Rene Gutteridge - Listen

“I’ve never taken so many calls in one day.” Frank twisted his lower back, hoping to relieve the pain.

They walked toward the station.

“The women at the hair salon?” Gavin said, shaking his head. “Assault with a hot iron? over a dress size? And another fight at the post office. When is this going to stop?”

Frank nodded.

“Last night,” Gavin continued, “I was having a conversation with my girlfriend and I stopped, you know? I was like, man, I don’t want everybody to know this.”

They walked a few steps and then Gavin said, “Frank, where do you go?”

Frank glanced at him.

“I know it’s none of my business, but sometimes you just kind of disappear.”

He slapped Gavin on the back. Tried a warm smile. “Nothing for you to worry about. You ask a lot of questions. Maybe you should consider a detective spot later, huh? Go get some rest. Good work today.”

“Thanks.” Gavin turned toward the locker room.

Frank went for the coffeepot.

“Frank!” Grayson was flagging him down. “Get to my office, will you?”

Frank poured himself a tall Styrofoam cup full of the cheap stuff and headed toward the captain’s office.

“Come on in.”

In the corner of the room a man with broad shoulders and a shaved head stepped forward, offering a hand. “Gary Blanco.”

“State police sent him in to help with the investigation,” Grayson said. “He does a lot of work in child porn cases.”

“Good to meet you,” Frank said as Grayson gestured for them all to sit.

“Frank, it’s been crazy out there, hasn’t it?”

Frank nodded, glancing at Blanco. “People are losing their sense of self-control and reasoning.”

“Gary was just explaining to me what he’s turned up so far.”

Gary sat comfortably in his chair, glancing over some notes he’d grabbed out of his briefcase. “Usually these things are pretty easy to crack. The first line of defense is the use of the registrar’s privacy service. This normally comes with a fee, but it protects your identity if someone wants to go searching for who the Web site belongs to. Hackers usually can get past this anyway, and a subpoena works pretty fast for the host to cough up the information.

“And a lot of times these guys will put in fake names and addresses or what have you, but normally we can trace back to the computer being used and find them in their house.”

“Normally?” Frank said. “I take that to mean this isn’t normal.”

“Yeah,” Blanco said. “Sometimes they’ll slip up and host the site on an IPS with other sites they own. A lot of times they’ll try for a PO box or some such. But again, those just cause delays. They’re hurdles we can jump over.” He checked his notes. “The name on the account and the address are fake. Looks like he paid a year in advance, possibly with a Visa prepaid money card, which is untraceable when purchased with cash. We’re still working on that. He’s apparently using a CMS, allowing him to add content from anywhere, and is most likely using public terminals to access the site.”

“And,” Grayson said, “there’s no e-mail on this Web site.”

“Right. Sometimes these guys will use disposable, untraceable e-mail accounts, where they keep rotating and dumping. A lot of times we can get them on that if they slip up in any of the steps getting those, but there is nothing on the Web site. Whoever this is, they don’t want anyone contacting them.”

“So where are we at?” Frank asked.

“Well, first we thought the guy, or perhaps lady, was running a Freenet node. Won’t go into all that, but basically that’s where you’ll find a lot of these child porn guys going. We’re still confirming, but it looks like what he’s done is selected a registrar and host that is out of our jurisdiction.”

“Meaning,” Grayson said, “he’s gone to a foreign country.”

“That’s right. Possibly China. My international contacts tell me that China’s hot for these kinds of things right now. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to bury his or her identity.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We’ll keep monitoring it, see if this guy makes a mistake. If this were a terrorist group, the CIA would get involved, send agents overseas, and hunt this provider down. Unfortunately, in this case, our hands are tied. This guy hasn’t sent any notes or threats, has he? to the paper or here at the station?”

“No,” Grayson said.

“Too bad. That’s usually where we can get someone like this.” Blanco got up. “I’ll keep an eye on this from my end, contact you if anything develops or we see a possible crack we can climb in. You might contact the National White Collar Crime Center. They might be able to help you with the international angle.”

The captain stood, prompting Frank to. “Well, Gary, thanks for your time. We appreciate the state stepping in to help.”

“Sure,” Blanco said. Frank offered his hand. “Best of luck to you guys. This is a little crazy. Never seen anything like it.”

Kay heard the back door open as she slid the chicken potpie casserole out of the oven. She’d spent the rest of the day taking her frustrations out by baking like a madwoman. Cakes. Cookies. Scones. And a casserole. She set it on the counter and turned just as Damien walked into the kitchen. She immediately noticed his somber body language. “Babe, you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You all right? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, really,” he said, taking off his jacket. He pecked her on the cheek, then sat at the breakfast bar. “Just made Edgar mad today. Twice, actually.”

“Not ‘you’re fired’ mad?”

“No, nothing like that. He wanted me to write a piece on the kidnapping, and I did, but not the piece he wanted. I did it as an op-ed.”

“Well, you are the op-ed writer.”

“I felt like my words would serve a better purpose writing about the Web site. Trying to convince whoever is doing it to stop. I wrote a letter directly to the person.”

“I know. I’m hearing that all kinds of terrible things are happening. Fights. Tires being slashed. Windows broken out. It’s like we’re on the verge of a riot. And then with this kidnapping…” Tears stung her eyes for the fortieth time that day.

Damien hopped up and wrapped his arms around her. “You seem… sad.”

“I’m just in disbelief that those girls were involved in taking Gabby. And I’m horrified at myself that I didn’t see the signs.”

“How could you have known?” Damien asked, turning her around to face him.

“It’s a mother’s instinct. Jenna kept trying to tell me she didn’t want to hang out…” More tears. Damien swiped them and pulled her close. “And I tried to… Anyway, I think we’re back to not speaking.” Kay wanted to pour out her heart, but she wasn’t sure how. She never dreamed of telling Damien about her past. She’d not even told him why she and Angela stopped being friends. She couldn’t get herself to.

“How is she doing?”

“She doesn’t want to go to school tomorrow either, but I told her she had to. She’s doing okay, I guess. We had a good morning together, anyway. Talked a lot.” Kay smiled at the thought. “Kind of like old times.”

“Nothing like tragedy to bring people together.”

“I just keep picturing… I see Jenna out there, tied to that tree…”

Damien stroked her cheek. “Look, we’re all here. Everyone’s here, right? Hunter too?”

Kay nodded.

“We’re all here and safe and together.” He pointed to the casserole. “And chicken potpie casserole? You haven’t made that in a long time.”

“It’s Jenna’s favorite.”

“Where is she?”

“Her cell phone rang. She answered it and went upstairs. Can you grab the butter out of the fridge?”