James Swain - The King Tides

“Is that why the videos were shot in muted light?”

“They were actually shot through a soft lens that hid the imperfections.”

“It sure fooled me. Do you work in Hollywood making movies?”

Fadi laughed under his breath. “Hardly. I live in Silicon Valley. My parents moved here from Lebanon to work as engineers for Apple. I grew up creating avatars on my computer. When I graduated from Stanford, I started my own animation video company in my apartment. I called it BTTF, which stands for Back to the Future , which is one of my favorite movies. We produce videos that use age-regression technology that turns adult actors into children and shows them revisiting their childhood. It was a huge hit on YouTube, which Beth tells me you know something about.”

“I’ve heard of BTTF. It was bought out by Google, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was, although I still run things. Two years ago, we were approached by the FBI. They wanted us to create videos using an adult actress who we’d age-regress to look like a teenager. The goal was to lure sexual predators out of hiding, and arrest them.

“At first I refused. I did not want BTTF associated with pornography. Then Beth paid me a visit. She told me about what happened at Dartmouth and how the killers were taunting her with the photographs of their latest victims. She practically begged me to help her.

“Beth and I share a passion for running. The next day, we ran five miles together. At the end of the run, I realized I was attracted to her, so I agreed to create the videos using Beth, who would be age-regressed in my studios.

“Men who download kiddie porn are not stupid. They download the video to a computer, then transfer the video to another device, and scrub the hard drive of the original computer. When the police search the original computer’s hard drive, they won’t find evidence of the download, and cannot make an arrest.

“Beth asked me if there was a way to put a permanent cookie on a site that downloaded a kiddie-porn video. It took a while, but my engineers came up with a solution. Do you know what a cookie is?”

“Cookies are code that sites attach to the IP address on a computer,” Lancaster said. “It allows the site to retarget the viewer with ads.”

“If you scrub a computer’s hard drive, it erases the cookies. My company created a code that we call zombie cookies. A zombie cookie becomes embedded in the hard drive and cannot be erased. Beth was convinced that zombie cookies could be used in court to show that a deviant had downloaded a porn video.

“Unfortunately, the courts didn’t allow it. The technology was new, and no one understood it. The fact that a zombie cookie was embedded on a pervert’s computer didn’t give the FBI the right to make an arrest. It was a huge setback.

“By then, Beth and I were dating. Every month, we would get together for a long weekend. During one of these visits, Beth told me that the age-regressed videos were a failure. She asked me if we could make a video of the two of us having sex, and then have my team age-regress her in the video. She thought this would create greater interest and draw out the killers who were taunting her.”

“Because of the sex,” he said.

“Exactly. Beth called it the honey pot. The bear sticks its paw into the honey pot, and cannot pull it out. And that’s how the Cassandra videos were created.”

Fadi tore apart his roll and cleaned the bottom of his bowl. If Lancaster remembered correctly, Google had paid $1 billion to acquire BTTF. Fadi was one of those rare individuals who’d gotten rich but remained humble.

“You didn’t like it, did you?” Lancaster said.

“No, I didn’t. Making the Cassandra videos made me feel dirty. Then, a few days ago, Beth called me and said she thought she’d found the Dartmouth killers, and that the videos had helped draw them out. It made the whole thing seem worthwhile.”

“Beth’s niece has been stalked by men who think she’s the girl in the Cassandra videos,” he said. “Beth said there was a way to fix this. How?”

“Beth knew the Cassandra videos might be harmful,” Fadi said. “She asked me to create a final video that would repulse the perverts. She planned to release it when the sting was over. It was designed to make the perverts stop fantasizing about Cassandra.”

“Can I see it?”

“I really should ask Beth first.”

“I’m sure she’d say yes, don’t you think?”

“You’re probably right.”

Fadi took out a cell phone as thin as a playing card. He opened an app and hit a command, then turned the screen. The last installment of the Cassandra videos began to play. It had been shot in a hotel room with muted lighting. An age-regressed Beth lay naked in bed, talking to the camera. A naked Fadi entered the picture. He joined her and they began to kiss. Then Beth reached beneath a pillow and pulled out a pipe, which she began to beat him with. Each blow was accompanied by a loud cracking sound. Fadi jumped out of bed, fearful for his life. Beth followed him around the room and continued to inflict punishment. Bleeding from the mouth and nose, Fadi sank to the floor. The video ended with him begging for mercy.

“That’s brutal,” Lancaster said.

“It’s intended to be brutal,” Fadi said. “The other videos portray Cassandra as a victim. Here, she is clearly the aggressor. Beth showed it to the profilers at the FBI’s Behavioral Sciences unit. The profilers said that once the perverts watch it, they will never see Cassandra the same way again, and will stop fantasizing about her.”

“When are you going live with this?”

“As soon as Beth tells me to.”

“I hope your solution works. Nicki and her parents have been through hell because of those videos.”

“I know. Beth told me what happened.”

Fadi looked sad. He’d done something against his better judgment, and now appeared unhappy with his decision. Lancaster went to the cafeteria’s bakery section and bought a chocolate doughnut. He walked Fadi to the elevator and handed him the bag.

“Please give this to her.”

The elevator came, but Fadi did not board. His conscience was eating at him, the way it did to moral people. It was hard to do good, as he now painfully understood.

“I want to fix the harm I’ve caused,” he said. “How do I do that?”

That was a good question. It was true that time healed all wounds. But there would always be psychological scars. Whenever Nicki saw a strange man staring at her, she would be fearful. All the money in the world couldn’t fix that.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said.

The best thing about not being a cop was that the rules changed. As a private investigator, Lancaster didn’t have to concern himself with a suspect’s rights or the protections afforded him or her under the Constitution. Those things stopped mattering.

Leaving the hospital, he drove to a trendy eatery on Las Olas called YOLO, which stood for You Only Live Once. It was not the kind of place where he usually hung out, and he didn’t expect to run into anyone he knew. The lunch crowd had thinned out, and he found a parking space on a side street and called the sheriff’s office main switchboard. He asked to speak to Detective Vargas and was patched through to voice mail.

“Good afternoon, Detective Vargas. This is your old pal Jon Lancaster,” he said. “I hear you’ve been going around town saying nasty things about me. Well, I’m going to pay you back for your trouble. You and your asshole partner are in a world of trouble. I’m talking prison, loss of pension, and having your bank accounts seized. If you’d like to hear more, meet me at YOLO. I’ll be at the bar.”