“Yeah, he did this in This Love,” said Liam.
“Hmm?” said Dawson. “I might remember this, but fill me in.”
“Well,” spoke up Hernandez, “this is a thing that GilbertBlight and his various sock puppets like to do, which is to take over a fic somewhere in the middle and claim that the new author is a ‘hacker,’ who has hacked into the author’s account and is now going to write a chapter for fun. It’s typical for the hacker to have a different writing style than the original author. For instance, in This Love, LolaRose had a lot of mispellings and grammatical mistakes, which were all purposeful to illustrate her character as an empty-headed teenage girl. When the hacker took over This Love, he continued the storyline, but wrote with proper spellings and punctuation and grammar.”
“Which is exactly what’s happening here,” said Dawson. “This hacker person, who is just another character created by Slater, has taken over the fic, and they’re writing another chapter.”
“Yeah, it’s something we’ve seen before,” said Hernandez.
“But is it weird that this chapter kills off Joe?” said Dawson.
“Why would that be weird?” said Hernandez.
“Isn’t Joe sort of Slater’s stand-in for himself?” said Dawson. “He’s the character who escaped prison and has been coming after Frank. Now, he just gets randomly killed in a fire in his sleep. What’s up with that?”
“I don’t know what it means,” said Hernandez. He looked up at Liam. “I guess that’s your department, yeah? That’s why you’re here?” There was a sharpness to his tone.
Liam squirmed, unable to meet the other man’s gaze. “Well, it is a little weird. The whole chapter is weird. I mean, I know that this is a page from Finn’s playbook, but this chapter doesn’t feel… right to me.”
“What are you saying?” said Dawson.
“I don’t know if Finn wrote it.”
Hernandez snorted. “This is your contribution?”
“Well, I am the one who knows Finn.” Now, Liam was defensive.
Hernandez leaned across the table, sneering. “You think there’s someone out there using hacking skills to get into a fanfic site to write chapters? I don’t know if you understand a lot about actual hacking, not what you see on TV, but typically, what hackers really do is write pieces of software that capture passwords, like to credit card websites? For money? Who goes through the trouble of doing this for fanfic?”
“Maybe someone who knows it’s Finn,” said Liam, bowing his head, cowed. “It could be my fault. I posted the first in my video series about Finn and This Love.”
“But you didn’t say anything about Bosom Friends,” said Dawson. “And the author of this fic isn’t one of Slater’s known sock puppets.”
“No,” said Hernandez thoughtfully, “but it really isn’t hard to put it together if you know about Slater and his history. He meant us to find it. He was being clever and playful, not truly trying to hide his identity.”
“And you can’t discount that Baudi Moovan element of the internet, especially when it comes to this kind of stuff,” spoke up Liam. “There are a ton of people out there who are armchair detectives, trying to uncover things about true crime. Hell, did you know that there are forums devoted to trying to solve serial killer cases? Just random people with nothing better to do thinking they’ll figure it out if they just google enough.”
“But that’s a different psychology,” said Hernandez. “If a person like that discovered this fic, they’d out Slater. They wouldn’t hack into his account and start posting something else.”
“Maybe they’re trying to bait him,” said Liam. “Flush him out. Hell, maybe we should have thought of this and done it ourselves.”
“What makes you think it’s not him?” said Hernandez. “Just the fact that he kills Joe?”
“It’s…” Liam gestured with his hands, trying to sort through his thoughts. “It just doesn’t sound like him. I know Finn, and when I read his writing, I can hear him saying it, and I can’t hear him saying this. The voice is wrong.”
“That’s because he’s trying to make himself sound different,” said Hernandez. “It’s purposeful.”
“It’s kind of a big fuck-you, though, isn’t it?” said Dawson. “I mean, not only does Joe get killed, but all the other problems in the story get solved. Cindy frees Frank and all the other people Joe was holding captive, and then she uses Joe’s body to power a spell to heal everyone completely. If someone else did write this, and they did want to bait him, I think it would work.” She got up.
“Where are you going?” said Liam.
“To talk to the guys who look into IPs and see if they can figure anything out,” she said. “I’ll be back.” She left the room, leaving Hernandez and Liam alone.
Liam glanced across the table. Hernandez wasn’t looking at him, but he was stiff in his chair, aware that they were by themselves. “Hey, listen, Ricky—”
“Ricky?” Hernandez laughed. “Seriously?”
“You said I could call you…” Liam sighed.
“We don’t have to do this. You ghosted me, and that sends its own message.”
“Listen, I don’t remember making any kind of promises or even suggestions—”
“Right, and now you’re gaslighting me. Spare me, okay?”
“Gaslighting?” Liam sat back in his chair and gaped at him.
“I said we didn’t need to do this.” Hernandez’s nostrils flared.
“Gaslighting is when there’s a situation that’s obviously a certain way, and another person, knowing that any rational person would see it that way, insists on it being something completely different, for the express purpose of making the other person feel insane.”
“Yeah, you’re trying to make me feel crazy for an assumption you weren’t going to cut me out of your life after what happened with us.”
“I didn’t cut you—” Liam broke off, clenching his teeth in frustration. “I sucked your dick and this was somehow a declaration of undying love? You think that’s how most people read that situation?”
Hernandez barked out a bitter laugh. “Fuck you, Liam.”
Liam flinched. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“No, you know what? I said that we didn’t have to talk about this, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did.” Liam hung his head.
“We can pretend it didn’t happen.”
Great. Just like with Dawson. Yes, but you only have yourself to blame for this situation, Liam. And he’s a kid. A cute kid, who doesn’t deserve to be treated badly just because you’re a fuck-up. He took a deep breath. “Look, that night, when I saw you, I was really messed up over some stuff with Finn. He was screwing with my head. I used you to try to distract myself from it, and it wasn’t fair to you, and you deserve better. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I do.”
“Fine.” Hernandez spread his hands. “But it doesn’t matter. Say you’re sorry all you want, but…”
“But everything’s still fucking weird,” said Liam, resigned to it.
Hernandez’s shoulders slumped. “It’d be less weird if we could put it behind us.”
“I really am sorry,” said Liam. “I really am just screwed up right now.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” said Hernandez. “Can we please move on?”
“Sorry,” said Liam again, and he was quiet.
They sat in silence until Dawson came back.
She said down, oblivious to the tension in the room. “Well, they can’t determine where the post originated, but it’s been done in a different way than the other posts were. They said it could be that someone else uploaded this.”
“Huh,” said Hernandez. “That’s weird.”
Dawson shook her head. “If someone out there is playing armchair detective, I can’t say I’m pleased at the interference.”
“No,” said Liam. “But maybe we can take advantage of it. Maybe Finn will react in som
e way that will help us.” He addressed Dawson. “Did we get anything from Robert Worth about properties to look into?”
“No,” said Dawson. “I only managed to get in touch with a representative for him, and he was less than forthcoming, although he’s supposed to get back with me. Frankly, I’m not holding my breath, though. He claims to want to cooperate with the police, but in practice, I’m getting the runaround.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Mr. Tilden,” said Dawson, who was truly shocked that he had called her back. “So good to hear from you.” It was mid-morning, and she was sitting in her cubicle clutching a mug of hot coffee.
“Of course, detective,” said Tilden. “But I’m afraid you won’t like what I have to say. I relayed your request to Mr. Worth, and he was unable to assist you. He is unaware of the state of his properties, because he doesn’t visit them physically, so he can’t be sure which are in poor condition and which aren’t.”
“He doesn’t visit any of his properties?”
“No,” said Tilden. “The truth is, Mr. Worth has been a shut-in for some time now. Twenty years or so, I would think. Why I have never actually met the man. He doesn’t leave his house. He’s a bit of an eccentric recluse.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re saying that Mr. Worth never leaves home?”
“Never.”
Dawson sat back in her chair. Well, if one was an eccentric recluse who also wanted to murder young women, but couldn’t bring himself to leave home—
She shook her head. Hadn’t she decided this was far-fetched?
“I’m happy to pass along an exhaustive list of the properties he owns and those under the names of his family members,” said Tilden. “With it, you will find an accounting of the most recent expenses associated with each. Perhaps, if you look at which houses have not been seen to in some time, you might get an idea of which are in disrepair.”
“Well, maybe,” said Destiny. “Can a person really get by without ever leaving the house? Really?”
“I do think his son sees to some of his business for him,” said Tilden.
“That would be Quentin Worth?” said Destiny.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Do you have a way to get in touch with him?”
“Oh, certainly, detective. I’d be happy to provide that information to you.”
* * *
Quentin Worth was wearing a deep green suit, so green it could almost be termed black, but in the light, it almost shimmered. He wore a pencil-thin tie and thick-rimmed glasses. His dark hair was stiff with product. He shook Dawson’s hand firmly.
“Come in,” he said, gesturing behind him to the office. “It was good luck that I was working out of the Virginia office instead of being back in New York City. I split my time between both places. Some people are bicoastal, between New York and L.A., but I’m between New York and D.C.” The office wasn’t quite in D.C. proper. It was in Alexandria. It had been a bit of a drive for Dawson, but it was doable, much more so than New York.
They stepped inside his spacious office, which was decorated with red-tinted woods and potted ferns. He settled behind his desk and gestured for her to sit opposite him.
“Well,” said Quentin, “what can I do for you? I know that my father’s representative, Mr. Tilden, has provided you with a list of properties.”
“Yes,” said Dawson. “I suppose you’re not any more familiar with the properties themselves than your father is?”
“Not, I’m afraid,” said Quentin. “But I must say it’s very shocking to hear that, um, this serial killer is using places we own. It’s deeply unsettling, and we are at a loss to say why it’s happening.”
“Well, it’s obviously because of your sister,” said Dawson.
Quentin gave her a confused smile. “What’s that?”
Dawson had asked Liam to come along, but he’d balked, unable to face Destiny’s brother after what he’d done to his sister. She could see how it would be very difficult for Liam, but she also wished he was here so that he could speak about Destiny. Liam had actually known her and had been her boyfriend. Surely Destiny had mentioned him to her family once or twice.
“The truth is,” said Dawson, “we think your sister is one of Phineas Slater’s victims.”
“What?” said Quentin. “Why would you say such a thing? For that to be true, my sister would have to be dead.”
Dawson licked her lips, unsure of how to respond to this. They had assumed that Destiny still owned property for tax reasons, but what if her family was simply in denial about her fate? “Your sister has been missing for over fifteen years.”
“No, that can’t be right,” said Quentin. He laughed. “You don’t know Destiny, do you? If you’d met her, you’d understand.”
Dawson furrowed her brow. “Understand what?”
“She’s playing a little joke on us all, that’s what she’s doing,” said Quentin. “She always says she’s never going to speak to us again. She stalks out of every family dinner saying such things, but she always comes back, and this time is no different.”
Dawson blinked. He was in denial about this. “It’s been since 2004—”
“That can’t be right,” said Quentin, laughing, but the laugh sounded strained. “My sister is not missing, nor is she dead. I assure you, Detective Dawson, that’s not the case. What does Destiny have to do with Phineas Slater?”
“They were friends in college,” said Dawson. “Maybe more than friends. Maybe they were involved, um, romantically.” She couldn’t bring herself to say sexually.
“Oh, no,” said Quentin. “Where are you getting these ideas? Destiny has never been interested in that sort of thing. Why, she’s the one who sat me down and made me watch documentaries about asexuality. She’s definitely not interested in a romantic entanglement of any kind.”
What? Why would Destiny tell her brother she was asexual? The way Liam talked about her, she was sexually voracious. This was all very strange.
Dawson eyed Quentin. Maybe it was far-fetched to think of Robert Worth, an old man who never left the house, to be working with someone like Phineas Slater, but maybe it wasn’t so far-fetched to think Quentin was involved somehow.
Quentin laughed again, and the laugh made Dawson uneasy. There was something about this man that was… not quite right.
She sat up straight. “Um, Mr. Worth, have you ever met Phineas Slater?”
“No, of course not. What a thing to say.”
“Perhaps you did years ago,” said Dawson. “You might not have remembered his name, but if you’d gone to visit Destiny at school—”
“No, I wouldn’t have done so,” said Quentin. “I am a year younger than Destiny, and I was at college myself during that time. I went to college in Washington state. That’s one reason I’m not bicoastal. Had quite enough of that side of the country. I had a bit of a rebellion of my own. I stayed over there for the full four years. Never even came home for Christmas.”
“Never came home at all?”
“Not at all.” He smiled at her.
Now, Dawson realized what he was trying to say to her. He was giving her an alibi for the bonfires. See, I wasn’t even on this side of the country when those girls were killed at my house. He knew that she was suspicious of him, and he was working it into the conversation.
“I, of course, have that all documented,” he said. “If you were interested.”
Oh, she bet he did.
“So, the house in Delaware, where we found the freezer full of body parts—”
“I’ve never been there,” he said.
She nodded. “Of course you haven’t. What about the cabin in the mountains?”
“Never been there either,” he said.
“Would you mind if I took a DNA sample?” she said.
“Whatever for?”
“Just for elimination purposes,” she said. “Just to make sure your DNA doesn’t match any other DNA in the case.” Truthfully, she didn’t hav
e anything to compare it to, not yet, but if there was any unidentified male DNA that did pop up at some point, she was going to want to know if it was him.
“Well, I’ve never been there,” he said. “No, my DNA can’t be there. I think it would only be a waste of time and resources, don’t you think?”
“Even so, it’s best to pursue every avenue.”
“No, I’m afraid I must decline. You understand, of course?” He got up from his desk. “If there’s anything else you need, detective, do reach out at any time, will you? We want to cooperate in any way we can.”
She nodded, narrowing her eyes.
“I’ll walk you out,” said Quentin.
She turned toward the door, and there, hanging on the wall was a framed quote that said, The highest form of love is sacrifice.
Her stomach turned over.
That was what Annie Gibbons had said before she shot herself. Dawson gestured. “This quote. I’ve heard it before somewhere. What’s the attribution? Who said it?”
“Oh, it’s from the most amazing online course,” said Quentin. “I personally can testify that taking it turned my life around. It’s positively wonderful. Worth every penny.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
The minute Dawson got back to her office, she sent an inquiry about the self-help course that Annie Gibbons had signed up for, firing off an email to ask for more information and for an interview with whoever was the author of the course.
Then, email sent, she sat staring at her screen and wondering if she should just buy the damned thing. Maybe she could get reimbursed for the $300 from the CCPD.
Her phone rang.
She checked it. It was Liam. She picked it up and answered. “Dawson.”
“Did you talk to Destiny’s brother?”
“I think Destiny’s brother is involved,” she said. “You never met him, right?”
“You kidding me? She never told me she had a brother.”
“I think her brother is a real psycho,” said Dawson. “I’m not even sure that Robert Worth is alive anymore.”
“What?” said Liam.
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