Jeffery Deaver - XO

O’Neil asked the room, “You’re monitoring all her calls?”

“That’s right but we’re trying to buy some time, make it harder for him to contact her with another verse,” Harutyun said. “We’ve given her and her family new phones, all unlisted. He’ll probably find the numbers eventually but by then we hope we’ll nail him on the evidence or witnesses.”

“I’d dig through those sites,” O’Neil advised. “You should be able to get some good information about him. Looks like he spends a lot of time online.”

O’Neil took a brief call and turned back to the screen. He said he had to leave, an interrogation was on the schedule. His eyes crinkled with a smile and though Skype didn’t allow for a clear image of where he cast his gaze, Dance believed it was to her. “You need anything else, just let me know.”

Madigan thanked him and the screen went dark.

They turned to the second monitor, on which Miguel Lopez had called up one of the underground sites O’Neil had found.

“Lookit that,” Crystal Stanning said.

The site, which boasted more than 125,000 fans, was a stalker’s paradise. It had pages for several hundred celebrities in all areas of entertainment and politics. Kayleigh’s was one of the most popular, it seemed. Within her pages was one headed “Kayleigh Spotting,” and was a real-time hotline bulletin board about where she was at the moment. “She Can’t Fool Us!” contained pictures of Kayleigh in various outfits-disguises, almost-so fans could recognize her when she was trying to remain anonymous. Other pages contained extensive bios of the crew and band members, fans’ stories about concerts they’d attended, discussions of which venues were good and bad acoustically, who’d tried to scalp tickets.

Other pages gave details of Kayleigh’s personal life, down to her preferences about food and clothing.

The page “WWLK, We Who Love Kayleigh” offered information about famous fans-people who had commented in the press about their affection for her music. As Dance scrolled through she found Congressman Davis’s name mentioned. He’d been quoted at a campaign rally about how much he appreciated Kayleigh’s talent, and her stance on immigration in her song “Leaving Home.” Dance followed a hyperlink to his own page and noted that he had reproduced the lyrics in full-with Kayleigh’s permission. Dance remembered he’d thanked Kayleigh for this earlier at her house.

“In the Know” offered press information, thousands of photographs, announcements from Kayleigh’s record company and Barry Zeigler, her producer. There was also a feed from her official site, giving updates-for instance, about upcoming events, like Friday’s concert and the luncheon today at a local country club for the Fan of the Month. Dance read the press release, written by Kayleigh’s stepmother, Sheri, noting to her relief that Edwin was not the winner.

Other links led to even more troubling pages, which offered bootleg albums, recorded illegally at concerts, and links to file sharing services. One page gave gossip about disputes within celebrities’ families, Kayleigh’s included, though aside from tepid public spats with Bishop, Sheri and a few musicians, like the man who’d interrupted the award ceremony, her gossip page was pretty sparse.

She’s a good girl…

Another page offered for sale items of Kayleigh’s clothing, including undergarments, undoubtedly not really hers. There were risqué pictures of her too, though it was obvious they’d been manipulated with Photoshop.

This explained Edwin’s innocuous and infrequent online activity that TJ Scanlon had found earlier. That was the public side of Edwin Sharp; this was the stalker’s real internet life. Though they couldn’t tell for certain, a number of the posts with initials ES or ESS in the username were probably his. Dance assessed that the grammar, syntax and construction of many of these posts were reminiscent of the ones they knew he had done.

Dance hoped they could find even a hint of a threat to Kayleigh Towne, so they could invoke the stalking statute But, no, this trove of Edwin-related activity wasn’t much more helpful than the other. As with the more public sites, most of the posts that were or might be his didn’t appear threatening in the least; if anything, he staunchly defended Kayleigh. Nor were they able to identify particular potential victims. Other fans were far more insulting than he was, some viciously so. Edwin came across as nothing more than a loyal, if strident, fan. Dance reflected that it was likely Edwin Sharp was not the only obsessed fan Kayleigh Towne had. Indeed, reading the posts suggested that he might be among the more innocuous.

There wasn’t a single aspect of these celebrities’ lives that was private. Kathryn Dance leaned away from the computer screen. She actually felt unclean from the imperious, invasive attitude of the posters-as if the entertainers and celebrities that were the objects of their interest were simply fodder for amusement and self-gratification.

It was as if the more successful you were at pleasing the populace, the more they felt entitled to suck your soul from your body.

Crystal Stanning took a phone call. Dance paid no attention to her until she noticed the deputy’s shoulders rise and her brow furrow-a configuration often signaling bad, or at least perplexing, news. “You sure?” she asked.

By now the others in the room were watching her.

She disconnected, grimacing. “That was my husband. He took Taylor, that’s our son, to football practice, the early one before school starts? And, it was weird. I told him about the song the perp’s playing, Kayleigh’s song? And he said somebody got into the PA system at the high school field and rigged the tape player so the third verse played over and over.”

“Oh, hell,” Madigan muttered. “He’s not using the phones.”

Thinking ahead of them once again.

And what were the clues in the lyrics? Dance looked over the sheet that Harutyun had printed.

One night there’s a call, and at first you don’t know

What the troopers are saying from the side of the road.

Then you see in an instant that your whole life has changed.

Everything gone, all the plans rearranged.

Dance did a double take at the verse, which spoke to her personally-thinking about the death of her husband. A trooper’s call was how she’d learned of the accident.

Then she forced the thought away.

Where did the perp have in mind for attacking next? Somewhere by a roadside?

A glance at the map of the Madera-Fresno area revealed what had to be a thousand miles of roads.

Another thought occurred to her: the assault on Bobby Prescott and on the file sharer followed closely on the calls to Kayleigh; they had perhaps an hour or so to identify and save the next victim.

MADIGAN SAID, “REMEMBER, ‘road’ could mean more than just a highway.”

Dance nodded. “Road crew. Like Bobby. Let’s call them. I told them to be careful but we ought to let them know he’s played another song. And Alicia Sessions. At the Cowboy Saloon I could see Edwin didn’t like her any more than he did Bobby.”

She opened her notebook and displayed the numbers she had for everyone in the crew. Dance, Harutyun and Stanning notified them all. Half of the crew were at the convention center; the other half at the luncheon venue, being held at a nice country club in the northern part of town. Kayleigh would be singing a few songs so they’d set up a small performing space. Tye Slocum was en route to the venue, but Dance alerted him about the danger. Alicia, it seemed, had run out of gas on the way to Kayleigh’s luncheon but was safe. She was waiting in a coffee shop for a service truck.