"For all we know,” Najib agreed.
"Since you're not letting us do your homework,” Taeo said with a smile.
Kyle smiled back. “Thanks."
They watched him as if they expected him to leave. But he wasn't going to leave until he was done, no matter how uncomfortable it made everyone at the table. He wasn't the kind of guy who would sit down for one question and leave when the Geek Squad answered it. He didn't want to treat them like that.
The Geek Squad didn't talk much while he was there. Nellie kept sending him sideways glances.
Finally, she said, “Why do you need to send a secret text?"
He debated telling her the truth, and then decided against it. “I don't,” he said, flashing his most charming smile. “Maybe I truly am going to write a paper."
She flushed as if he'd embarrassed her. He probably had. He'd done what he'd just vowed not to. He'd belittled her by making her answers to his questions into a joke.
"Or maybe,” he said in a gentler tone, “I'm finally doing the stuff my dad doesn't want me to. It's about time I get a spine anyway. At least, that's what he says."
They watched him, mouths open. He started shaking. He piled his dishes on the side of the table, then pushed his chair back.
Why did he have to tell her the truth? Because he'd embarrassed her? He embarrassed a lot of people.
No. It was because he'd hurt her feelings, and all she'd done was ask a simple question after he demanded that she help him.
He wasn't used to demanding anything from anyone, and he certainly wasn't used to someone taking a genuine interest in what he was doing, which was what she had displayed.
He felt a flush warm his own cheeks. He'd embarrassed himself and he had a hunch it was only going to get worse.
* * * *
He cut classes that afternoon. Since it was hot again—stifling, really—he decided not to take the subway. Instead he stopped at one of the neighborhood touristy shops and bought a white FDNY T-shirt, carefully putting his jacket, his shirt, and his still-tied tie in the bag.
He didn't want to be memorable when he bought the SIM cards on the street.
He was halfway to the spy shop when he realized he needed something to drink. He stopped in a nearby coffee shop and bought an iced cappuccino. As he sipped it inside the air-conditioned shop, he frowned at himself.
What had he said to Nellie? Maybe I'm finally doing the stuff my dad doesn't want me to.
But he'd always done the stuff his dad didn't want him to do. He'd just worked very hard at not getting caught. When he did get caught, he took his punishment and silently vowed not to get caught again.
The important sentence had been the next one: It's about time I get a spine anyway. Because if he had a spine, he would defy his dad in public, when getting caught was guaranteed.
Kyle had done that a few times before, but those defiant moments had been accidental. Even though he'd made a study of his dad's temper his entire life, he wasn't always sure what would set the man off. Who knew that a simple thing like reporting a murder victim would piss off his father so badly?
His father didn't want him to call attention to himself. But attention had already been called. The media knew that Kyle Worthington, only son of billionaire Jackson Worthington, had discovered a body in an alley. They'd used that moment to explore the history of his family and to recycle all that file footage of Kyle from his very first departure from the hospital wrapped in the arms of his smiling mother to a picture of him and Mason and Devin talking on the steps of school.
The story had been a story not because of the girl, but because of Kyle.
And nothing he could do would change that.
Kyle tossed the iced cappuccino into a nearby garbage can and left the coffee shop. Instead of heading down to the spy shop, he walked half a dozen blocks to the precinct listed on the card the chief detective had given him.
Kyle didn't stop as he walked inside. He used all his skills to keep his face neutral as he wended his way up a flight of stairs to the main desk.
No one needed to know how terrified Kyle Worthington, only son of billionaire Jackson Worthington, was of doing the right thing.
* * * *
The detective, one Louis Gollier, stood beside an ancient office desk, flipping through manila folders. He was a small man wearing a brown suit jacket that had frayed cuffs. He didn't seem too thrilled to see Kyle.
"Your dad know you're here?” Gollier asked. And that was when Kyle knew that in addition to chewing his son a new asshole, his father had chewed Gollier one too.
"No.” Kyle's voice didn't shake, and he considered that a step forward.
Gollier sighed. He looked exhausted. He waved over another detective, who took one look at Kyle and shook his head in weary resignation.
"What do you want?” Gollier asked.
"I got something to show you,” Kyle said. “You got a computer?"
Gollier looked at the other detective, who shrugged. Kyle couldn't tell if the other man was Gollier's boss or just someone who was present to cover Gollier's ass.
"Over here,” Gollier said, leading him to a desk toward the back.
"Can we go online from here?” Kyle asked.
Gollier nodded. He punched the machine's space bar so that the screen saver disappeared, then clicked on the Internet icon. A program Kyle didn't recognize booted up, slower than anything he'd seen in years.
"Gimme the site,” Gollier said.
Given how slowly the computer worked, Kyle would rather type in the site himself. But he told Gollier to go to www.tallystipsforhair.com/contact. That took them directly to the photograph.
"Jeez, kid.” Gollier looked over his shoulder at Kyle. “You knew about this when?"
Kyle swallowed. He knew this part was coming. “I thought she looked familiar when I found her, but I wasn't sure. So I logged on last night. The guy who killed her, he knew the site."
"So did you,” said the other detective.
Kyle nodded. “That's why I debated coming in."
"Your dad would want you to bring your lawyer,” said Gollier.
Kyle had to resist giving him a pitying look. His dad had inserted himself into the investigation so forcefully that an NYPD detective was worried about lawsuits.
"He would,” Kyle said. “But that's my problem."
"Kid, it's mine too,” Gollier said. “How'm I supposed to look at this? You found her, for God's sake. You could've dummied this up for us."
Kyle reached over him, deleted the word “contact” from the web address, and hit Refresh. It took a minute, but the website's home page finally appeared, with fifteen different videos of the Breck Girl cued up and waiting to be played.
"Your computer people can look at all of this,” Kyle said. “I didn't dummy any of it up. She's been around for about six months."
"You know this because ... ?” Gollier let the word hang, as if the implication was that Kyle knew her.
"Because he's a red-blooded teenage boy,” the other detective said. “This is the underwear section of the Sears catalogue for a new generation."
Kyle didn't exactly get the reference, but he understood enough to flush.
Gollier shook his head. “Why not just go to a porn site? Or is this one?"
"No,” Kyle said. “She was just..."
He didn't know how to finish that sentence. It sounded lame to say she was just into hair. But she was. And that was all he knew about her.
"I didn't even know she lived near New York until yesterday. And I wasn't sure she was the same person until last night. You can have your techs check the site. I'm sure it'll show when I logged on yesterday."
"This changes things,” the other detective said.
"At least you know who she is now,” Kyle said.
"Oh,” Gollier said, “we knew that yesterday. We found a purse not too far away. Money was gone, but her I.D. was intact. Family's been notified, no one knows what happened."
&n
bsp; "So you got suspects, then,” Kyle said.
"Kid, until just now, we had a possible runaway with no local ties. Except you."
"And all the guys at my school,” Kyle said.
"Including the boys you were with?"
Kyle shrugged. His stomach had clenched. Maybe he should have sent that text after all. Or brought a lawyer. He thought the police would get through the suspicion stuff pretty damn quick. But that wasn't happening.
"I don't know who she was,” Kyle said. “I don't know where she lived. I can tell you everything I did for the past week. And most of it is on tape."
"What?” Gollier said.
Kyle swallowed. “My dad—he hid some cameras in my room. He doesn't think I know about them. So if I wasn't in school, I was at home, being filmed."
Gollier glanced at the other detective, who mimed a visible shudder.
"You don't got friends?” the other detective asked.
"I do,” Kyle said, unsure whether or not that was a lie. “I didn't spend much time with them this week."
Gollier sighed. “We're going to look into this Web site crap. If we need to talk to you, we're going to call. Both you and your dad. Got it?"
Kyle's stomach clenched so hard that it actually hurt. “I do."
"Then we're done,” Gollier said.
Kyle nodded. He turned, feeling slightly dizzy, and realized he wasn't breathing. He made himself suck in some of the precinct's stale air.
"Hey, kid,” the other detective said. “How come you came in?"
Kyle swallowed. He wanted to say, because it was the right thing, but he knew that would sound both lame and suspicious. So he took another deep breath before turning around.
"Right now,” he said, his voice shaking, “on the news, it's all about me. I found her. I did this, I did that. No one talks about her. And she's the one who died. Pretty horribly, right?"
"Yeah,” the other detective said.
"It should be about her,” Kyle said.
The other detective nodded, but it was Gollier's expression that softened.
"Ah, kid,” he said softly, “out there, it's never about the victim, no matter how much we want it to be."
* * * *
By the time Kyle got home, the Breck Girl's real identity (Ioni Locke from Schen-ectady) and her original YouTube video were on NY1. From that moment on, reporters stopped mentioning Kyle's name, except as the one who discovered the body. The story grew from a grisly murder case to the dangers of the Internet to the way that society (and its youngest members) voluntarily give up their privacy.
Kyle followed it all, even after they caught the alleged killer, a middle-aged mechanic named Harold Talbert who spent his evenings trolling the Internet and picking up underage girls. Most were runaways, but he'd become obsessed with the Breck Girl, visiting her site and e-mailing her constantly.
No one knew (or maybe the police weren't releasing) how he managed to kidnap her, but Kyle did remember that the detective said they'd initially thought she was a runaway, so she had probably left the house voluntarily.
All the news did release was that Talbert's garage was filled with her blood. The mutilation, the press speculated, had happened there.
Once all that came down, Kyle thought he was in the clear. Even though he had deliberately defied his father, he hadn't been caught. The police never called and asked for the recordings Kyle's father made (good thing too, because any good analyst would find the loop) and the detectives had kept Kyle's involvement secret.
Or at least, he thought they had until six months later when a junior prosecutor stopped by the house just before dinner to talk with Kyle.
The butler answered and announced the prosecutor at the dinner table. Kyle's father had been eating with the concentration of a man facing his last meal, but he looked up at the announcement.
"Gareth Jennings from the district attorney's office for Mr. Kyle."
"Mr. Kyle?” Kyle's father said.
Kyle stiffened. His mother looked at him as if he had done something wrong.
His father wasn't that subtle. “You in trouble?"
"No,” Kyle said.
"Show him in, then.” Kyle's father said to the butler.
Gareth Jennings was maybe thirty. He clutched a briefcase that looked so cheap it might fall apart if he bumped it against something. But his dark eyes were avid, and the set of his jaw made it pretty clear that he was going somewhere and no billionaire's family was going to slow him down.
"What do you want with my son?” Kyle's father asked.
"We want to make sure he'll testify in the Locke case."
"The what?” Kyle's father asked.
His mother leaned over and said in her hesitant, whispery voice, “You know, that poor girl from the alley..."
"Oh,” Kyle's father said. “You don't need my son to establish that her body was found. Use one of his little friends."
Kyle winced. He watched Jennings from the corner of his eye, but otherwise kept his head down. His heart was pounding.
"We don't need him to establish that the body was found, sir,” Jennings said. “We will probably need him to testify on his meeting the day after with detectives."
"He didn't meet with detectives,” his father said. “He would have no reason to."
Kyle was getting dizzy. That clenched feeling in his stomach had returned, threatening the little bit of his dinner that he had eaten.
Now was the moment to stand up to his father. Since so much time had gone by, he actually thought it wasn't going to happen.
But now it was. And he wasn't ready.
"I told them about the Web site, Dad,” Kyle said, hoping his voice sounded normal. Of course, it didn't. It sounded even more strained and terrified than he felt.
"What?” His father raised his head. “You were told to stay out of this. It's not our concern."
Kyle's cheeks flushed. Kyle's mother picked up her plate and carried it into the kitchen.
"Yeah,” Kyle said to Jennings. “I'll testify if you need me."
Kyle's father said, “You can't. I won't allow it."
Kyle's hand clenched. His whole body ached from the strain of sitting at attention. “It's the right thing, Dad."
"The right thing.” His father rolled his eyes. “Please."
"It is.” Kyle didn't look at his father. Instead, he watched Jennings, who was shifting his briefcase from hand to hand. “I'll testify."
"I forbid it,” his father said.
Kyle finally looked at him directly. “Try and stop me."
"It's not hard, Kyle. My attorneys will make sure you never step into a courtroom."
"Then I'll go to the press.” Kyle's voice squeaked. Even his throat was tight.
"The press?” His father's tone had become dangerous. His eyes were flat. Two spots of color had appeared on his otherwise pale cheeks.
If the prosecutor hadn't been there as a witness, Kyle's father would probably have hit him.
"Yes, sir,” Kyle said. “I helped the police because I knew something they needed to know. It was the right thing to do."
His father snorted. “The right thing was to keep our family out of this. The right thing was to shut the hell up and do what you're told."
Kyle nodded, then he stood. He was shaking, but he wasn't going to stop. He rounded the table and approached the prosecutor.
"Let me walk you to the door,” Kyle said as if nothing had gone wrong, as if his father wasn't watching them. “I do mean it. I'll testify. I'll come with you now and put everything on record if you want, before my father's lawyers get involved."
The prosecutor looked terrified. “It's just a precaution. I'm sure we won't need you. The detectives can establish how they found the site. It's just that I'm supposed to make sure the witnesses are prepared in case this does go to trial."
"You think the case won't go to trial?” Kyle asked.
"There's too much evidence,” Jennings said. “The defense knows that
we have him, not just on this case, but half a dozen others."
Kyle shuddered. He didn't care what his father said. Because of Kyle, this creep had been caught. The police would have ignored the case otherwise. They admitted as much.
"How did this guy find her?” Kyle asked.
"Standard stuff.” Jennings looked over Kyle's shoulder. Kyle looked too. His father sat at the table, finishing his dinner alone.
"What do you mean?” Kyle asked.
"Modeling,” the prosecutor said. “He offered her a contract with a major agency. It looked legit. We saw the snail-mail letters. As I said, we have a lot."
Then he thanked Kyle, reassured him again that he probably wouldn't have to testify, and fled the apartment as if it were a crime scene.
Kyle closed the door and leaned on it.
Ioni Locke, the Breck Girl, had done everything she could to get noticed, and it had gotten her killed. Kyle had done everything he could so that no one would notice him, and now he had to face his father.
Kyle walked back to the dining room. He stiffened his shoulders, bracing himself. “You said I needed a spine."
"I did not mean that you should subject this family to some tawdry police investigation. You'll be in the news for months—"
"At least I'll be in it for doing something I believe in,” Kyle said. “You were always afraid I'd be in it for doing something wrong."
His father tilted his head ever so slightly.
"I'm going to do what I do from now on,” Kyle said. “You shouldn't mind. I don't do drugs. I've only gotten drunk a few times. I don't date because I don't want to end up in the tabloids. It's bad enough that my own father films me every single moment of every single day. I don't need strangers doing the same thing."
His father leaned back. He didn't seem shocked that Kyle knew about the cameras. He looked like a man prepared for this argument.
"You need to be protected,” his father said. “You see what a dangerous world it is out there. You see what happens to people who trust too easily."
"You don't have to worry,” Kyle said. “You made sure I don't trust anyone."
His father raised a finger, clearly about to say something.
But Kyle didn't want to listen. He was tired of being afraid of his father, tired of not having a spine.
EQMM, July 2009 Page 13