Michelle had another sip of her drink and drew in a long, heavy breath. ‘We came across a new piece of information today.’ Her tone went serious. Playtime was definitely over.
‘About this afternoon’s broadcast?’
Hunter already knew that the video had gone viral. Snippets, snapshots and even the full nineteen minutes and thirty-four seconds of it had been uploaded to so many different Internet sites no one could keep track anymore. If there were someone out there who hadn’t seen it yet, they would soon.
‘Actually, we think it might have affected the previous one too, but there’s no way we can be sure.’
It was Hunter’s turn to lean forward and place his elbows on the table.
‘I’ve told you this before,’ Michelle proceeded. ‘But we don’t really come across offenders who can shield themselves so proficiently from a FBI Cybercrime Division counterattack. And though I’m sure that we would eventually find a way through his defense system, I’m aware that we just don’t have the time, because every time he transmits, someone else gets tortured and murdered.’ She paused and finished the rest of her drink in one large gulp, her hands just a little unsteady. It wasn’t hard for Hunter to guess that images of the killer’s third victim being dismembered on the rack were popping into her head as she spoke.
‘During today’s broadcast,’ Michelle carried on, ‘we again threw everything we had at it, and we got exactly the same result as before – nothing. Every time we got past one of his defense layers, there was a thicker one waiting for us just behind it.’
Hunter could see the frustration building up in her eyes.
‘But this time we weren’t the only ones who tried launching a counterattack.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I had already contacted the head of the FBI Cybercrime Division in Washington. Their office deals mainly with cyber terrorism, which is great, because I knew they would approach the killer’s transmission in a different way.’ She tilted her head slightly to one side in an almost coy gesture. ‘I had also got in touch with a very good friend of mine who lives in Michigan. Someone I knew before I joined the FBI. He’s not part of any law-enforcement agency, but apart from Harry he’s the best programmer and cyber hacker I know. I thought that maybe he could help, especially because I know he wouldn’t look at the transmission from a law-enforcer’s point of view.’
She paused, maybe waiting for some sort of disapproving look or words to come from Hunter for failing to consult him first. There were neither.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Did they have better luck than you?’
‘That’s the problem, Robert,’ Michelle said. ‘Neither could even see the site.’
‘What? Why?’
‘They were blocked out.’
Hunter’s frown deepened.
‘The killer used the same kind of “IP address exclusion” program that blocked us out from Carlos’ wife’s transmission yesterday.’
Hunter was trying to process this new piece of information in silence.
‘As I told you before,’ Michelle said, ‘a computer’s IP address works in the same way a telephone number does. It also has a prefix that identifies the country, the state and even the city where the computer is located.’
Hunter acknowledged it.
‘Well, that’s exactly how the killer did it. He blocked off every IP address from outside California.’
‘The rest of the world too?’
Michelle nodded. ‘California, that’s it. No one else was allowed to watch it.’
Hunter breathed out slowly. The new question now banging a gong inside his head was:
anything
one
They both went silent for a while.
‘I haven’t had the time to reanalyze the footage from this afternoon yet,’ Michelle finally said. Paused. Looked down at her glass, and then back at Hunter. ‘No. I’m lying. I haven’t had the stomach to reanalyze it yet. And I’m dreading the fact that I will have to. I’m dreading the fact that we can’t get to him, and sooner or later he’ll broadcast again.’
For the first time Hunter saw a hint of fear creep into Michelle’s eyes. The kind of fear that takes shape during the day and then re-forms much stronger in nightmares. Tonight, Michelle would do anything not to go to sleep.
After the Rainbow shut for the night, Hunter put Michelle in a cab and took one himself.
Hunter must have nodded off sometime during the early hours of the morning, because, when he awakened, the day was just breaking outside his living-room window. His neck muscles were stiff, and every joint in his body ached with the irritation of falling asleep in an uncomfortable chair.
He had a quick shower and an even quicker breakfast before calling Garcia and telling him that he was through with the waiting game and had decided to pay Thomas Paulsen a visit that morning. True, he had nothing to really warrant an interview with the software millionaire other than the fact that Christina Stevenson, their second victim, had written a very damaging expose on how he had sexually harassed many of his employees over a very long period of time. An expose that had cost Paulsen millions, wrecked his twenty-seven-year marriage and severely damaged his relationship with his only daughter. Though Hunter also knew that they had nothing to link Paulsen to their first or third victim, experience had taught him that a face-to-face could reveal much more in a few minutes than days of research sitting behind a desk.
PaulsenSystems was located just off Ventura Freeway, in the very affluent San Fernando Valley neighborhood of Woodland Hills, in northwest Los Angeles. Hunter had called the company just to make sure Thomas Paulsen would be in that morning. His secretary said he would be. Hunter made no appointment.
The drive from the PAB took Hunter and Garcia just over an hour. Traffic was as heavy as any other weekday morning, and Hunter used the time to tell his partner the news Michelle had told him the night before. Garcia also couldn’t make any sense of it. He too believed that this killer would’ve wanted as much exposure as he could get, so why restrict his viewers to California only?
The only conclusion they could draw was that whatever the reason behind it was, it had to be something very personal to the killer.
PaulsenSystems’ headquarters was a grand L-shaped, mirrored-glass and dark granite-fronted building on the corner of Burbank and Topanga Canyon Boulevards. The main entrance was hidden away from the street, through the large private car park at the back. An elegant staircase, flanked by two colorful mini gardens, led up to the heavily air-conditioned and brightly lit entrance lobby. The air inside it was lightly perfumed with the subtle fragrance of sweet alyssum and a hint of wisteria.
‘Nice,’ Garcia said, as they stepped through the automatic sliding doors. ‘Makes a difference from the stale sweat scent you get when you enter the PAB.’
A circular reception counter occupied the center of the spacious lobby like an island. Behind it, the petite, Asian receptionist with long and sleek black hair smiled at both detectives. Her dark eyes shone like two polished marbles.
‘Welcome to PaulsenSystems,’ she said. Her voice was velvety and warm. ‘How can I help you today, gentlemen?’
‘Hello,’ Hunter replied. As much as he would like to, his smile didn’t carry the same level of enthusiasm as hers. ‘We were wondering if we could have a few moments of Mr. Paulsen’s time.’
The receptionist glanced down at her computer, where she would no doubt have a list of Thomas Paulsen’s appointments for the day, but Hunter quickly got her attention back to him.
‘We do not have an appointment,’ he clarified, displaying his credentials. ‘Nevertheless, this matter carries a certain urgency, and we would really appreciate if Mr. Paulsen could give us a few minutes this morning.’
The receptionist smiled again and nodded once, reaching for the phone behind the counter. She spoke quickly and discreetly. Hunter could tell that she wasn’t speaking directly with Thomas Paulsen but with a secretary or PA.
Seconds later, sitting behind his handcrafted oak desk, Thomas Paulsen answered the ringing phone and listened for a few seconds. A dry grin came to his lips, and he sat back, gently rocking in his high-backed leather chair for a moment.
‘Do I have anything scheduled for now?’ he asked.
‘You are actually free for the next hour, Mr. Paulsen,’ his PA confirmed. ‘Your next appointment is at 12:45.’
‘OK,’ Paulsen said, considering his thoughts. ‘You can tell the detectives that I’ll be able to spare a few minutes, but make them wait. I’ll see them when I’m good and ready. Oh, and Joanne . . .’
‘Yes, Mr. Paulsen?’
‘Let’s make them wait downstairs in the lobby, not in my anteroom. They might smell the place up.’
‘Of course, Mr. Paulsen.’
He put the phone down, stood up and walked over to the large panoramic window that faced the Santa Monica Mountains. He felt like laughing out loud, but instead he allowed himself only a proud smile.
Twenty-nine long and frustrating minutes after they had arrived at PaulsenSystems, the receptionist was finally told to allow both detectives to go up. She apologized yet again, and told them to take the elevator to the top floor. Someone would meet them there.
The elevator doors rolled back on a new, very elegantly furnished lobby. Three sofas clad in black leather sat on antique Persian rugs, surrounded by several modern American sculpture pieces. The walls were adorned with an impressive collection of original paintings.
Waiting for them just outside the elevator doors, and standing beneath a halogen spotlight, was Joanne, Thomas Paulsen’s PA. Her long red hair sparkled under the light. As Hunter and Garcia stepped out of the elevator, Joanne smiled.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ she said in the most professional of tones. ‘I’m Joanne Saunders, Mr. Paulsen’s personal assistant.’ She offered them her manicured hand. Both detectives shook it, introducing themselves. ‘If you’d like to follow me, please, Mr. Paulsen is waiting for you in his office.’
They crossed the anteroom and followed the PA down a softly lit hallway that terminated in a highly polished wood set of double doors. She knocked twice, paused for a second and pushed the doors open, which led them into a sprawling and luxuriously decorated corner office.
‘Mr. Paulsen,’ Joanne announced. ‘This is Detective Robert Hunter and Detective Carlos Garcia from the Los Angeles Police Department.’
Standing with his back toward them, facing the window, Thomas Paulsen nodded at the view but didn’t bother turning around. ‘Thank you, Joanne.’
The PA swiftly stepped out of the room, soundlessly closing the doors behind her.
Hunter and Garcia stood by the entrance, quickly assessing the office: more black leather and sumptuous rugs. Two recessed bookcases containing books on computer programming languages, Internet security and finance shared the north wall with even more expensive-looking works of art. Hunter knew that the south wall was what was known as the Ego Wall – a potpourri of framed photos showing Thomas Paulsen grinning and shaking hands with well-known and not-so-well-known celebrities, certificates attesting that he was highly skilled and qualified, and a few shiny plaques producing clear proof that he had been justly recognized over the years.
‘This is indeed a beautiful city, isn’t it, gentlemen?’ Paulsen said, still facing the window. He was tall and broad-shouldered with a physique that even under his elegant pin-striped suit was easy to tell was lean and strong. His voice was dry and authoritative, clearly belonging to someone who was used to giving orders and getting things done his way.
Neither Hunter nor Garcia replied.
Paulsen finally spun around and faced them. He had a thin and remarkably youthful face for a man who was in his early fifties. His short peppered hair was combed slickly back from his forehead, giving him a boyish charm. His light blue eyes seemed full of knowledge, like a university professor’s, glowing with an intensity that was unsettling. There was no denying he was an attractive man, despite the crooked nose that had certainly been broken once or twice. He had a squared jaw, strong cheekbones and full lips. A small scar graced the tip of his chin. Everything about him suggested tremendous self-confidence, but his presence was almost menacing. He didn’t so much as smile, but smirked at them.
‘Would you please have a seat?’ he asked, indicating the two armchairs in front of his desk.
Hunter took the one on the left, Garcia the one on the right. There were no handshakes. Paulsen remained as he was, standing by the window.
‘We’re very sorry for barging in unannounced like this, Mr. Paulsen. We do understand that you are a busy man . . .’ Garcia said in his best, polite voice, but Paulsen interrupted him with a brisk hand gesture.
‘You didn’t barge in, Detective Garcia. If you had, especially without some sort of warrant, I’d have my lawyer here, you removed from the premises and a complaint made to your captain and the Chief of Police so fast you’d probably experience time travel.’ None of it was delivered with anger, or even sarcasm. ‘You’re here because I’ve allowed you to be here. But as you’ve said, I am a very busy man, and I have an important meeting in a few minutes, so I suggest you use this time wisely.’