"He is fun to be around."
"How long have you two been dating?"
S. didn't say anything at first. The silence was unexpected, and Amber-Lee said, "It's really none of my business."
"Oh, it's okay, I was just thinking...actually wondering what the answer might be."
"You don't know?"
"We've known each other for a long time. We met at a party. It was one of those things where people hung out in a field, drank a keg or two, and listened to music, and the guys did their best to get laid."
"And how did Mitch do?"
"He was cute but not how you might think. He was smooth for a little while then he started to ask some not-so-typical questions like what did I like to read. We got off the subject of him trying to get in my pants and into literature. I like books, so it was a refreshing change, but he seemed genuinely more interested in talking than necking."
"Weird. What happened next?"
"He went to get us a couple more beers. When he got back, we talked some more though I don't remember about what. Then, as if an alarm went off in his head, he got this strange look on his face - like he remembered the point of being young and drunk on a beautiful August night. I thought he was going to kiss me."
"Did he?"
"No. I'll never forget his face. He tried to continue the conversation, but too many beers and what I imagined was an internal argument, were too much. It was like he was trying to find his way back to hitting on me but was sad to leave such a nice talk. It really was a nice talk, too."
"What happened?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe he lost his nerve or was too drunk, but he said something about it being really nice meeting me, and he sort of staggered off."
"Did you want him to kiss you?"
"I'm not sure. I guess I expected it, but the unexpected was far more interesting."
"Obviously, he got the nerve eventually."
"It took him another lifetime to get back to that moment."
"That was sort of poetic."
"I should write it down or tell Mitch to. He does like note taking. Hey, look," S. said, pointing to where Mitch was photographing Morgan who seemed to be smacking his lips a lot.
"Oh, Morgan will love him for life now. So, you still didn't tell me how you two ended up here in Alaska, giggling and carrying on during the worst thunderstorm we've seen in years."
"You heard us over the storm?"
"It's okay. It comes with the job."
S. shrugged and said, "Well, we ran into each other every few years over the last couple of decades. Each time he had an interesting story or something, and I always remember laughing. About 18 months ago, we started staying in touch a little more mostly through Facebook. Then one day he shows up in San Francisco. He lives in New York. He asked me to lunch."
"When was that?"
"A few weeks ago, maybe three or four. I don't remember exactly. It's a bit of a blur. I guess you are right, though, he finally made his move."
"And it seems like you are glad he did."
S. smiled as she watched Mitch easing up to Tiny with something in his hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Paul found a seat near the back of the bus and was thankful when nobody took the one next to him. Just to be sure, he checked the pocket of his light jacket. The phone was still there. He was asleep before the bus started moving.
When Paul arrived in Bozeman, he stretched and yawned. He was far from home and even further from his comfort zone.
The phone in his pocket contained two videos. The first video had just the apology and a text message at the end, "Rudeness is no longer allowed." The second video had an additional fifteen seconds of gunshot to the chest and River's last tortured breath. He assumed YouTube would take the second video down with great haste once it hit their radar.
His mouth was dry, and he desperately wanted a shower. Paul walked for a while, thinking mostly about feeling grungy. The massive convenience store on the corner would help with his thirst at the very least.
He grabbed a one-liter bottle of water, opened it, and took a long pull. He picked up some deodorant and noticed a rack of tourist trap tee shirts. He had thought he should buy two and some duct tape.
Next to the counter were some recyclable tote bags. He grabbed one and smiled at Steve whose name tag said he was "Friendly and Willing to Help." Steve was willing to help, but "friendly" seemed a stretch. "Hello, I'm Steve, and I'm Ambivalent and Willing to Help" would have been more accurate. Paul would have thought the "Ambivalent" name tag hilarious had it been real. He set his stuff down.
Steve said, "Did you have any fuel today?"
"No, just this stuff."
"Would you be interested in a double chocolate brownie?"
"No...wait...yes, I would."
The successful suggestive sale seemed to lift Steve's spirits. "They're really good. The brownies are in the same cabinet with the donuts."
Paul grabbed two. "Thanks, Steve, I didn't know it until now, but I think I need a brownie...well, two, actually."
"You want me to put everything in a separate bag or inside the eco-bag?"
"The eco-bag, but I'll keep the water."
Paul went to the restroom and locked the door. After splashing a little water on his face, he used his shirt as a towel then put on both tee shirts. He put his shirt in the bag and took out the phone. The battery was getting low. He hadn't thought about that.
He hit upload on the first video to River Jones' YouTube account but set the display to private. It would take a few minutes, so he put the phone in the eco-bag and left the convenience store.
The next thing he needed to do was find a restaurant or diner. He found a somewhat dubious looking place and went in. It was mostly empty, which was exactly what Paul wanted.
A voice from the kitchen yelled, "Martha, get up front...customer."
The woman, came through the swinging door all smiles, "Howdy, can I get you a cup of jo?"
"Sure, thanks."
"You just sit anywhere you like, hon. I'll be right over."
A few weeks ago Paul would have never even noticed a place like this dive let alone gone inside. It was cleaner than he expected from the outside. There was a pie on one of those little silver stands with the glass top. It looked like cherry and made him forget about the brownies.
He checked the phone. The first video had finished. He hit upload on the second one and checked the battery. It would make it, but there wouldn't be much juice left, which sort of defeated the purpose of his grand plan.
Martha brought the coffee, and Paul ordered a steak sandwich. To look at her, one would assume she was a miserable woman in a dead end job, but, to talk with her, it seemed she was just happy to be alive. He liked her.
Paul needed to put something in the description of the video. He decided to quote the Bible: "For behold, the Lord is coming out from his place to punish the inhabitants of the earth for their iniquity, and the earth will disclose the bloodshed on it, and will no more cover its slain. - Isaiah 26:21."
The last time he had been to church was in sixth grade. He liked the quote because it would provide plenty of fodder for the news folks to debate. Paul double-checked the verse to make sure he had gotten it right. He didn't want trolls taking over the comments by mocking a typo.
He noticed an outlet in the booth and wished he had a charger. Martha brought his sandwich. He asked, "Is there an electronics store nearby?"
"You betcha. It is just around the corner."
"You mind watching my stuff? I'll be right back."
"I don't mind one bit."
Paul was back in five minutes. With the phone charging, he could just sit and enjoy his lunch. He ordered the pie. It was just as good as it looked. He had another couple of cups of coffee. When the phone was charged, he settled the bill with a generous tip and headed out.
Paul walked back towards the bus stop. He was looking for a car that was headed
east. He walked for six blocks and found a motel that was shaped in a giant U. There were rooms on both sides, so he walked towards the back.
The parking lot had eight cars in it, all of the plates from somewhere else. A rusty Dodge with Illinois plates was parked in front of a room with the curtains drawn. Paul continued around to the front of the motel. The park across the street would be perfect for getting the phone ready.
Three squealing children played on a jungle gym. It was annoying. Paul went to the picnic table at the far end and sat down. He pulled his gloves out of his jacket pocket and slid them on. Paul removed a couple of strips of tape. The first one likely had his fingerprints from the convenience store, so he wadded it up. The second and third strips he stuck to the back of the phone. It didn't look like enough.
Paul created a blanket of tape with four inches of sticky all around. He switched both videos to public on Jones' YouTube account. With the ringer turned off, all he had to do was find a couple of friends that might be interested in the video. He pulled the blanket of tape off the phone and laid it carefully in the bag. As he walked back to the motel, Paul sent text messages with links to the video to anyone he could find in the contact list.
Nobody was around the motel. His heart raced, almost more than when he strangled the waiter back in Italy. Trying not to walk beyond a pace that was normal, he stopped to tie his shoe at the back of the car from Illinois. Like a master thief he crawled under the car and pulled the tape from the bag.
Just as he was about to tape it to the underside of the car, it vibrated and startled him. "Fuck."
Paul turned off vibrate. He read the text; it was from Susan. "WTF?" It was hard to text with gloves on, but he couldn't resist: "Sorry, I'm dead." A few seconds later he had the phone securely taped in place. He crawled out from beneath the car and pulled off the top tee shirt, which was, as he expected, fairly dirty. He shoved it in his bag.
Paul stood up in the empty lot and walked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rick Chavez turned 36 at midnight. It was 8 am when he walked into F.B.I. headquarters in DC. The guard at the front desk said, "You're late."
"I'm right on time," he said, looking at his watch.
"Your people have been here since six."
Rick checked his phone, but he hadn't missed any messages. He took the stairs. The cubicles where the analysts usually lived were strangely empty. The conference room was not. He did his best to sneak in unnoticed.
The man at the board was Joseph Pendleton, his boss. "So, that lays out everything we know. You should all be current. I don't have to tell you, we live in a new age. This psycho is tech savvy, and there is nothing we can do to put this genie back in the box."
Everyone filed out.
"Rick, I'll catch you up," he said and handed him the briefing.
"Give me ten minutes."
"You've got five."
When Rick closed the briefing, Pendleton said, "Any comments?"
"It's bottle."
"What?"
"The genie is out of the bottle not the box."
"Nice catch. We've been at it since four. I didn't call because I figured you'd be too drunk to think."
"You figured right."
"How's the brain working now?"
"I ran ten kilometers this morning and chased the hangover away. I'm fine. So, what isn't this report telling me?"
"You've been a rising star for the last five years. Nobody has a better record, and all you are missing is the signature case. The sooner we catch this guy, the sooner you can get behind that hunk of antique mahogany in my office."
"Why 4 am?"
Pendleton hit play and talked over the video. "This is one of two. They are identical except for the ending, which you will see makes it a snuff film. We haven't been able to confirm the authenticity, but the tech guys say it looks real. It took three hours for both videos to hit a million views. YouTube pulled the one with the execution as soon as they noticed, but it was too late. The video had already spread to several file-sharing sites."
"What about the first video?"
"It made it to five million views at 2:30 am and was on Fox, CNN, and MSNBC by 2:35. I got a call at 2:38."
The video finished. Rick wrote down a few notes and asked, "Have they named him yet?"
"No, but I suspect something catchy will be pulled off Twitter by lunch."
"Where do we begin?"
"Right now we only have the fear of a killer. There isn't a body or crime scene; at best, we have a missing person case and a frantic mother."
"Where does she live?"
"The mom is in Billings. That's where you're headed. You want to take Phillips with you?"
"No, I want Nancy Granville."
"She's an analyst."
"She's a geek first, a really smart geek."
"Granville isn't a field agent."
"We don't have a crime in the field. We have a murder in cyberspace. That's her world."
"Fair point. Grab her and your gear and get to Billings."
"I'll tell her she is coming along. I'll not be grabbing a female colleague," he said with a wink.
"Your literal sense of humor is not going to play well when you're the boss."
"Yes, but when I'm the boss, people will feel obligated to laugh...like we do now."
Pendleton gave a half smile, shook his head, and went back to his office.
Chavez watched the videos one more time. He noted that there was only one voice and that the video had a couple of shots edited together. The killer, if this were real, must be somewhat skilled with editing software. He needed to go find Nancy Granville.
#
Chavez didn't know much about Agent Granville, but her reputation was all he needed. She was, as they used to say when he worked out of the Boston office, wicked smart.
Her desk had three pencils, sharpened; an iPhone plugged into a charger; a PC laptop; and a single bit of personalization, a tiny Harry Potter Lego set. She was typing furiously, and lines of code were pouring out onto the screen. He watched her type and could barely hear what sounded like the Beach Boys leaking out from her ear buds.
"Agent Granville, I need to..." It was obvious she couldn't hear him, so he moved into her peripheral vision. She yelped.
"Sorry, you startled me," Nancy said as she pulled out the ear buds and hit pause on her iPhone.
"What are you listening to?"
"'Shut Down,' by the Beach Boys. How may I help you Agent Chavez, sir?"
"I need you to come with me."
"Sure, let me grab my notepad."
"I meant I need you to come with me to Montana. Billings to be exact."
"You want me to go out in the field?"
"Yes."
"Yes!" She said, perhaps more loudly than she had intended. "I've got a bag in my locker just in case this ever happened."
An hour later they were wheels up.
#
Chavez had reread the brief twice, checked his emails, and knew every one of the few details they had about the case. Though he was in good shape, the remnants of marking his thirty-six years were lingering. A nap seemed like a good idea.
Granville chose a seat across the aisle behind him and spread out her tech. This done, she plopped in the seat directly across from him. She was almost panting with excitement. "I know you probably do this all the time, but this is my first time on a Lear Jet. It is fantastic. How long will it take us to get there? Are we going to go straight to the family's house? Are there agents on the ground? Is that the way we're supposed to say it - agents on the ground? Or is it boots on the ground?"
"I prefer people on terra firma wearing reasonably priced loafers."
She laughed for a second then put her hand over her mouth. "You're mocking me."
"Yes, I am."
"I tend to get chatty when I'm nervous."
"Don't be nervous. It is unlikely we are going to run into the killer. Yo
u do know how to shoot that thing, don't you?"
"Yes, I was third in my class on the range. I only got beat by Brooke and Allen who had been shooting since they were kids. I never thought I would get to do field work, though. Don't get me wrong; I love being an analyst. I mean, we do important work, too."
"The analysts do most of the heavy lifting. Field agents just go cuff em."
"Have you ever been shot? Everyone talks about how great an agent you are, but I honestly try not to listen to gossip even if it is the good kind."
"That is probably a good policy. I was thinking..."
"Thanks. I was thinking about the video. Do you think the killer knew the victim? I mean, he knew enough to find his YouTube account. He must have hacked it and uploaded it."
"Did you notice anything else about the video?"
"There was only one voice, which shows the killer was smart enough not to give us a voice print, and that it was three shots edited together. So, he must have shot the video and spent some time working on the final version. He either hacked into the YouTube account or..."
Granville scurried back to her laptop and began furiously tapping away. Chavez was relieved and closed his eyes, but the last thing she said kept him from sleeping. "What did you mean when you said 'or'?"
"Give me a second. I just need to check something, and I'll...Ha! I knew it. Either it is a hoax or the killer used the victim's phone to film it. The victim's phone is on and moving through Bozeman as we speak."
"What?"
She spun the laptop around to show him the green dot. "It seems to have stopped here."
"Send out an APB and let every office in Montana know. I want that phone."
"There are ten of them. I made an email list: Bozeman, Billings, Glasgow..."
"More sending, less listing."
"Got it, sorry."
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The birds that chose to sing outside Paul's window seemed less annoying than two days earlier. He wasn't one to stay in bed, but, by the time he got back in, he was wiped out. After 12 hours of sleep, all he wanted to do was stay in bed and think.
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