The Murderers' Club

by P. D. Martin

  “We get that password, we can.”

  Brooke gulps down the rest of her Diet Coke and slams the can on the table. “Untouchable.”

  “No one’s untouchable,” Darren says, leaning forward.

  She looks at him with disdain. “That’s the password for the laptop.” She sighs. “If I’m going down, he’s going down.”

  30

  Gerard sits in front of the computer with Darren and me on either side, huddled in close so we can see the screen. My stomach grumbles loudly and both Gerard and Darren look at me.

  “I second that,” Darren says. “Chinese?”

  “Sounds good. It’s well past my dinnertime.” I rub my stomach.

  Darren stands up. “And tonight’s going to be a long one. A very long one.” He pauses. “Any preferences?”

  Gerard and I both shake our heads.

  Darren punches a number into his phone and orders enough to feed a small army before sitting back down.

  Gerard puts his Windows Evidence Acquisition Boot Disk into the laptop and presses the on button. At the first prompt he types in the BIOS password and then hits Enter.

  “Okay, so I’m interrupting the boot process,” Gerard says, hitting a couple of keys. “This is an Intel-based computer, so I’m going to check the CMOS configuration first.”

  “English please,” Darren says.

  “Computers use a Complementary Metal Oxide Silicon configuration tool for details like the date and time, and more importantly, which drive the computer will look at first to boot the operating system. I need to check that the time is set correctly and matches the hard drive—the time stamps for when this computer was used to log on to the Web site may become crucial evidence when we’re prosecuting. They correlate with your victims, but we don’t want those time stamps questioned by the defense.”

  “Okay,” Darren says.

  Gerard stares at the screen. “The date looks right…and the time has been set on East Coast time and it’s come across onto Daylight Saving Time correctly too. The system has been set up to check the C-drive first for the operating system. I’ll change that now.” Within a few keystrokes, Gerard seems satisfied. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  The screen goes blank again, and the standard Windows operating system loading screen comes up, followed by the log-in prompt. Gerard types “Untouchable” and hits Enter.

  Gerard’s hands type furiously again. After a few seconds he’s reaching into his bag of tricks. “I’m going to make another copy of the hard drive contents. You never can be too sure.” He inserts a memory stick into the laptop’s USB port and copies some files across.

  Gerard stares at the screen blankly. “I’m just thinking…” He pauses and opens up a new window, letting the file copying process continue in the background. “The laptop logs confirm use around Malcolm’s and Brigitte’s deaths, but what about Cindy?”

  I shrug. “Cindy’s killer mustn’t have used the house laptop.”

  “Maybe.” Gerard pauses. “But I wonder…” Again, Darren and I watch as Gerard’s fingers glide effortlessly over the laptop’s keyboard.

  Darren and I step slightly away from Gerard, leaving him in his own world.

  “We’ll go online and pretend to be BlackWidow?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe we can lure some information out of one of the other killers.”

  “I dunno. Whoever set this up is smart. Very, very smart.”

  “I know. The real dilemma is, do we try to delay the scheduled pick-up of Brooke and Jonathan, or do we keep someone at the house and try to intercept Chester, or whoever comes for them?” I bite my lip.

  “Chester could lead us straight to the boss. Or maybe Chester is the boss.”

  “That’s the best outcome. The worst is that he’s not pulling the strings and nabbing him will then risk the lives of the other victims. And that’s a big risk.”

  “How much will Gerard be able to get?” Darren looks at Gerard’s back. Gerard doesn’t even look up at the mention of his name—he’s too absorbed in his work.

  “On the phone before he came over, he said he’d aim to pinpoint the location of the cameras, the Web server, and the people logging on. But it won’t be in the next hour.”

  “Do you have any feelings on this one?” Darren lowers his voice.

  I think about it…with so many leads now I haven’t tried to induce another vision and none have come, either.

  “Let’s stall,” I say.

  “Interesting.” Darren and I are interrupted by Gerard’s catch-cry.

  We move closer to the screen.

  “Someone else has accessed the site from this computer. But they’ve done a damn good job of covering their tracks.”

  I stare at the screen, even though it doesn’t reveal anything to me. “Go on.”

  “Someone has marked a section of the hard drive as bad. It’s a common way to conceal data, even deleted data. And one of my little babies found it.” He points to the disk drive, which must now hold one of the many software tools he rattled off earlier. The only one that stuck in my mind was the Forensics Toolkit. Good name.

  Gerard continues. “So, that access was on April second at 8:15 p.m. Daylight Savings Time.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “Cindy.”

  Darren nods.

  “Username, AmericanPsycho—”

  “That’s who Brooke was talking about,” Darren straightens up. “She said psycho, but I didn’t realize it was one of the member’s login names.”

  “So AmericanPsycho is the president.” I look at Gerard. “What were you saying?”

  “The password. It’s AD15221. Which is also interesting.”

  “Why?” Darren asks.

  “AmericanPsycho knows quite a bit about computers. Not only did he hide his use of the computer, and very well, but the password gives it away too.”

  Neither Darren nor I get the significance. Our faces must show this, because Gerard explains.

  “You notice that BlackWidow chose sexybitch as her password, something she could relate to and remember easily. NeverCaught used Never—very unimaginative and not very secure. You shouldn’t use your username or part of your username as a password. It’s one of the first things intruders try. But AmericanPsycho’s password seems more random, at this stage at least. Of course, that could turn out to be his initials and part of his phone number, but I doubt it. Not when he went to so much trouble to hide his use of this computer.” He looks at me. “Okay, you ready?”

  I take a deep breath. “Yep. Let’s log in as BlackWidow.” I start to prepare myself to walk in Brooke’s shoes, to become the Black Widow.

  “Given Psycho’s computer knowledge, I’m going to have to log in using the operating system installed on this laptop. The copies of the hard drive will have to be enough for court.” Gerard doesn’t seem particularly happy with this, but we don’t exactly have a lot of options.

  He restarts the laptop, and we’re now presumably working from the original operating system. He opens up a Web browser window and types in www. mur before pausing. “Just checking the settings. You know how you can start typing an address and it fills in the rest?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Well, in this case the temp files must have been set up to auto-delete, because nothing’s coming up. I’ll have to type in the full URL.” He finishes off the rest of the address. A blank screen loads with two fields. No logo, no writing, nothing. Gerard types in BlackWidow and then sexybitch before hitting Enter on the keyboard.

  “Now we get to go inside.” I lean in further.

  “Want to drive?” Gerard asks me.

  “Good idea. Anything I need to know from a tech point of view?”

  “You should be fine. I’ll let you know if I see anything strange.”

  I switch seats with Gerard. The page seems to take a while to load. I look at Gerard questioningly.

  “It’s okay. It’s the cellular network. Not as fast as the connection you’re use
d to. Plus the server will be authenticating you and detecting your media settings for the video streams.”

  I nod, happy for the extra time to shift characters. I think about the profile, I think about Brooke’s language and demeanor during questioning. And I think about all the crime scenes and what they tell me about her. I’m a predator, a female predator who has no respect for men. Men are there for sexual satisfaction and then to punish—it’s all about revenge.

  The page finishes loading. A small banner up the top says The Murderers’ Club in red and directly underneath the banner are three menu items—News, The Contestants, All Streams and Maps. In the center of the page are two video streams. One shows two women sitting on milk crates—the bunker. The other one shows an Asian woman chained to an old-style hospital bed. She looks very, very frightened.

  “Ling is still alive!” I shout, unable to contain my glee. It so rarely happens that a victim you think is dead turns up alive. I notice the chat-room lines coming up on the right-hand side of the screen and I shift my focus back to the site, back to BlackWidow, with a new sense of purpose. Ling.

  The window displays three users in green, indicating they’re online. BlackWidow is one of them, and the others are NeverCaught and DialM. In total there are four people icons, four usernames.

  “Brooke was telling the truth. There’s only four of them,” I say, relief evident in my voice. Of course, it doesn’t matter to the victims how many there are, but tracking down four killers is more manageable than trying to track down twenty or more. One in custody and three to go.

  NeverCaught: Hey, BW. You having fun?

  “You’re on,” Darren says.

  I can’t hesitate too long. Brooke would never hesitate, not when it came to her men.

  BlackWidow: Oh yeah.

  DialM: So, how’s Jonathan? Dead?

  BlackWidow: I’m having too much fun to kill him. I’d like to keep him around for a bit longer.

  NeverCaught: ***ing hell. Psycho better not change the rules for you, too.

  DialM: How does Jonathan compare to Malcolm?

  BlackWidow: Better, actually. I prefer an understated man.

  DialM: But I thought you preferred black men.

  Darren’s hand comes onto my shoulder. “Careful.”

  “Brooke must have said something about her attraction to African-American men.” I pause. “But she doesn’t target only them. So we should be safe.” My fingers hover over the keys.

  BlackWidow: Variety is the spice of life.

  NeverCaught: I can’t wait for the next one.

  DialM: Me, too.

  BlackWidow: Well, I’m done.

  NeverCaught: What about some girl-on-girl action? I’d like to see that.

  BlackWidow: Not my thing.

  DialM: You don’t give up, do you, Never?

  BlackWidow: How’s Ling doing?

  I dangle the first bit of bait. If it’s NeverCaught or DialM holding Ling, hopefully they’ll respond. If not, maybe they’ll make a reference to AmericanPsycho. Either way, now we need to find two locations—the bunker and wherever Ling’s being held captive.

  “Here we go.” Darren leans in.

  It suddenly occurs to me that we’re flying blind and we needn’t be. “Darren, can you get Jonathan in here? We may need his knowledge.”

  “Sure.” Darren hurries out of the room.

  I look back at the screen.

  DialM: My darling’s doing just fine. A fine specimen.

  I click on the up arrow on the small scroll bar on the right of the chat area, but I can only see the past few lines. “Gerard, these chatroom lines seem to be deleting themselves.”

  “Whoever set this up wants to make sure no chat-room logs are kept on the site, or in this laptop. I didn’t find any on the hard drive at all, and they’re normally kept.”

  “So what can we do? I’d like to keep these conversations.”

  “Click on the Start icon and see if the Notepad facility is available in the Accessories.”

  I follow Gerard’s instructions and open up Notepad. When I look back at the screen, I can see several more lines of text. I copy as much as I can and dump it into the Notepad. Then I review the last few lines.

  DialM: My darling’s doing just fine. A fine specimen.

  NeverCaught: Not as nice as my Brigitte. You really missed out there, M.

  DialM: I think I’ll get my money’s worth from Ling. She’s got a long way to go yet. You blew your $ in one night. Not me.

  NeverCaught: It’s quality not quantity, old man.

  “We’ve got some great stuff there,” I say. “NeverCaught has basically admitted to killing Brigitte and we know DialM intends to keep Ling alive for some time.”

  “And he’s old,” Gerard says.

  “That or Never is very young. I’ve profiled him as twenty to twenty-five, given the files that came up in VICAP and the frenzy of his other victims’ injuries. He attacked them with the zealousness and energy of youth.”

  “That and being a psychopath,” Gerard says.

  I smile. “That too. Speaking of psychopaths, I better say something.”

  BlackWidow: Age = wisdom.

  DialM: Thank you, BW.

  NeverCaught: I’ll take youth any day.

  DialM: I like my girls young but I’m quite happy with my age.

  NeverCaught: Ling’s the youngest, isn’t she?

  BlackWidow: 18.

  DialM: She’s legal.

  NeverCaught: True.

  BlackWidow: Just heard Jonathan. I’ll be back soon.

  NeverCaught: Have fun, BW. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

  BlackWidow: I’ll do my best.

  Jonathan appears behind me, accompanied by Darren. He leans in. “Holy shit!”

  “I know. Sorry.”

  “I knew this is what it was, but actually seeing the Web site… it’s…” He pauses, his eyes taking everything in. “Ling? Oh my God, she’s still alive!”

  “Yes. DialM is keeping her and intends to keep her for some time.” I’m comforted by the knowledge that Ling’s alive and in no immediate danger of being killed. But God knows what else he’s done to her. And what he will do to her.

  “He must be the one I saw.”

  “You saw one of them?” I ask.

  “I helped Ling take her bag up to the surface. I saw him up there.”

  “Jonathan, why didn’t you tell us this sooner?”

  “I…I did…didn’t I?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Jonathan hangs his head in shame. “It was just so crazy. I was crazy when I first escaped.”

  “So you can ID Chester and this DialM?”

  He shrugs. “Guess so.”

  “That’s fantastic. And we’ve got Brooke. At the moment for attempted murder, but as soon as the lab gets back, I bet we’ll have her on murder.”

  “I don’t care about any of that.” Jonathan looks at the video streams. “That’s what I care about.” He jabs his finger at the streams. “Ling, Susie and Clair.”

  “We care about them too. Why do you think we’re all still here?”

  Jonathan glances at the clock on the wall. “Sorry.” He pauses. “Thank you.”

  I point to the video of Susie and Clair. “They look bored, nothing more sinister. Their ignorance is bliss. We are going to find them, but the Mojave’s a pretty big place, you know.”

  “But…but who knows what the sickos will do next? What if they do the food poisoning thing again, but this time someone dies? Or what if the challenges get even nastier?”

  “Look, we’re going to work this, and hard. But if the worst comes to the worst, we’ve got a few days.”

  Jonathan doesn’t respond, but seems to accept my argument. It’s not time to vote yet.

  “Let’s check out this Web site some more. Then I’ve got to find out how to extend my time with you.”

  Jonathan looks puzzled, and I realize he’s come in at the end of things.


  “In my online pseudonym as BlackWidow.”

  31

  The Chinese food finally arrives. Darren brings us all bowls, but we keep working while we eat. I use my left hand to shovel in mouthfuls of black-bean beef, and my right to explore the Web site. The others hover behind me, also devouring the long-overdue dinner.

  We check out the News section first. Roughly twenty news items are listed under date and heading, with a “More” link. I scan some of the headlines.

  Welcome to the Murderers’ Club

  Bunker completed

  Final contestants chosen

  Start date set

  Contestants enter the bunker

  First challenge: paintball

  Malcolm eliminated

  Second challenge: iPod abuse

  Cindy eliminated

  Food challenge: reward

  Fourth challenge: isolation chamber

  Brigitte eliminated

  Fifth challenge: obstacle course

  Ling and Danny eliminated

  Sixth challenge: tug-o-war

  Jonathan eliminated

  Three other bodies strain over my shoulder, making me a little claustrophobic. Still, if I wasn’t at the computer, I’d be leaning in close, too.

  Jonathan points to the challenge entries. “They seem to have something on all the challenges. Things kinda got tame in here.” He points to the obstacle course challenge—compared to food poisoning and the isolation chamber it certainly is tame.

  “They may have realized you were suspicious and toned it down,” I say.

  He nods. “It was after the isolation chamber that I really started to question what the hell was going on down there.”

  I click on the paintball-challenge entry and copy and paste its contents into the Notepad before scanning the text.

  “It’s just a summary of how the challenge went,” Jonathan explains. “Who was tagged by who in the paintball, our reactions. That sort of thing.”

  Darren pauses mid-mouthful. “Why are they deleting the chat-room stuff but keeping these entries?”