Lisa Gardner - Catch Me

“Oh for fuck’s sake, just drink it!” Phil ordered from across the conference table.

She eyed him mildly. Detective O sat next to him, Neil on the other side. This morning, O was wearing a formfitting deep red sweater, which made her appear less city detective and more Victoria’s Secret model. Neil, on the other hand, looked like he’d spent the night in the morgue, as a corpse.

“You almost never swear,” D.D. said to Phil, still clutching her mug, feeling the aromatic steam waft across her senses.

“You almost never look like a Folgers commercial. O and I have been here all night. Neil’s been here half the night. We want to debrief, then get some rest.”

That made her feel bad. D.D. eyed her exhausted case team, their over-fluoresced faces, deeply bruised eyes. She didn’t look any better than they did, having pulled an all-nighter herself. Only her taskmaster was smaller and more persistent.

“All right,” she agreed with Phil. “Let’s get this party started. You go first.”

At which point, she took the first sip. Immediately, her heart quickened. She both tasted and heard the caffeine hit her bloodstream, a powerful jolt that made her want to sigh and inhale and start the whole process all over again. So she did.

“For the love of God!” Phil exclaimed.

“Want a cup?”

“Yes!”

Phil stormed out of the room in search of fresh java. O shook her head. Neil folded both arms on the table and collapsed his head into them.

Just another day in paradise, D.D. thought, and sipped her wonderful, lovely, how-had-she-ever-lived-without-it cup of joe.

Phil returned with his own cup, and the party finally got started.

“We found a chat room,” O announced.

“We found a transcript of a chat room,” Phil interjected, eyeing his computer partner. “As for the chat room itself, it’s probably encrypted or encoded eight ways to Sunday.”

“Have to be invited to join,” O added.

“Worldwide membership from what we can tell-makes it very difficult to trace the servers involved,” Phil said.

“But it’s definitely a training site,” O emphasized.

“Training for what?” D.D. asked with a frown, cradling her coffee more defensively now. Geek in stereo was no easier to follow than geek in mono.

“For pedophiles,” O clarified. “You know, a place to hang out, compare notes, and feel accepted for your perversions.”

D.D. set down her coffee. “What?”

“We’ve been noticing this trend for the past few years,” O announced dismissively, her findings obviously old news to her, if not to them. “More and more crimes against children are being committed by younger and younger perpetrators. We figured it had something to do with the use of chat rooms within the sex offender community and this transcript proves it.”

Neil raised his head from his arms. He stared at the dark-haired sex crimes detective. “Start over,” he said. “Speak slowly.”

O rolled her eyes, but complied. “Okay. Society has norms. Those norms include not regarding children as sex objects. Of course, a pedophile views children in exactly that manner-a deviant sexual fantasy. Generally speaking, a child molester will spend at least a few years fighting that fantasy. Recognizing it as inappropriate and trying to resist the urge. Maybe some do, but obviously others don’t, eventually acting out on that impulse and beginning a life of crime.

“Given this cycle, most sex predators are mid-twenties to mid-thirties when they offend. As criminals go, that’s a relatively mature perpetrator pool. There are some exceptions-teenage babysitters targeting their young charges, but that’s more an example of impulse meeting opportunity. The attacks are rarely planned or sophisticated in nature. So again, the ‘classic’ profile of a pedophile is an older male. Except lately, we’re seeing a spike in crimes that are nearly children against children-relatively young pedophiles engaging in the kind of sophisticated targeting and grooming behavior that until now, we’ve always associated with older predators.”

“Good God,” Neil groaned. D.D. seconded that vote.

“Our best guess,” O continued, “validated by this transcript, is that these teenagers aren’t fighting their deviant sexual fantasies. Instead, they’re logging on to the Internet, where they’re finding validation for their impulses and even tips for how to engage in these inappropriate acts. Basically, hard-core pedophiles are using Internet chat rooms to train the next generation of child molesters, which is accelerating the predator cycle.”

“I’m never using my computer again,” D.D. said.

“Please,” Phil said tiredly. “We spent all night reading the logs from these kinds of chat rooms. Now I have to go home and bleach my eyeballs.”

“You keep saying transcripts,” D.D. said. “What does that mean?”

“Victim number two,” Phil supplied, “Stephen Laurent, downloaded some of the chat room logs onto his hard drive. Including one that details how to use a puppy to approach young children. A second chat describes how to create a following on various kids’ websites in order to attract potential victims. It’s very detailed, including tips for how to determine which ‘e-victims’ live in close enough geographic proximity to become ‘physical victims.’”

“He was building a manual,” Neil said flatly. “A fucking perverts manual on his hard drive. Complete with photos.”

O reached over and lightly touched the back of Neil’s hand. The redheaded detective flinched, sat up straighter.

“You want help?” O asked kindly. “I’ve gone through those kinds of photos before. I can assist if you’d like.”

“I can’t see ’em anymore. It’s just…I’ve stopped viewing them as kids. And that’s wrong. Too wrong. I can’t do it anymore.” Neil turned his stare to D.D. “I’m done.”

She nodded immediately. “You’re done. Absolutely. And you’re right, Neil. They’re kids. They deserve to be seen as kids. The fact you recognize you’ve hit your limit is a good thing. It does right by them. Thank you.”

“I don’t think they’re his victims,” Neil said.

Phil looked at him. “What d’you mean?”

“Made it through four out of six boxes. The photos themselves are too eclectic. There are Polaroids from the eighties, faded shots from the seventies. Subjects are boys, girls, young kids, teenagers, black, white, Hispanic, urban, house, hotel. I think Laurent collected the shots-I don’t know, bought them online, traded for them from other collectors…” He looked at Detective O.

She nodded. “Sure, pedophiles have always traded graphic images, videos, etc. For some predators, visual aids even do the trick for them. You’d be amazed how many ‘family men’ we’ve busted for owning child porn, who claim the porn was ‘good for them.’ Kept them from committing the actual act.”

“I hate this case,” Neil muttered.

D.D. didn’t disagree with him, but she was getting confused. “So are you saying Stephen Laurent might not have been an active child molester, but a porn collector?”

“I’m saying that model exists,” Detective O stated, “but I doubt Laurent was a passive pedophile. He was not only downloading transcripts on how to engage in illegal behaviors, but remember, he’d also gotten a puppy.”

“Do pedophiles escalate?” D.D. asked. “So maybe Laurent started with child porn, but was now graduating to child molestation?”

“Sure. And to a large extent, that’s what these chat rooms are all about. Giving a weak, low-self-esteem, usually male perpetrator the acceptance, tools, and coaching to finally act out his sexually deviant fantasies. There are chat rooms for rapists, too, by the way. Probably serial killers as well.”