Fragmented (6 page)

8

Tuesday –
2:48 p.m.

“I don’t
know the guy, I swear!” Burke pleaded, the realization that he was in deep shit becoming more evident. After viewing the photo of the tied and bound child, Jack and Marquez surrounded Burke like two hungry wolves standing over an antelope with a busted leg. It was time Burke came clean on his relationship with who sent those pictures.

“Look, that shit arrived this morning before I crashed. Man, I’d been up all night. Dude sent it to me and I told him it was too freaky, so I canned it. I swear.”

“Jack,” the examiner called out, “I got more for you to look at.”

Jack and Marquez walked over to the monitor. Burke’s body went limp as he sunk deep into the cheap sofa.

The examiner had pieced together another series of photos from deleted fragments. They were similar to the first, same girl, same position.

“I checked the hash marks on the photos,” the examiner said, “to determine if they were modified at any time. No alterations. What you see is what you get. I also pulled up the internal clock to determine the time and date the pictures were taken. If the camera clock is accurate, they’re from today, probably as early as late morning.”

Jack turned toward Burke, whose eyes sagged, his posture limp. Jack jabbed a finger into Burke’s boney chest. “Who is he?”

Burke’s jaw slacked and his head shook back and forth. “Just some guy, some guy that wanted to trade pictures.”

Jack knelt next to the couch, invading Burke’s personal space. “You better come up with some answers soon, because if I can’t find out who that girl is and she dies, you’ll be going down as a conspirator.”

“Bullshit!” Burke tried to jump up but Jack slammed a hand against Burke’s chest, sending him sprawling back to the couch.

“You’re wasting time, Burke.”

Burke started to ramble; the words spat out fast and flustered. “It’s like I said, a bunch of us were just talking trash. Someone sends me pictures, I send some back. Then this guy logs on sometime this morning and starts to talk about child discipline and punishment.”

The room grew quiet.

“I thought he was talking about kinky stuff. Then he sends out these pictures and we all look. I think, this guy’s a sick fuck, what does this have to do with porn?”

“What’s his name?”

Burke squeezed his eyes tight and cocked his head, struggling to remember. “Jure. He said his name was Jure. Goes by the screen name of JPetroski.”

“How long have you two been chatting?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know. A couple weeks at most. He just showed up one day. Didn’t seem like anyone knew him that well.”

Jack shook his head, letting Burke know it wasn’t enough.

“Look, guys, I didn’t know what those photos were. I thought they were staged and that this guy’s just into that sort of stuff.”

“What kind of
stuff
?”

“S&M. You know, kinky.”

“With children?” Jack said.

Burke frowned. “Whatever.”

By this time, Marquez was on the phone with the office, instructing an agent to issue an administrative subpoena to the server of the chat room. She hoped the trail of JPetroski’s past messages would help pinpoint his whereabouts.

“The subpoena has been faxed to the ISP server,” she said. “Should have an answer in fifteen.”

“In the meantime,” Jack said, “I think it’s time to do a little hunting ourselves.”

He and Marquez looked over at Burke, who sat quietly, trying to figure out what Jack meant. Then, the light bulb flashed in his head. “You want to see if he’s on now?”

“Yeah. And we want to go on as you.”

“You can go on as me?”

“Is that a question or consent?” Jack asked.

“Whatever, man.”

The examiners disconnected their forensic equipment from Burke’s computer and signed on to the chat room, searching for Jure Petroski.

“Go get ’em, Marquez,” Jack said. “See if Mr. Petroski is out hunting for more pictures.”

“He’s not a picture kind of guy,” Burke interjected.

Everyone looked at Burke.

Spittle started to build around the corners of his mouth. “Look, this guy, he was into talking about family and children. We all thought he was going somewhere with the conversation. You know, getting into child discipline.” Burke’s face turned white. “It’s talk. Fantasy. Anyway, everyone in the chat room starts joking about it, but Jure, he gets angry. You can see it in his messaging. He starts scolding everyone for not taking him seriously and all of the sudden, everyone starts signing out.”

“How did you leave it with him?”

Burke shrugged. “Okay, I guess. Didn’t really get too deep into his tirade. Just kind of listened.”

“Listened to what?” Marquez asked.

“To him talk about starting over.”

“Starting what over?” Marquez’s voice sounded irritated.

“I don’t know, with a new family, new kids, almost like he got rid of the old one and started a new one.” Burke snapped his fingers, still handcuffed. “I tell you what. This guy either lives in or has lived in
California
. He talked about the summer heat and the winter cold of the
Central Valley
. I remember him saying that his previous family hated the heat.”

“Previous?”

“His words not mine. I just took it in. It wasn’t something I thought I needed to psychoanalyze.” Burke said the word psychoanalyze like he knew what it meant.

Marquez’s cell phone rang. The agent on the other end had just gotten the information from the ISP search. Marquez put her phone on speaker so everyone could hear.

“Your sender’s name is listed as Jure Petroski,” the agent informed. “Occupation, electrical engineer. Get this, home address is
Budapest
,
Hungary
. Nothing in
California
. Looks like you’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

“That’s not good,” Marquez said.

“They’re still trying to determine the origination point of the user. It got a little complicated. Looks like he may have routed his communication through a number of servers that includes an overseas connection. We’re also checking for DMV records and criminal history. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”

Marquez ended the call. She returned her attention to the monitor. Her fingers clattered on the keyboard, linking her to a maze of websites known to attract sexual deviants. The first five sites yielded nothing other than the standard perverts and curious newcomers to child smut. Marquez deflected their requests in her hunt for bigger fish. They’ll be around tomorrow, she contended. The next four sites were empty and the last two wer
e already shu
t down, discovered by the server to be illegal porn sites.

Marquez crossed her arms and glared at the monitor. “Where oh where can he be,” she sang. She cocked her head toward Burke. “Got any suggestions?”

Burke stood up and walked over to his computer. Even though his hands were cuffed, he was still able to maneuver the mouse and tap the keyboard. Through a series of links and secret websites, Burke landed on an occupied chat room. Burke stopped for a moment and looked over at Marquez. “You want me to see if he’s here?”

Marquez waved her hand, giving Burke the green light to go fishing.

Burke placed the keyboard on his lap and started to type.

looking for jure. any 1 hear from him?

Silence.

Burke typed more:
i got pictures for him.

More silence.

family pictures

Marquez looked over at Burke. “Let’s not be too obvious.”

“Can’t lure a rat without cheese,” Burke replied.

A message flashed up:
he was here earlier. talking crazy shit again

Jack moved closer to the table where everyone stood watching the exchange.

“Let’s see if we can make this more interesting,” Jack said. He took the keyboard from Burke and started typing a message to everyone in the chat room.
Jure sent some strange pics today. i want more. anyone got any new?

As quickly as Jack hit the send button, a message returned:
do i know you?

“It’s him.” Burke yelled, “That’s Jure.”

The name Jpetroski blipped at the top of website where the chat room names posted.

Jack responded.
chatted this morning. u sent me pics. nice. got more?

Y?

just interested. who is she?

There was a pause.
she is mine.

r they real?

yes.

Jack’s heart started to pound. “We may have stumbled onto a legit kidnapping.” He handed the keyboard to Marquez and dialed the office. The call was routed to Special Agent Chris Hoskin,
Sacramento
’s team leader for the Evidence Response Team. “Chris, need your help.”

“Go ahead.”

“Check NLETS for any suspicious situations where a kid has come up missing.” NLETS was the National Law Enforcement Telecommunication System, the hub for all criminal justice information in the world. “Also, check with the local agencies. Include the RA territories. I’m looking for any unreporteds.”

“What do you got?”

“Photos over the Internet of a guy with a bound and gagged child. Pics are eerie enough to be real.”

Hoskin went quiet, pondering. “He could be anywhere in the world.”

“Marquez’s chatting with the perp online. There’s some past conversations about the
Central Valley
, like he knows the area. If he’s around here, I want to know.”

“We’ll give it a run. I’ll ring you if I come up with anything.” They ended the call and Jack returned to where Marquez was sitting, trying to lure Petroski into a face-to-face meeting.

lets meet for an exchange
, Marquez typed.

what do you have for me?

children.
Marquez looked up at Jack with a raised lip. “Sick fucks need sick responses.”

Before getting a response, Marquez fired off another message.
         

Im in sacramento,
california
. know the place? where r u?

north.

“We’re getting warmer,” Marquez said.