Then it stopped.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Garcia asked, lifting his palms up.
Hunter shook his head. His full attention never leaving the screen.
The camera zoomed out just a little, and all of a sudden the submerged portion of the pipes sprang back into life. Like a Jacuzzi bath, the underwater jets ruffled the water as they spat more liquid into the enclosure. But there was something different this time. As the colorless liquid exited the pipes and mixed with the water, it was producing an odd effect, as if the new liquid was denser than that already inside the enclosure.
Hunter leaned forward, bringing his face closer to the monitor.
‘That’s not water,’ he said.
‘What?’ Garcia asked, standing right behind him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Different density,’ Hunter replied, pointing at his screen. ‘Whatever he’s pumping into that tank, it isn’t water this time.’
‘What the hell is it, then?’
At that moment something started flashing at the top right-hand corner of the picture. Four letters inside parentheses. The first, third and fourth were in capitals.
(NaOH)
‘Is that a chemical formula?’ Garcia pointed to it.
‘Yes.’ Hunter breathed out.
‘For what?’ Garcia rushed back to his computer and opened a new tab on his web browser.
‘No need to search for it, Carlos,’ Hunter said grimly. ‘That’s the chemical formula for sodium hydroxide . . . caustic soda.’
Garcia looked at Hunter over his computer. ‘No way. Are you sure?’
Hunter nodded. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Sonofabitch.’
The phone on Hunter’s desk rang again. It was Dennis Baxter from the Computer Crimes Unit.
‘Detective,’ he said in an anxious voice. ‘NaOH is caustic soda. Sodium hydroxide.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Shit, man. That stuff is highly corrosive. Many times worse than acid. If somebody is dumping sodium hydroxide into that much water, for now, the solution will be over-diluted and not very strong, but soon . . .’ He went silent.
‘It will turn that whole thing into an alkaline bath,’ Hunter finished the sentence Baxter couldn’t.
‘That’s right. And you know what that will
Hunter put the phone down. ‘We can’t get him through the Internet transmission either,’ he told Garcia.
‘Shit. This is messed up, man.’
The man on the screen started shaking again. But this time Hunter could tell it wasn’t from fear or cold. It was excruciating pain. The solution was getting stronger and starting to corrode his skin. His mouth opened wide to release an agonizing scream that neither Hunter nor Garcia could hear. Secretly, both detectives were relieved by the lack of sound.
As more and more caustic soda was added to the mixture, the water started gaining a faint, dull, milky color.
The man closed his eyes and started shaking his head violently from side to side, as if having a seizure. The alkaline bath was starting to scrape away his skin like an electric sander. It took only a few seconds for the first pieces of skin to be ripped from his body.
Hunter rubbed his face with both hands. He had never felt so helpless.
As more and more skin started to float around the tank, the water began to change color again. It was now going pink. His entire body was bleeding.
The camera zoomed in on something else floating inside the enclosure.
‘What is that?’ Garcia asked, pulling a face.
Hunter pinched his bottom lip. ‘It’s a fingernail. His body is dissolving.’
The camera zoomed in on another one, and another one. The solution had already dissolved his cuticles and most of the nail beds on his fingers and toes.
The water was getting bloodier. They couldn’t see through it anymore. The man’s face, though, was still above the water line.
The victim had lost control of his body, which was now shaking incessantly, guided only by pain. His eyes had rolled back into his head. His mouth was contorted into an excruciating shape. His teeth were relentlessly grinding against each other, and he was now bleeding from the gums, nose and ears as well.
The water was starting to boil.
The man convulsed for the last time. His chest kicked forward so violently it looked like there was something inside it, trying to explode out of his body. His chin fell to his chest, submerging his face under the bloody water and sodium hydroxide mixture.
There was no more movement.
The camera zoomed out, showing the entire glass enclosure.
Hunter and Garcia couldn’t find any words. They couldn’t look away either.
A few seconds later a message flashed across their screens.
I HOPE YOU’VE ENJOYED THE SHOW.
Hunter, Garcia and Dennis Baxter were all standing behind Captain Blake’s desk, staring at her computer monitor, watching the footage Baxter had captured from the Internet minutes earlier. The Operations Office had also already sent Hunter a copy of the recorded telephone conversation between him and the mysterious caller.
Captain Blake listened to the recording and watched the entire footage without uttering a word. At the end of it all she looked up at Hunter and Garcia, her face paler than moments ago.
‘Was this real?’
Her stare jumped to Baxter, who was a big man, none of it muscle. He was in his forties, with curly fair hair, a plump face made heavier by a double chin, and a thin mustache that looked more like peach fuzz.
‘I mean,’ she said. ‘I know that nowadays CGI technology can make anything look real. Can we be sure that this whole thing isn’t just digital and camera trickery?’
Baxter shrugged.
‘Well, you’re the head of the Computer Crimes Unit.’ The captain’s voice went hard. ‘Tell me something.’
Baxter tilted his head to one side. ‘I just captured the whole thing moments ago after getting a call from Detective Hunter. I haven’t really had time to analyze it, but at first look and on gut feeling – it’s real.’
The captain ran a hand through her long jet-black hair before allowing her stare to return to Hunter and Garcia.
‘Too complex and bold to be just a hoax,’ Hunter said. ‘Operations couldn’t trace the call. The caller was bouncing it around town every five seconds.’ He gestured to Baxter. ‘Dennis said that the Internet transmission came from Taiwan.’
‘What?’ Captain Blake faced Baxter again.
‘It’s true. What we had was an IP address, which is a unique identifying number given to every single computer on the Internet. With that, we can easily pinpoint the host computer. The IP address used was assigned to a server in Taiwan.’
‘How can that be?’
‘Easy. The Internet makes the world a global market. For example, if you want to set up a website, there is no law that tells you that you have to host it in America. You can search the net for the best deal, and have your website sitting in a server absolutely anywhere – Russia, Vietnam, Taiwan, Afghanistan . . . it makes no difference. Everybody can access it just the same.’
Captain Blake thought about it for a second. ‘No diplomatic relations,’ she said. ‘Not only does the United States have no jurisdiction, but even a diplomatic approach, such as calling the server company and asking for their help, would fail.’
‘That’s right. He could’ve also hijacked the IP address,’ Baxter added. ‘It’s like stealing number plates from a car and putting them on yours to avoid being caught.’
‘Can that be done?’ Captain Blake asked.
‘If he’s good enough, sure.’
‘So we’ve got nothing?’
Baxter shook his head. ‘Though I have to admit that we’re limited in what we can do at the Computer Crimes Unit.’ He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his round nose. ‘Our investigations are usually restricted to crimes committed using computer-stored information, or sabotage to computer-stored information. In other words, database and information hacking – from private individual computers to schools, banks and corporations. This kind of thing isn’t really what we deal with.’
‘Fantastic,’ the captain said, not impressed.
‘The FBI Cybercrime Division, on the other hand,’ Baxter said, moving on, ‘is a much more powerful unit. They deal with every kind of cybercrime. They even have the power and the equipment to terminate any internet transmission made from within the US territory from their office.’
Captain Blake pulled a face. ‘So you’re saying that we should get the FBI involved?’
It was no secret that the FBI and any police force in any American state didn’t have the best of relations, no matter what politicians and heads of departments said.
‘Not really,’ Baxter replied. ‘I was just stating a fact. There’s nothing the FBI can do now. The transmission is over. The site is dead. Let me show you.’ He pointed to the computer on her desk. ‘May I?’
‘Go right ahead.’ Captain Blake pushed her chair back a couple of feet.
Baxter leaned over the captain’s keyboard, typed the IP address into the Internet browser’s address bar and hit the ‘enter’ key. It took only a few seconds for a web page to load: ERROR 404 – PAGE CANNOT BE FOUND.
‘The site isn’t there anymore,’ Baxter said. ‘I already set up a small program that carries on checking that address every ten seconds. If anything comes up again, we’ll know.’ His eyebrows arched. ‘But if it does, maybe you should consider at least liaising with the LA FBI Cybercrime Division.’
Captain Blake scowled at him and then looked at Hunter, who remained quiet.
‘The head of the unit there is a good friend of mine, Michelle Kelly. She’s not your typical FBI agent. Trust me, when it comes to knowing about cyberspace, the buck stops with her. The FBI is much better equipped than the LAPD to track these kinds of cybercriminals down. Back at the Computer Crimes Unit, we liaise with them all the time. They aren’t pretentious field agents in black suits, dark shades and earpieces. They’re computer geeks.’ Baxter smiled. ‘Just like me.’
‘I’d say let’s cross that bridge when we get there,’ Hunter replied, looking at Baxter. ‘Like you’ve said, there’s nothing they can do now, and we’ve got nothing to indicate that this is a federal case, so at the moment I see no point in bringing the FBI into this. At this early stage it will only complicate things.’
‘I agree,’ Captain Blake said. ‘If at a later stage it becomes necessary that we liaise with them, we will, but for now, no FBI.’ She addressed Baxter again. ‘Could this transmission have been watched by anyone else, like the general public?’
‘In theory, yes,’ Baxter confirmed. ‘It wasn’t a secure transmission, meaning it didn’t require a password to access the page. If anyone other than us came across that web transmission by chance, then yes, they could’ve watched it, just like we did. But I have to add that that is very unlikely.’
Captain Blake nodded and turned to address Hunter. ‘OK, so we’ve got to assume this whole thing is real. My first question is – why you? The call went directly to your desk. On the phone, he asked for you by name.’
‘I’ve been asking myself that same question, and at the moment the answer is – I’m not sure,’ Hunter replied. ‘There are basically two ways an outside call can end up on a detective’s desk. Either the caller dials the RHD number and adds the specific desk extension when prompted, or he calls the RHD switchboard and asks to be put through to a specific detective.’
‘And?’
‘The call didn’t come through the switchboard. I’ve already checked. The caller dialed my extension directly.’
‘So my question still stands,’ the captain pushed. ‘Why you? And how did he get your extension number?’
‘He could’ve gotten hold of one of my cards somewhere,’ Hunter said.
‘Or he could’ve called the RHD switchboard anytime before the call in question and simply asked for the extension number,’ Garcia said. ‘Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he hacked into our system and obtained a list of detectives’ names from there. He was bouncing his call signal around like a pro, and he had some sort of firewall good enough to stop the LAPD’s Computer Crimes Unit from getting to him. My guess is that he knows his way around cyberspace.’
‘I’d have to agree,’ Baxter said.
‘So you’re saying that he could’ve picked Robert’s name by chance from a list of all RHD detectives?’ Captain Blake asked.
Baxter shrugged. ‘It’s possible.’
‘Strange coincidence, don’t you think?’ the captain added. ‘Given that a UV case like this would’ve gone straight to Robert anyway.’
Inside the Robbery Homicide Division, Hunter was part of a special branch. The Homicide Special Section was created to deal solely with serial, high-profile and homicide cases requiring extensive investigative time and expertise. But Hunter had an even more specialized task. Due to his criminal behavior psychology background, he was always assigned to cases where overwhelming sadism and brutality had been used by the perpetrator. The department referred to such cases as UV –
‘Robert’s name has been in the papers and on TV plenty of times. He’s worked on most of the department’s high-profile cases for the past . . . I don’t know how many years, and he usually gets his guy.’
Captain Blake couldn’t argue with that. Hunter’s name had been in the papers again just a few months ago, when he and Garcia closed the investigation into a serial killer the press had dubbed The Sculptor.