saying we should reward criminal behaviour by giving him his laptop back and a swipe card into the Bureau’s office? Maybe we should give the little fucker a badge while we’re at it.’

  Brennan turns to Baptiste. ‘There’s no way you’re going to let some snotty-nosed hacker get anywhere close to working with sensitive intel right here. That could get into the wrong hands – maybe not now, but a few years down the road it could bite us all in the ass. What sort of message does that send? “Oh, if your career as a criminal hacker doesn’t work out you can work for the Bureau!” I bust my ass to get in here. The correct way. Hard work. Study. And don’t I have some say? I’m the head of Cybercrime.’

  ‘Acting head of Cybercrime,’ Baptiste corrects him. ‘You’re still on probation, Brennan.’

  ‘I’m telling you, if—’

  ‘Quiet, Brenn!’ says Baptiste. She considers the situation in silence for a moment before she speaks again, addressing Owen. ‘We’ll need the federal attorney’s office involved in this one. Your boy, Samer, has pissed off some powerful companies. As soon as they know we have him they’ll be breathing down our necks to make sure he’s sent to the pen for as long as possible to pay for his crimes. Getting him a deal is not going to be easy, I can assure you. I just hope he’s worth it.’

  Rose says: ‘But even if Samer does get us into the hard drive, and maybe Shaw’s systems, is any of the evidence we may find going to be admissible? There’s so much of this bullshit privacy legislation standing in our way as it is. Do we know if we can use anything he finds for us?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to get an opinion off legal at Quantico. In the meantime, I’ll try and get more info out of Maynard and we’ll have a talk with this Samer and see what he might be able to do for us. No more commitment than that. OK, Brenn?’

  ‘It’s your funeral, boss. I’ll go along with it, for now. But I’m warning you. I think this is a bad idea . . . A real bad idea.’

  43.

  Maynard curses at his buzzing smartphone and apologizes to his companion, Dr Bradbury. It’s been ringing all day, and there are messages from his PA regarding the FBI. He swipes his access card in the reader, punches in his PIN number and stoops down for the light to scan his eye.

  ‘Welcome, Assistant Secretary William Maynard,’ a computer voice greets him.

  The light switches from red to green and the lock buzzes. He pulls the door open and enters the long underground server room at Peek Industries in Falls Church, Virginia, a short drive from the Pentagon. Maynard is responsible for overseeing Special Forces research and development. He takes pride in the efficiency with which the projects entrusted to him are carried through. There have been few failures in his tenure, but none more troubling than the Detached Intelligence Virtual Agent project and the shelved cyber suits which failed to live up to expectations. That had all gone to shit months ago. But was that his fault?

  No!

  It was down to that fool Coulter. And now it looks as if some psycho had a grudge relating to the sideshow Coulter, Shaw and Maynard had organized for themselves. Maynard paces down the corridor towards the main server room, which is protected by a silver door with a glass slit.

  ‘As of today, all work regarding the Diva project is s
uspended until further notice,’ he says to Bradbury, who is struggling to keep pace alongside him. ‘I need this shitstorm surrounding Coulter to blow over. Then we can make our case for renewing the funding for Diva, once we find someone to replace that fucking moron.’

  ‘That’s just it, sir. We’re going to find it hard to replace Gary and get the project back up to speed.’

  ‘That’s your problem. Or one for whoever I have to replace you with if you fail me.’

  Dr Bradbury is covering the project, acting as lead and systems administrator since Coulter’s death. He readjusts his glasses. ‘You can count on me, sir. Something you should know is that we’ve had enquiries from the FBI asking for an overview of Coulter’s work. And also about your relationship with him.’

  Maynard is angry. The FBI have no solid leads. No fingerprints, no DNA. They’ve hit a dead end over the killer and now they’re pushing this new angle. Looking into Coulter’s line of work. And trying to find links to his killer. At first, Maynard had suspected Shaw of committing the first murder, but decided the man wasn’t capable of that sort of violence. He was certainly a fool for attending the funeral though. And now he too had been murdered, more than likely by the same hand.

  Maynard has always assumed that his small division is hidden from sight in the labyrinth of Department of Defense spending. He thought that his superiors had trusted him enough to leave him to his own devices. Now he is not so sure. The deaths of Coulter and Shaw indicate that someone is on to the dirty little side game they were running with him. And now he might be in danger too.