“In your opinion, are any of these girls in immediate danger?” Tomlinson asked.
Rainy knew better than to lie. “No, sir,” Rainy said. “The images are consistent with other sexts that we’ve seen. But I’m wondering if somebody is hacking cell phones. If I could get some of Clarence Stern’s time, maybe put together a bigger task force, we could—”
“Out of the question,” Tomlinson barked. “Stern is fully booked investigating what may be a terrorist sleeper cell in Somerville. I can’t spare him.”
“But he’s the best at image manipulation.”
“Which is why he’s working terrorism.”
Rainy bit her lip. After 9/11, the FBI had rocketed right to the top of Washington’s most important agency list. Budgets ballooned as a result, but most of the money and resources went toward combating terrorism. Meanwhile, drugs, child porn, organized crime, mainstay assignments of the FBI for years, continued to skyrocket. Rainy couldn’t complain. It was well known that terrorism was job one at the FBI.
“Well, what do you suggest I do, Walt?”
“What I suggest you do is your job, Agent Miles.”
“Sir, if one of the girls finds out that her naked pictures are being passed around the Internet, it could end in tragedy. It could be another Melanie Smyth.”
Melanie Smyth was a fifteen-year-old girl from Newton who’d hung herself in the bedroom closet after her boyfriend posted the naked pictures she texted him to Facebook.
“Stern is booked. End of conversation. After you alert the major carriers about a potential hack, I suggest you talk with Mr. James Mann and figure out how we crack those Leterg codes.”
“He’s not going to know. Suppliers using Leterg do it to keep themselves anonymous.”
“Then it looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Tomlinson said, and left.
Rainy picked up the CVIP report and read it again. Tomlinson was wrong about this one. These girls might have taken their pictures willingly, but that didn’t mean they weren’t in any danger.
Chapter 13
Tom watched the Wildcats soccer scrimmage from the sidelines. It felt good to be coaching again. He needed the distraction.
“How are we looking out there, Coach?” Lindsey asked.
“We’re looking a little sloppy,” Tom said. “But I’m sure we’ll pull it together.”
“Yeah. I’m sure. Do you think I’ll get more playing time?”
“I’m not sure, Lindsey,” Tom said. “You know my position. You’ve got to work harder out there. You’ve got the talent. Now you’ve got to show me you have the desire.”
“I need to play more. I’ll get better. But I’m not going to get any colleges interested in me with the minutes I got last year. Please, Coach.”
Tom nodded. “I’m not saying no,” he said. “Okay? I’ll sub you in for Ashley in a minute.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
Jill was at practice, but not dressed to play. She wasn’t feeling ready yet. Tom understood completely, but he needed to get back to coaching the team and couldn’t let Jill out of his sight. Not with Kip Lange still on the loose.
The first game of the season was just a week away.
Tom noticed something in the distance. A police car was again coming down the road abutting the practice field. The cruiser parked where it had before, and Brendan Murphy climbed out with his signature lack of grace.
“Vern, keep the girls working hard,” Tom said to his assistant coach as he crossed the field. Tom didn’t notice the metal storage clipboard tucked under Murphy’s arm until the two met up on the other sideline.
“Good afternoon, Tom,” Murphy said, without extending his hand.
“Long time, Brendan,” Tom said, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “How’ve you been?”
Murphy removed his mirrored shades. Tom found the gleam in the cop’s eyes most unsettling.
“Well, okay, Tom. I’ve been okay.”
“What brings you to practice today?”
“We’ve got ourselves a situation, I guess that’s what.”
“Is this about Kelly’s homicide investigation?”
“No,” Murphy said. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new situation.”
Murphy peered over Tom’s shoulder and waved to somebody approaching from behind. Tom turned and spotted the school’s athletic director, Craig Powers, waving and walking toward the pair. Tom and Craig Powers had worked together for years and were fond of each other. Powers approached from the direction of Shilo High School, a redbrick building that, according to the school committee, had too many students and too few cafeterias.
Tom turned back and looked at Murphy. “Is somebody hurt, Brendan? One of the kids’ parents, I mean.”
Murphy responded with a grunt but stayed quiet. He apparently wanted Powers to hear whatever had to be said. Powers, thin, balding, looked unsteady on his spindly, long legs. He moved in an unathletic way for an athletic director, Tom thought. But something about this impromptu gathering seemed wrong. Tom had a dreadful feeling that made him forget all about Kip Lange.
Tom noticed how Murphy extended a hand toward Powers. The men shook the way poker buddies might.
“Thanks for making the time, Craig.”
“Does Tom know yet?” Powers asked.
“Not yet. I was waiting for you,” Murphy answered.
“Know what?” Tom asked.
“Heck on a high stick,” Powers said. “I’ll tell him, then.”
Powers loved inventing phrases—without the expletives, of course. Tom often found those folksy colloquialisms not only novel, but situation appropriate as well. Heck on a high stick, indeed! Again Tom called up his kinesics training from his Navy SEAL days and could see Powers’s concern as clearly as he could read an opponent’s defensive scheme.
“Tell me what, Craig?” Tom asked.
“We got an anonymous tip about a Web blog that somebody started,” Powers said. “And it involved you.” He said this in a tone that was more annoyed than alarmed.
“Me?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I got an email from somebody—I don’t know who,” Powers continued. “The message said simply that I should check out this link and that it pertained to you. So I clicked on it and opened this Web site called Tumblr.com. Ever hear of it?”
“No,” Tom said.
“It’s for blogging,” Murphy said. “You can post text, photos, quotes, links, that sort of thing.”
“Well, this wasn’t protected at all,” Powers said. “Anybody who had the link could have read it. Whoever created the page was looking for attention and wanted people to see it, if you ask me. That’s my guess.”
“Yeah? An attention-seeking mystery blog,” Tom said. “Well, what was on this blog that’s got the attention of the police?”
Powers cleared his throat as if he were about make an important announcement. He didn’t get the chance. Murphy answered for him.
“It said that you’ve been having sex with one of the girls on your team.” Murphy looked smug, as if to say, “I may not get you for Kelly’s murder, but I’ll nail you for something else.”
“You don’t really think I’m sleeping with a player?” Tom said. “Come on. Are you joking?”
Powers and Murphy each held a blank stare.
Tom frowned. “By the looks on your faces, I’m guessing no. You’re not joking.”
Murphy opened his storage clipboard and took out five sheets of paper, which he handed to Tom.
