D.D. WENT TO THE DARK SIDE. And fell in love all over again.
Coffee. Hot. Rich. Black. She cradled her cup tenderly, feeling the warmth spread from the beverage to the palm of her hands to the pulse points at her wrists. That first slow inhale. Savoring. Taking her time. Welcoming a long lost friend.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, just drink it!” Phil ordered from across the conference table.
She eyed him mildly. Detective O sat next to him, Neil on the other side. This morning, O was wearing a formfitting deep red sweater, which made her appear less city detective and more Victoria’s Secret model. Neil, on the other hand, looked like he’d spent the night in the morgue, as a corpse.
“You almost never swear,” D.D. said to Phil, still clutching her mug, feeling the aromatic steam waft across her senses.
“You almost never look like a Folgers commercial. O and I have been here all night. Neil’s been here half the night. We want to debrief, then get some rest.”
That made her feel bad. D.D. eyed her exhausted case team, their over-fluoresced faces, deeply bruised eyes. She didn’t look any better than they did, having pulled an all-nighter herself. Only her taskmaster was smaller and more persistent.
“All right,” she agreed with Phil. “Let’s get this party started. You go first.”
At which point, she took the first sip. Immediately, her heart quickened. She both tasted and heard the caffeine hit her bloodstream, a powerful jolt that made her want to sigh and inhale and start the whole process all over again. So she did.
“For the love of God!” Phil exclaimed.
“Want a cup?”
“Yes!”
Phil stormed out of the room in search of fresh java. O shook her head. Neil folded both arms on the table and collapsed his head into them.
Just another day in paradise, D.D. thought, and sipped her wonderful, lovely, how-had-she-ever-lived-without-it cup of joe.
Phil returned with his own cup, and the party finally got started.
“We found a chat room,” O announced.
“We found a transcript of a chat room,” Phil interjected, eyeing his computer partner. “As for the chat room itself, it’s probably encrypted or encoded eight ways to Sunday.”
“Have to be invited to join,” O added.
“Worldwide membership from what we can tell-makes it very difficult to trace the servers involved,” Phil said.
“But it’s definitely a training site,” O emphasized.
“Training for what?” D.D. asked with a frown, cradling her coffee more defensively now. Geek in stereo was no easier to follow than geek in mono.
“For pedophiles,” O clarified. “You know, a place to hang out, compare notes, and feel accepted for your perversions.”
D.D. set down her coffee. “What?”
“We’ve been noticing this trend for the past few years,” O announced dismissively, her findings obviously old news to her, if not to them. “More and more crimes against children are being committed by younger and younger perpetrators. We figured it had something to do with the use of chat rooms within the sex offender community and this transcript proves it.”
Neil raised his head from his arms. He stared at the dark-haired sex crimes detective. “Start over,” he said. “Speak slowly.”
O rolled her eyes, but complied. “Okay. Society has norms. Those norms include not regarding children as sex objects. Of course, a pedophile views children in exactly that manner-a deviant sexual fantasy. Generally speaking, a child molester will spend at least a few years fighting that fantasy. Recognizing it as inappropriate and trying to resist the urge. Maybe some do, but obviously others don’t, eventually acting out on that impulse and beginning a life of crime.
“Given this cycle, most sex predators are mid-twenties to mid-thirties when they offend. As criminals go, that’s a relatively mature perpetrator pool. There are some exceptions-teenage babysitters targeting their young charges, but that’s more an example of impulse meeting opportunity. The attacks are rarely planned or sophisticated in nature. So again, the ‘classic’ profile of a pedophile is an older male. Except lately, we’re seeing a spike in crimes that are nearly children against children-relatively young pedophiles engaging in the kind of sophisticated targeting and grooming behavior that until now, we’ve always associated with older predators.”
“Good God,” Neil groaned. D.D. seconded that vote.
“Our best guess,” O continued, “validated by this transcript, is that these teenagers aren’t fighting their deviant sexual fantasies. Instead, they’re logging on to the Internet, where they’re finding validation for their impulses and even tips for how to engage in these inappropriate acts. Basically, hard-core pedophiles are using Internet chat rooms to train the next generation of child molesters, which is accelerating the predator cycle.”
“I’m never using my computer again,” D.D. said.
“Please,” Phil said tiredly. “We spent all night reading the logs from these kinds of chat rooms. Now I have to go home and bleach my eyeballs.”
“You keep saying transcripts,” D.D. said. “What does that mean?”
“Victim number two,” Phil supplied, “Stephen Laurent, downloaded some of the chat room logs onto his hard drive. Including one that details how to use a puppy to approach young children. A second chat describes how to create a following on various kids’ websites in order to attract potential victims. It’s very detailed, including tips for how to determine which ‘e-victims’ live in close enough geographic proximity to become ‘physical victims.’”
“He was building a manual,” Neil said flatly. “A fucking perverts manual on his hard drive. Complete with photos.”
O reached over and lightly touched the back of Neil’s hand. The redheaded detective flinched, sat up straighter.
“You want help?” O asked kindly. “I’ve gone through those kinds of photos before. I can assist if you’d like.”
“I can’t see ’em anymore. It’s just…I’ve stopped viewing them as kids. And that’s wrong. Too wrong. I can’t do it anymore.” Neil turned his stare to D.D. “I’m done.”
She nodded immediately. “You’re done. Absolutely. And you’re right, Neil. They’re kids. They deserve to be seen as kids. The fact you recognize you’ve hit your limit is a good thing. It does right by them. Thank you.”
“I don’t think they’re his victims,” Neil said.
Phil looked at him. “What d’you mean?”
“Made it through four out of six boxes. The photos themselves are too eclectic. There are Polaroids from the eighties, faded shots from the seventies. Subjects are boys, girls, young kids, teenagers, black, white, Hispanic, urban, house, hotel. I think Laurent collected the shots-I don’t know, bought them online, traded for them from other collectors…” He looked at Detective O.
She nodded. “Sure, pedophiles have always traded graphic images, videos, etc. For some predators, visual aids even do the trick for them. You’d be amazed how many ‘family men’ we’ve busted for owning child porn, who claim the porn was ‘good for them.’ Kept them from committing the actual act.”
“I hate this case,” Neil muttered.
D.D. didn’t disagree with him, but she was getting confused. “So are you saying Stephen Laurent might not have been an active child molester, but a porn collector?”
“I’m saying that model exists,” Detective O stated, “but I doubt Laurent was a passive pedophile. He was not only downloading transcripts on how to engage in illegal behaviors, but remember, he’d also gotten a puppy.”
“Do pedophiles escalate?” D.D. asked. “So maybe Laurent started with child porn, but was now graduating to child molestation?”
“Sure. And to a large extent, that’s what these chat rooms are all about. Giving a weak, low-self-esteem, usually male perpetrator the acceptance, tools, and coaching to finally act out his sexually deviant fantasies. There are chat rooms for rapists, too, by the way. Probably serial killers as well.”
“I hate this case,” Neil said again.
But D.D. had an idea. “So judging from that cycle, what is Stephen Laurent? The mentor or the intern?”
“Intern,” O said without missing a beat. She turned to look at Phil. “That’s basically what we saw on his computer, right? The understudy gathering information on his next, starring role.”
Phil nodded his agreement.
“And the first shooting victim,” D.D. asked quickly. “Antiholde. He went to these chat rooms, too?”
“Same chat room,” Phil provided.
“Trainer or trainee?”
“Trainer,” Phil said flatly. “Given his criminal history. The second victim, Laurent, hadn’t been caught yet. Our first victim, Antiholde had already been caught and paroled. I bet he visited the chat room for two reasons-to brag about past exploits, while trying to improve his technique for future offenses. Definitely a more experienced predator than Laurent.”
“But still seeking more information, guidance,” D.D. said.
“Pedophiles are always seeking more information,” O said bluntly. “It’s a high-risk lifestyle, where they feel victimized by their own impulses and live in constant fear of being caught. It keeps them logging on.”
“And how many users in this chat room?” D.D. asked.
“Can’t get on to find out. Transcript from Laurent’s computer shows a few dozen active posters.”
“We need to track them down.”
“Obviously working on that,” O said dryly. “Unfortunately, pedophiles are a suspicious bunch, and very sophisticated with their computer skills.”
“But our victims have a common link-this chat room. Identify the users, identify the killer…or the next victims.”
“But again,” Phil reminded D.D., “we only have copies of a chat, not access to the chat room itself. While the transcripts show a couple dozen posters, that’s probably only the tip of the iceberg. Most members ‘lurk’ in these kinds of forums. Meaning there’s probably hundreds if not thousands of other users who don’t actively post, meaning they remain invisible to us. We’ll work on tracing the user names we can identify from the transcripts, but bear in mind, it’s probably a needle-in-the-haystack kind of exercise.”
“You said we can’t access the real chat room,” D.D. spoke up. “That it’s encrypted eighty ways to Sunday, invitation only. So how can we get an invite?”
“Don’t know,” O said. “Probably friend of a friend kind of thing. Meet in other forums, perhaps swapping porn, and once enough trust is gained, eventually a member of the chat room will extend an invitation.”
“But they must get new members, these teenagers, like you said.”
“Sure, and one possibility is that we could go ‘undercover’ as a teenage boy. Build a virtual identity that surfs the right places on the net, engages in the kind of Internet searches that might catch a fellow pedophile’s eyes. There are ‘undercover’ operators on the Internet, you know. But that kind of thing can take months to fully execute. Given our shooter’s time line, we have more like weeks.”
“We need a hacker,” D.D. said bluntly.
“Agreed.”
“Or…” D.D. thought a moment. “Do they know two of their users are dead? What if we claimed their user names and passwords? Could we log on as Stephen Laurent and/or Douglas Antiholde?”
“We’d have to identify their user names and passwords,” Phil said.
“Which our fine computer forensic experts should be able to do, right? Mine it out of the hard drive of the victims’ computers?”
Slowly, Phil nodded. O, as well.
“Yeah,” Phil considered. “Might take them a couple of days, but the computer pros should be able to do that.”
“All right, so forget building an undercover identity. We’ll simply steal Stephen Laurent’s user name, log on, and recon. We’ll listen, we’ll learn, and with any luck, we’ll find our man…or woman as the case might be.”
“Woman?” O asked.
D.D. hadn’t mentioned her conversation with the forensic handwriting expert before. She figured it was probably time. “The notes left at both scenes: Everyone has to die sometime. Be brave. Based on penmanship, our note writer is most likely female. Tightly wound, probably private school-educated, and prone to wearing plaid. Which is another question, I suppose: How much ‘personality’ can you tell from chat room logs? Any of the users come across as a type A female? Or can you even distinguish male users from female users?”
Phil shook his head. O, too. Both detectives were thinking, however. D.D. had that feeling between her shoulder blades, the one that as a detective she liked to get. They were on to something. Finally gaining ground.
Case would crack. Soon. Suddenly.
They would get their man…or woman.
“Anything else I need to know?” she asked.
Her case team shook their tired heads. “O,” D.D. said, “how about you meet with Neil, take over photos?”
O nodded. Neil looked embarrassed to surrender his assignment but didn’t argue.
“Neil,” D.D. continued, “in my office at ten. Phil, you’re off duty at noon. Go home, get some rest. O, you can finish today, but I don’t want to see you tomorrow before noon. Remember, it’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
Phil looked at her strangely. “You never send us home.”
“Are you complaining?”
He shut up.
D.D. adjourned the meeting, returning to her office, where she picked up a second crime scene report and prepared for her second major case of the day: the soon-to-be murder of Charlene Rosalind Carter Grant.
D.D. lifted the phone and dialed.