Chaser by J A Konrath

Author:J A Konrath
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: General Fiction
Published: 2019-12-25T05:00:00+00:00

TOM

I think we have a lead,” Firoz said.

Tom waited. Some good news would be nice. He hadn’t slept at all, lying awake on the bed next to Joan, staring at the stateroom door, Stallone curled up at their feet, his gun within easy reach.

Tom was too tired to even yawn.

An hour earlier, Tom, Joan, and their dog had left the boat and gotten breakfast at one of the many food carts that swarmed around the marina like ants. Breakfast burritos, Tex-Mex style. Extra spicy for Joan, mild for him.

Then her bodyguards showed up, she went off to the studio, and Tom hung around the boat, feeling sullen and exhausted and wary, waiting for Roy to pick him up so they could follow some leads. Firoz’s phone call was a welcome reprieve, and a welcome surprise.

“Darknet is full of message boards. Pedophiles swapping Southeast Asian child sex tour tips, assassins seeking clients, weapons brokers, drug dealers, degenerates comparing notes. Lots of sickos into torture and murder porn, and they can do it unafraid and unrestrained by any netiquette, terms of service, or moderators. But on the good old searchable Internet, there are some who take it too far. I figured if Cissick was a newbie, maybe he would have left a Google trail.”

“And he did?”

“I found some imageboard posts from someone calling himself Orestes.”

“From the Greek play.” Tom had studied all the mythology related to Erinyes.

“Right. Six months ago, asking a BDSM porn forum about how to upload snuff videos. He got a lot of tech information, a lot of email requests, and then someone pointed him to a .onion site on the hidden web. I went to the site, found more posts by Orestes, and a user named Romulus engaged him. Guided him through uploading to Usher House 2.0. I think it was the webmaster. The next day, the first Erinyes snuff vid appeared on the site. So Orestes has to be Cissick.”

It was a logical trail. But Tom didn’t know if it was strong enough to get a warrant.

“Can we bait Cissick on the imageboard?”

“We don’t need to. This imageboard isn’t anonymous, so I talked to a friendly judge for a warrant and then emailed the owner. He gave up Cissick’s IP. A few calls later, I got a Culver City address from his Internet Service Provider. He’s using the name Brad Dunwich.”

Stallone yawned. Tom yawned in solidarity. “Did you call the Feebies?”

“Not yet. I called you first. Dunwich dropped his ISP two months ago.”

“Did he move? Leave a forwarding address?”

“Cissick got the service with stolen ID. The real Dunwich is fifty-two years old, lives in Ladera Heights. He canceled the service.”

“So Cissick can still be at that address?”

“Unknown.”

Tom bounced it around in his head.

If this were a bad thriller novel where the hero took ridiculous risks, Tom would check out the house himself. Then everything would go wrong, and Tom would wind up chained to a radiator, or hanging from the ceiling, being slowly skinned alive.

Not happening.

Both the FBI, and the local cops, knew all about Cissick.

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