pretending. If he wasn’t simply acting the way he thought he should act. The way others around him did. He didn’t even know who he’d be without this role. Pete Sebeck was just an idea—a collection of responsibilities with a mailing address.
He tried to recall the last time he actually felt something. The last time he felt alive. That inevitably led to thoughts of her. Memories of the trip to Grand Cayman. He tried to remember the smell of her hair. He wondered where she was right now, and if he’d ever see her again. She didn’t need a damned thing from him. Maybe that’s what he loved most about her.
Sebeck’s cell phone sounded from the nightstand, scattering his thoughts. He glanced over at his wife’s side of the bed. She roused slightly. He grabbed the handset and sat up. “Sebeck.”
“Detective Sebeck?”
“Yeah. Who’s—”
“This is Special Agent Boerner, FBI. I just sent an e-mail to your home address. The agent in charge wants a response before you’re in this morning.” Someone yelled in the background. Boerner clicked off without saying goodbye.
“Hello?” Sebeck stared in irritation at the handset. Rude asshole. He glanced at the clock: 6:32 A.M.
His wife sat up on the other side of the bed and stretched in one of her full-length nightgowns.
“Laura, I have to jump in the shower first. I’ve got a full day ahead.”
“Fine, Pete.”
“I won’t be long. Go back to sleep.”
Sebeck ran through his ablutions in fifteen minutes, dressed, and tied his tie on the way downstairs. He ducked into the kitchen.
His son, Chris, sat reading the morning paper. The kid was getting big—muscular big. Sixteen. Almost the age Sebeck was when he and Laura conceived the boy. Had it really been sixteen years? “Why don’t you get a shovel, Chris?”
Chris had a bulging mouthful of cereal. The boy grabbed at his dad’s suit jacket as he walked past. Chris flipped the paper over to reveal the front page. There was a color picture of Sebeck over the headline: “Internet Killings Spark Federal Investigation.” Mantz was also in the picture to his left. Sebeck stopped short and picked up the page, reading slowly as he sank down into a seat at the table.
Chris chewed his way back to speech. “L.A. Times . That’s big.”
Sebeck just kept reading.
Laura walked into the kitchen.
Sebeck glanced up. “Did you see this?”
She looked down at the page. “Not a great picture of Nathan.” She went over to the stove to make tea.
Sebeck handed the paper back to Chris but kept looking at Laura. “I won’t be able to pick up Chris from practice today. I’ve got the FBI here, the national media, and God knows what else.”
“We’ll manage.”
Chris lowered the paper. “The Feds are interrogating the insurance guys. You think they did it?”
“I’m not the one questioning them, Chris.” Sebeck stood. “From here on out, I’ll be lucky to be in the loop at all.” He glanced at his watch. “I gotta go.”
Sebeck headed down the hall to the den. Once there, he dropped into the desk chair and hit the power switch on the computer. While the computer booted, he moved a gaming joystick off to the side and tossed two soda cans into the trash. He called to the kitchen, “Chris, I won’t keep asking you to clean up in here when you’re done!” No answer.
The computer desktop came up. Sebeck launched his e-mail program, then clicked the GET MAIL button. He waited as 132 messages downloaded. Goddamned spam. When it finished, the message subject lines ranged from “Barely Legal Teens” to ”Nigerian Exile Needs Help” to ”Lolitas Take Horse Cock.”
He searched his inbox for the FBI message. It was near the top and had the subject line “Case #93233—CyberStorm/Pavlos” from [email protected]. Sebeck double-clicked on it.
Strangely, as the e-mail opened, the screen went black. Then the words ”Testing Audio” faded in. The hard drive strained. Sebeck stared in confusion. What
He tried to recall the last time he actually felt something. The last time he felt alive. That inevitably led to thoughts of her. Memories of the trip to Grand Cayman. He tried to remember the smell of her hair. He wondered where she was right now, and if he’d ever see her again. She didn’t need a damned thing from him. Maybe that’s what he loved most about her.
Sebeck’s cell phone sounded from the nightstand, scattering his thoughts. He glanced over at his wife’s side of the bed. She roused slightly. He grabbed the handset and sat up. “Sebeck.”
“Detective Sebeck?”
“Yeah. Who’s—”
“This is Special Agent Boerner, FBI. I just sent an e-mail to your home address. The agent in charge wants a response before you’re in this morning.” Someone yelled in the background. Boerner clicked off without saying goodbye.
“Hello?” Sebeck stared in irritation at the handset. Rude asshole. He glanced at the clock: 6:32 A.M.
His wife sat up on the other side of the bed and stretched in one of her full-length nightgowns.
“Laura, I have to jump in the shower first. I’ve got a full day ahead.”
“Fine, Pete.”
“I won’t be long. Go back to sleep.”
Sebeck ran through his ablutions in fifteen minutes, dressed, and tied his tie on the way downstairs. He ducked into the kitchen.
His son, Chris, sat reading the morning paper. The kid was getting big—muscular big. Sixteen. Almost the age Sebeck was when he and Laura conceived the boy. Had it really been sixteen years? “Why don’t you get a shovel, Chris?”
Chris had a bulging mouthful of cereal. The boy grabbed at his dad’s suit jacket as he walked past. Chris flipped the paper over to reveal the front page. There was a color picture of Sebeck over the headline: “Internet Killings Spark Federal Investigation.” Mantz was also in the picture to his left. Sebeck stopped short and picked up the page, reading slowly as he sank down into a seat at the table.
Chris chewed his way back to speech. “L.A. Times . That’s big.”
Sebeck just kept reading.
Laura walked into the kitchen.
Sebeck glanced up. “Did you see this?”
She looked down at the page. “Not a great picture of Nathan.” She went over to the stove to make tea.
Sebeck handed the paper back to Chris but kept looking at Laura. “I won’t be able to pick up Chris from practice today. I’ve got the FBI here, the national media, and God knows what else.”
“We’ll manage.”
Chris lowered the paper. “The Feds are interrogating the insurance guys. You think they did it?”
“I’m not the one questioning them, Chris.” Sebeck stood. “From here on out, I’ll be lucky to be in the loop at all.” He glanced at his watch. “I gotta go.”
Sebeck headed down the hall to the den. Once there, he dropped into the desk chair and hit the power switch on the computer. While the computer booted, he moved a gaming joystick off to the side and tossed two soda cans into the trash. He called to the kitchen, “Chris, I won’t keep asking you to clean up in here when you’re done!” No answer.
The computer desktop came up. Sebeck launched his e-mail program, then clicked the GET MAIL button. He waited as 132 messages downloaded. Goddamned spam. When it finished, the message subject lines ranged from “Barely Legal Teens” to ”Nigerian Exile Needs Help” to ”Lolitas Take Horse Cock.”
He searched his inbox for the FBI message. It was near the top and had the subject line “Case #93233—CyberStorm/Pavlos” from [email protected]. Sebeck double-clicked on it.
Strangely, as the e-mail opened, the screen went black. Then the words ”Testing Audio” faded in. The hard drive strained. Sebeck stared in confusion. What
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