P.D. Martin - Kiss of Death

Next in the file Sloan pulled together for Rosen and the Bureau is all the information on the trespass charge and the preliminary information they dug up on Anton Ward, once they made the link between the two trespassers, After Dark and Ward. The file contains a printout of Ward’s driver’s license, as well as an article LA Weekly did on him and After Dark a few months back. It’s a feature article with a large photo of Ward and on the other side of the page is the After Dark logo. It’s a pentagram enclosed in a circle with the word After written above it and Dark below it.

According to the article, Anton Ward was born Brett Simons in Virginia. He was educated at Stanford, but inherited his parents’ substantial fortune when they were both killed in a car accident when he was eighteen. Ward is thirty-two, single, with no children. A large photo for the article shows me he’s extremely good-looking, with raven-black hair that drapes across his dark blue eyes and pale skin. Could be hair dye, contacts and makeup. Or maybe the LA Weekly Photoshopped the file. Who knows?

I ring up Mercedes Diaz from the Bureau’s Cyber Crime Division. Mercedes is my workout partner and a good friend. “Hey, Mercedes.”

“Hi, Soph. What’s up?”

“Sorry to bug you on a Sunday, but do you mind running a background check for me?”

“Sure thing. Hold on a sec while I fire up my laptop.”

“You mean it’s not on?”

She laughs. “Hey, I’m not that bad.”

In my experience, most computer techs are addicted—in and out of work. Unlike the chef who never cooks at home, computer analysts seem to spend countless hours on their computers.

“Okay. What do you want?”

“Give me everything you’ve got on Anton Ward. According to an LA Weekly article he was born Brett Simons in Virginia but you better check that, too.”

“Police, travel, education, investments, newspapers?”

“All of it.”

“Okay.” She’s already typing speedily on her keyboard. “I’ll e-mail you everything I find. Give me about thirty minutes, an hour tops.”

“Man, you guys are fast.”

“It’s not us…it’s the computers.”

In reality it’s both. The computers may store the information, but techs can get in, and out, quickly.

“What you working on anyway?” she asks.

“Murder case. Temescal Gateway Park.”

“Sounds like you’re having a good weekend.”

I smile. “You could say that.”

“Keep an eye on your BlackBerry.”

“Will do.”

I hang up and decide to start by researching the different clubs before moving on to Ward and After Dark. I soon find a Web site that lists Goth clubs around the world and do a quick check for L.A. On Thursday nights it’s Perversion in Hollywood, Fridays is Ruin, Saturdays is Bar Sinister and Sundays is Malediction Society. If Todd Fischer is telling us the truth Sherry must have come directly from Bar Sinister. I ring the club and leave a message, asking for a return call as soon as possible.

Both Malediction Society and Ruin are run out of the same place on Wilshire—the Monte Cristo. Looks like I’ll be heading down there tonight—if I decide to go through with it. The clubs don’t seem to have dedicated Web sites, but they’re all on MySpace and Facebook. Malediction Society’s page features an advertisement-style layout, with posters of upcoming events and DJs that play at the club. The other clubs use a similar approach.

Next I move on to Ward and After Dark. My Google search comes up with a few articles on the group and the man himself, but nothing much that’s not already in the fledgling file. Next, I log into my minimalist profile page on Facebook and do a search for Anton Ward. Sure enough, I find a few Anton Wards and soon pinpoint the group leader. The profile image on Facebook has him dressed in tailored pants and a skintight plum sweater, leaning on a grand piano. The image is more conservative than I’d imagined—like he’s trying to show off his wealth and hide any more Gothic tendencies. It’s also a very small picture—I can’t access his full details unless I send him a friend request that he accepts. And, for the moment, I want to fly under the radar. If I decide it’s worthwhile, I may set up a fake Facebook profile to see if I can get additional info. Next I search on his group’s name, After Dark. I discover that Ward’s set up a Facebook page, which I can view without having to join. I read the main blurb:

After Dark is a group of enlightened individuals who have embraced their real calling in this world—vampirism. Based in L.A., the group is headed by the self-made Anton Ward, who saw the need to band together with his fellow vampires and give them somewhere safe to meet. After Dark meets once a week and provides a mentoring program for all its members. The organization also helps people cross over into their new lives as vampires and matches vampires with willing donors. At the moment, our exclusive group is physically based and we purposely keep numbers low. However we will shortly be launching an online group so that After Dark can have a national and global presence. For more information, e-mail anton@afterdark.com.

I have a quick look through thumbnail pictures of the page’s fans and the other basic information that Ward has posted on the page. He hasn’t included a lot of details about the group or its members; rather, he’s covered the basics and requested that people e-mail him with their interest in the forthcoming virtual group. It’s not exactly an empire, but it could feed his ego, if not his wallet.

Next I search MySpace. With no need to “friend” him first, I find Ward’s profile page quite quickly and this time have instant access to his vital statistics—at least those he self-reported. Then there’s also a longer “about me” section, a link to his blog and some more pictures. I flick through these images and find some that better fit my mental image of the man, including one in which he’s wearing contacts that make his eyes glow eerily.

He’s got two hundred and twenty friends on MySpace, including quite a few of the Goth-inspired clubs. Overall, the theme for women is definitely corsets, dark hair, pale faces and red lips.

I could spend hours clicking the friend links and reading about Ward’s online network, but I’ve got too much to get through before hooking up with Sloan again. Plus I’ve got enough initial info on him for now. While I’ll reserve final judgment until I meet Ward and his group members, at this stage I see two possibilities for Anton Ward. One, he’s a conman, someone who saw an opportunity to surround himself with devoted members who pander to his ego. Or two, he believes whatever teachings he may pass on to his members, believes he’s a vampire. Guess I’ll find out which soon.

Either way, until I discover more about Anton Ward and his group, it’ll be difficult to classify them. On the surface they seem to fit some definitions of a new religious movements—they’re a small, non-mainstream group that revolves around a single leader. NRMs are often associated with extremist behavior and their lifestyle is usually seen as unconventional in some way, and Ward and his group tick that box. Vampirism is extremist behavior, even in today’s society where it’s got a chic factor. But are they a cult? Does Anton Ward have complete control over his followers? The group didn’t come onto the law-enforcement radar until Riley and Davidson were arrested—no hint of illicit or illegal activities, no missing person reports filed by family members, and so on. And even if they are an NRM, it doesn’t mean they’re violent or capable of murder. Many NRMs function with no incident. It’s just that the ones that go spectacularly and tragically wrong get lots of media attention.