Mr. Curry stopped breathing for several seconds, Cardinal heard it. He reached in and pulled out three more magazines.
'Shows how well I know my own son, I guess. I would have never guessed. Not in a million years.'
'I wouldn't put too much stress on a few pictures. Looks like curiosity to me. He's got Playboy and Penthouse here, too.'
'I would never, never have guessed.'
'Nobody's an open book, Mr. Curry. Not you, not me…'
'I'd like to keep this from his mother.'
'Certainly. There's no need to tell her, at least not now. Why don't you take a break, Mr. Curry? There's no need for you to watch.'
'She's a very strong woman, Edna, but this-'
'Maybe you better go see how she's doing.'
'Thank you, yes, I'll do that. I'll just go see how Edna's doing.' It struck Cardinal that, to a teenager, Todd's father must have seemed a mother hen.
From the desk, the Macintosh was staring at him with its cool blind eye. Cardinal knew enough about Macs to boot it up and find the list of programs; it only took him two minutes, but he didn't recognize anything. He went out into the living room and signaled to Delorme, who was next to Mrs. Curry on the couch, going over a family album.
Delorme was no computer specialist, either, but just that morning Cardinal had watched her put Flower's Mac through its paces. It made him feel old. It seemed like anybody under thirty-five was comfortable with computers, which frustrated Cardinal at every turn. Delorme whipped that mouse around like a slot car.
'Can we see what he's been tapping into?'
'That's what I'm doing right now. Threader, here, is a useful program. You set it up to stop in at your favorite ports of call. It visits them all at top speed then clicks back off, so it saves connect charges. Only someone who goes on-line a lot would have it.'
The screen changed, showing a list of newsgroups. Cardinal read them aloud: 'Email, HouseofRock, House- ofRap- rap music? That's gotta be unusual for a white kid.'
'Boy, are you out of date.'
'Okay, what's this Connections thing?' He tapped an icon of a kissing couple on the screen. 'That a talk-dirty outfit?'
'Not necessarily. Let's log on and see what we get.'
Delorme moved the mouse and clicked. There was a dialing sound, then the raspberry noise of modems shaking hands. The screen flashed, scrolled at blinding speed, and clicked off.
'It's like trolling in your favorite bays,' Delorme said. 'Now let's see what we hauled in.'
She clicked through the messages. There was a lot of computer chat about new games for Mac users, none addressed specifically to Todd. Then there was a discussion about buying tickets for an Aerosmith concert at the Sky-Dome.
'Ah,' Delorme said. 'Here's his mail basket. Oh boy, he liked his e-mail hot.'
'Jesus,' Cardinal said. He was glad he was standing behind Delorme, because he wouldn't have been able to look her in the eye.
'See, it's all anonymous,' Delorme said, pointing. 'He called himself Galahad in this newsgroup.'
'Well, it certainly goes with the Blueboy magazines. Looks like he's got ten different correspondents, there.'
'Oop, look here. This guy knows his real name.'
Todd, Cardinal read. I'm sorry things didn't work out between us. You seem like a good kid and I wish you well, but I don't think we should meet again. Probably not even talk again, but I'm open on that point. – Jacob
'John, look at the date.'
'December twentieth. The night Todd Curry showed up at the Crisis Center. Hey, we could be getting warm, here.'
Delorme flipped through several screens, flashing through previous 'letters' from the same Jacob. The sex was explicitly detailed. There were repeated invitations to come and visit, to stay the night.
'What a perfect setup,' Cardinal said. 'Size up your victims over the computer lines. Reel them in, long- distance.'
They read more. Not all the messages were explicit sexual fantasies. Some were more thoughtful discussions about the problems of accepting oneself as gay. Well, that's right, Cardinal thought, put the kid at ease. Next to alcohol, sympathy was probably the most potent weapon in the seducer's arsenal.
'Is there any way we can get this guy's real name and address off this?'
'Address, I doubt. Name, maybe. I'm a little rusty, though. It could take a while.' Delorme set the mouse moving in circles again, while Cardinal knelt on the floor, going through the boy's collection of video games. After about ten minutes, Delorme touched his shoulder. 'Look at this.'
Cardinal stood up and looked over her shoulder.
'This is his sex group listing, the Jacob guy. And his e-mail address.' She read out: ' 'Top, body-building, oral, hot E-mail…' So far, so good. In one of his discussions he mentions Louis Riel- you remember your history?'
'Small rebellion out west, right?'
'Not that small. Anyway, I figure maybe he's into history, so I click on the history newsgroup, right?' Delorme clicked the mouse, and the screen changed. 'Next stop: history newsgroup, membership directory. Put in a search for Jacob's e-mail address…' She typed in as she talked. 'And look what comes up! Same address.'
'That's Jacob?'
'That's Jacob. Only in this group, he's using his real name.' She tapped the screen with her index finger. Cardinal read, Jack Fehrenbach, 47: e-mail (French or English). Algonquin Bay.
'Fehrenbach's a teacher at Algonquin High. We sure that's his real name?'
'Not a hundred percent, no. But it's probably the name the account is under.'
'Kelly had that guy one year. It could be someone just using his name, right? A pissed-off student, maybe.'
'Could be. But the Internet service bills your credit card, so it would have to be a pretty big scam.'
'This is first-class work, Lise. First-class.'
Delorme grinned. 'It's not too bad, I have to admit.'
25
THE nausea had finally lifted. For days it had hung over the bed like smog, so that the slightest movement made his head whirl and the bile climb in his throat. A few bites of food, and the bed had begun to feel like a boat pitching headlong from crest to trough.
At other times- usually just before Eric or Edie brought in his tray- the nausea would recede a little, and he began to think he would soon be out in the sunlight and fresh air. Then strange fancies would take hold of him: The bedposts dissolved into minarets, his feet beneath the covers formed distant dunes, a dripping tap became a tambourine. He would imagine he was in some exotic locale- Bahrain, Tangiers- where he had been laid low with exotic fevers. His eyes felt webbed; his muscles were dead as meat.
The figure on the edge of the bed blurred and shifted. Keith tried to focus. The smell of toast and jam was overwhelming. When was the last time he'd kept anything down? 'God, I'm so hungry.' He spoke to where the figure had been, but it had shifted again.
'Take it.' Eric was holding the plate under Keith's nose. The smell nearly made him faint.
Keith ate four pieces of toast. He began to feel solid again, as if he could get up and do things. 'Eric. I need to use the phone. I need a phone.'
'Sorry. Edie doesn't have a phone. I have one, but I live across town.'
'She doesn't have a phone?'
'No. I just told you.'
