going to be the boyfriend of a divorcée in Miami named Laurie Bonds, who wanted a sexy boyfriend for her high school reunion. On another, she had the computer searching and compiling references from social media for Lobelia Curso; on yet another, she had six different Facebook pages running; and there was a monitor featuring the Martin Hays case, and so on. Her world, other than the yoga studio, consisted of this tiny room and these large screens.
Christina waved a hand at the machines. “Here you go. Look away.”
“Our plan was to take it with us and give it to our Cyber Crimes Division.” Agent Midaugh put his thumbs in the loops of his belt, making his jacket flare outward around a substantial stomach.
Chris looked doubtfully at the assortment of computers. “ ‘It’?”
“We thought you had a single laptop or something.”
Chris looked at him like he was an idiot. “Look, I can give you all my sites, my passwords”—she waved a hand to indicate et cetera—“but it’s gonna take someone who knows computers to prove I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We have someone on the way,” said Agent Helmer, who seemed uncomfortable in the small room, looking at the furniture as if he might break something. “He’s one of our Cyber Crimes agents.”
“Great. When is he getting here?”
Agent Midaugh held up his phone. “He should be here soon.”
“Awesome.”
“In the meantime, why don’t we go back in the living room and talk for a bit?” Helmer was trying for conciliatory, but he managed to make it sound like he was reasoning with a four-year-old and expected a tantrum at any moment.
Chris rolled her eyes as she led the way out of her bedroom. Yeah, they were all going to sit down for a nice chat—that was it.
Once they’d all resumed their places, Agent Helmer leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Outside the window, evening had settled, and Chris absently noticed that the old-fashioned streetlights in the circle had come on.
“Can you turn on the lamp?” she suggested to Agent Midaugh, indicating the old-fashioned lamp with a tasseled shade.
He pulled the little chain and a warm golden light filled the living room and made her feel better, at least until Agent Helmer began talking again.
“So, what you’re saying, Ms. Pascal, is that you haven’t had any contact with the unsub.”
“No, I’m saying that to my knowledge I’ve had no contact with a serial killer.”
“Not to your knowledge.”
“Yeah, not to my knowledge. People contact me all the time through my website. I create online identities for people. You want people to think you’re dating a supermodel? Fine. I take faces from the Internet, mash them together, a nose here, an eyebrow there, and presto, a girlfriend to make your ex jealous. I run a background check on everyone who submits a request, but it’s just a standard check.”
“Not many people can want this.”
Chris shrugged, digging her bare feet into the faded Persian rug her father’s assistant had rescued from the auction. “You’d be surprised.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t.” He sounded a little disgusted. Agent Midaugh just looked resigned.
“So, if you tracked the identities the man was using back to me, he must be communicating with these women through, what? Email? Dating sites? Chatrooms?”
“We’re not at liberty to share that information with—” Agent Helmer began, but Midaugh forestalled him by holding up a hand.
The younger man subsided, but he was clearly displeased.
“We’ve already told you too much, Ms. Pascal,” Midaugh insisted. “If you weren’t known to the FBI, based on the information we’ve discovered . . . well, let’s just say we probably wouldn’t be sitting on your couch having this chat.”
“Hmm.” Christina pulled her legs close to her body and wrapped her arms around them. “So, clearly he knows me. Knows who I am.”
“He doesn’t seem to be threatening you directly, Ms.
Christina waved a hand at the machines. “Here you go. Look away.”
“Our plan was to take it with us and give it to our Cyber Crimes Division.” Agent Midaugh put his thumbs in the loops of his belt, making his jacket flare outward around a substantial stomach.
Chris looked doubtfully at the assortment of computers. “ ‘It’?”
“We thought you had a single laptop or something.”
Chris looked at him like he was an idiot. “Look, I can give you all my sites, my passwords”—she waved a hand to indicate et cetera—“but it’s gonna take someone who knows computers to prove I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We have someone on the way,” said Agent Helmer, who seemed uncomfortable in the small room, looking at the furniture as if he might break something. “He’s one of our Cyber Crimes agents.”
“Great. When is he getting here?”
Agent Midaugh held up his phone. “He should be here soon.”
“Awesome.”
“In the meantime, why don’t we go back in the living room and talk for a bit?” Helmer was trying for conciliatory, but he managed to make it sound like he was reasoning with a four-year-old and expected a tantrum at any moment.
Chris rolled her eyes as she led the way out of her bedroom. Yeah, they were all going to sit down for a nice chat—that was it.
Once they’d all resumed their places, Agent Helmer leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Outside the window, evening had settled, and Chris absently noticed that the old-fashioned streetlights in the circle had come on.
“Can you turn on the lamp?” she suggested to Agent Midaugh, indicating the old-fashioned lamp with a tasseled shade.
He pulled the little chain and a warm golden light filled the living room and made her feel better, at least until Agent Helmer began talking again.
“So, what you’re saying, Ms. Pascal, is that you haven’t had any contact with the unsub.”
“No, I’m saying that to my knowledge I’ve had no contact with a serial killer.”
“Not to your knowledge.”
“Yeah, not to my knowledge. People contact me all the time through my website. I create online identities for people. You want people to think you’re dating a supermodel? Fine. I take faces from the Internet, mash them together, a nose here, an eyebrow there, and presto, a girlfriend to make your ex jealous. I run a background check on everyone who submits a request, but it’s just a standard check.”
“Not many people can want this.”
Chris shrugged, digging her bare feet into the faded Persian rug her father’s assistant had rescued from the auction. “You’d be surprised.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t.” He sounded a little disgusted. Agent Midaugh just looked resigned.
“So, if you tracked the identities the man was using back to me, he must be communicating with these women through, what? Email? Dating sites? Chatrooms?”
“We’re not at liberty to share that information with—” Agent Helmer began, but Midaugh forestalled him by holding up a hand.
The younger man subsided, but he was clearly displeased.
“We’ve already told you too much, Ms. Pascal,” Midaugh insisted. “If you weren’t known to the FBI, based on the information we’ve discovered . . . well, let’s just say we probably wouldn’t be sitting on your couch having this chat.”
“Hmm.” Christina pulled her legs close to her body and wrapped her arms around them. “So, clearly he knows me. Knows who I am.”
“He doesn’t seem to be threatening you directly, Ms.
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