Nancy Grace - Death on the D-List

“Oh, let’s see.” He took another bite and washed it down with water. “School, classes, movies he’s seen. Asks a lot about what they’re doing, where they’re going, always seems to have caught their last appearance, even rents their stuff and watches it and comments. Asks all sorts of questions about movies, sets, co-stars, whether they date anyone, you know, the typical things a high school kid would ask a female TV star.”

“I don’t think it’s ‘typical’ that a high school kid is in close touch with one female TV star, let alone three female TV stars. And for your information, Malone was a screen star. A has-been, true, but a screen star nonetheless.”

“True.” Kolker wolfed down the last bite of sandwich and kind of looked around like he was still hungry.

“I made a lemon pie last night. Want some?”

“You cook? I had no idea!”

“Yes, I do, pretty much whenever I’m hungry,” she joked back.

“But New York is a take-out and delivery town!”

“I know. But sometimes I just want some home cooking. Anyway, do you want the pie?”

“I never turn down lemon meringue pie.”

Hailey went to the fridge and pulled it out. She handed him a plate, a knife, and a fork. Only a tiny sliver was missing from the pie.

“You sure didn’t eat much of it.”

“My eyes were bigger than my stomach. It’s all yours. Back to Jonathon Kent.” Hailey saw Kent as much more of a possibility than Kolker did.

“Have you been able to locate this kid Jonathon through his texts? They’ve got to come straight from a phone. A cell phone has to be listed to somebody . Right?” Hailey was trying to think of everything.

Kolker nodded. “Done. He usually e-mails, but when he does text, we think it’s from a disposable phone or a phone card.”

“Oh, Kolker, that’s going to be hard to run down. There’s a million ways to beat a text ID. You can always sign in to Yahoo! or AIM with a fake name, and text whoever you want, and it’s free. Or you can use a different SIM card. And the disposable cell phones are a whole other animal. You don’t have to sign a contract or have a credit card, and they’re next to impossible to track. Even terrorists use them to detonate bombs, much less some high school kid. Much less if he’s spoofing the number. Then we’re really in trouble.”

Hailey thought for moment before she went on. “He’s either awfully smart or he’s cheap and doesn’t want to pay monthly rates for a cell phone. But you’ve started locating where the cell phones and cards were sold, right?”

“Right. Louisiana.”

“Hmm. If this ‘kid’ is down in Louisiana, that makes him a lot less of a suspect than Anderson, who’s right here under our noses. So other than school and classes, what else does he talk about?”

“His dog, Ringo.”

“Ringo?”

“Yep. It’s a Maltese. And it has a heart condition.”

“Okay. He talks about a Maltese dog named Ringo with a heart condition. Anything else? Like about visiting?”

“Not that we’ve seen. Yet, that is. These e-mails go way back. At least two years or so.”

“ Two years? Now that’s a dedicated fan! Or a stalker, wouldn’t you say?”

“Good point. It’s just that the content of all the e-mails and texts are so benign, we don’t see Jonathon Kent as much of a threat.”

“Kolker, please. Everybody’s a suspect right now.”

“Okay, you’re right. I’ll step up the heat on Jonathon Kent. Poor kid. He’s got Hailey Dean after him now.”

“Thank you very much.” She said it with a smile. “Tea or coffee? I’m having some.”

“Sure.”

“Which one? Tea or coffee?”

“Whatever you’re having. Thanks, Hailey.”

“Okay. So it’s a no-go on the cell phone. What about e-mail? That should be easy. It’s amazing to me that in this day and age, people think their true identity and location are hidden. You’d have to live under a rock not to know that the IP address of the computer used to send the e-mail can be uncovered and traced. It can lead directly to a person. Your people know about the IP addresses, right? Every computer connected to the Internet has, or shares, an IP address. You know, a series of four numbers from zero to 255, separated by dots. Every time this so-called ‘kid’ e-mails, his IP’s included on the header.”

“But you can block an IP. It’s interesting you’d bring that up. He must not have a home computer. He’s sent e-mails from all over. His IPs are in California, New Jersey, Louisiana, even Connecticut, and some from right here in the city. We think he is in the school band and they travel.”

“ The school band? You’re kidding me! He’s been right here in the city?”

“Just once or twice, and it wasn’t around the time of the shootings. That we know of.”

Hailey gave him a look of incredulity. Jonathon Kent was turning into a real suspect.

Kolker went on. “And we know he’s using free e-mail accounts: Hotmail, Yahoo, and Hushmail, so there’s no credit card linking back to an account payment, like with AOL.”

“Where did he set up the account? They’re usually set up at home or work. Then you’d have the IP from when the account was first set up… right?”

“Right. But again, I don’t think this kid has a home computer. He uses several different accounts, and they’ve all been set up at computers in Internet cafés, libraries, you know, public… where hundreds of people use the same computer every day.”

“Different cities?”

“Different cities.”

“Hmm, that’s some band he’s in.” She said it pointedly. Kolker started to look embarrassed. Hailey was right.

“By the way, what instrument?”

“What do you mean, what instrument?”

“What instrument does he play in the school band? French horn? Trumpet? Tuba?”

Kolker stopped short. He looked straight at her for a moment. “You know, he never said.”

“He tells the dead women he travels with the school band, but he doesn’t bother to tell them what instrument? There’s something wrong, Kolker. Don’t you see it?”

“Hailey, he’s a high school kid. He’s not the killer! Listen, come over to the station and read the e-mails. You’ll see for yourself. This is not the killer.”

“How do I know who he is? Until I see him with my own two eyes, I don’t know who, or what, he is. A kid in the school band or some freak… We don’t know, Kolker. ”

Kolker sighed. He suddenly looked tired. “You know what? I think Anderson’s our man. But just to make you happy, I’ll put the heat on the guys to find Kent. Okay? Happy?”

“Happy. Look, you asked me to help, right?”

“Right. And Hailey, we need to look under every stone. I learned the hard way. The day I arrested you and you punched me, I deserved it. I was wrong. I don’t want to make the same mistake again, with Anderson. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“No fat lip this time?”

Hailey thought for a few moments.

“I can’t promise anything right now. Let’s just see who Jonathon Kent turns out to be. There may be another fat lip on the way, depending on who Jonathon Kent really is.”

“Okay. At least this time, I’ve been warned.”

THE BUSBOY LOOKED TWICE. THE NIGHT AIR WAS COOL FOR NORTH HOLLYWOOD and the alley behind San Pietro’s Italian restaurant was pretty dark this time of night.

There was once a streetlight illuminating the area surrounding the restaurant’s back door, but it had burned out long ago and was never replaced. Didn’t really need it though; the only reason he came out the restaurant’s back door this late was to toss garbage into the alley for pickup the next morning. He dropped a cardboard box full of trash from the kitchen, then shoved it closer to the metal Dumpster with his foot.