investigation as a related homicide. Programmer Chopra Singh – project lead on the bestselling MMORPG game The Gate was electrocuted in company offices. Lead detective Peter Sebeck of the Ventura County Sheriff’s Major Crimes Unit confirmed the killings were carried out via the Internet.
Sebeck was already staring at the ceiling when his alarm clock sounded. He switched it off by touch and kept staring at the ceiling. He’d gotten in late last night. Even so, he hadn’t slept. He kept turning the case over in his mind. That’s what he’d taken to calling it: The Case.
The FBI had taken over. They were forming a temporary task force with local law enforcement, but the Feds were in charge. Agents were photocopying files and interrogating suspects when Sebeck left at two a.m. Decker was some sort of workaholic.
Sebeck explored his sense of loss.
The Case
no longer belonged to him. Why did it bother him so much? He was afraid he knew the answer: he felt truly alive only when something horrible was happening. That was the dirty secret behind every promotion he had ever received.
He’d miscast himself in the role of authority figure. A decision made one afternoon fifteen years ago. He had had to grow up fast, back then – after the baby – but he sometimes wonderedif he wasn’t just 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
Sebeck was already staring at the ceiling when his alarm clock sounded. He switched it off by touch and kept staring at the ceiling. He’d gotten in late last night. Even so, he hadn’t slept. He kept turning the case over in his mind. That’s what he’d taken to calling it: The Case.
The FBI had taken over. They were forming a temporary task force with local law enforcement, but the Feds were in charge. Agents were photocopying files and interrogating suspects when Sebeck left at two a.m. Decker was some sort of workaholic.
Sebeck explored his sense of loss.
The Case
no longer belonged to him. Why did it bother him so much? He was afraid he knew the answer: he felt truly alive only when something horrible was happening. That was the dirty secret behind every promotion he had ever received.
He’d miscast himself in the role of authority figure. A decision made one afternoon fifteen years ago. He had had to grow up fast, back then – after the baby – but he sometimes wonderedif he wasn’t just 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
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