One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2) (читать книги бесплатно полные версии txt) 📗

‘So that explains why the killer left us a camcorder in the park’s trashcan right after Ethan Walsh’s death,’ Garcia said. ‘Because he used one to capture Brandon’s suicide that night.’

‘Precisely,’ Hunter agreed. ‘Mr. Walsh was already facing serious financial problems then. He had put everything he had into his company, and had nothing left. I guess that Ethan Walsh saw an opportunity to maybe make some cash, because he sold his footage to Christina Stevenson at the LA Times, and that’s why he had her number in his phone book. But she wasn’t the only one. Mr. Walsh also sold his footage to a cable TV show called A Mystery in 60 Minutes. He probably tried others, but no major network would buy it because they just wouldn’t show a teenager’s suicide video on national television. The cable TV station, on the other hand, couldn’t care less and used the footage a few days later as part of a special Teenage Suicide program. That particular cable TV station is only available in California. So no one else outside this state was able to watch it.’

Hunter returned to the podium.

‘The problem is that the tragedy of a suicide never ends there,’ he explained. ‘Family and loved ones are left to deal not only with the loss of someone dear, but with the inevitable depression and psychological guilt that take over. How come they didn’t see it coming? Could they have done more? But what really eats them inside is knowing that all that would’ve taken to save them was a listening ear, maybe a few comforting words and the reassurance that they weren’t alone, that they mattered, that they were loved.’

No one said a word.

‘But with today’s technology and the Internet, that internal guilt and pain can be increased exponentially,’ Hunter added. ‘For some reason that I can’t explain, Ethan Walsh wasn’t content with just selling his video to Christina Stevenson at the LA Times and the cable TV channel. Using the Internet handle, DarkXX1000, he uploaded the footage to a specialized, shock-video website called thiscrazyworld.com. From then on it became a free-for-all, and the worst pain a family could endure became public domain, a joke, just a video snippet for millions of people to watch and laugh at, gossip about, comment on and criticize. And people did.’

Hunter quickly clicked through a few slides of screen prints showing pages and pages of comments that had been placed on the website. A few showed support, but most of them were terribly offensive.

‘So who exactly are we after, then?’ the SWAT captain asked.

‘I was just getting to that,’ Hunter said.

Click.

Ninety-Nine

The new photograph that took over the screen was of a woman who was probably in her forties but looked at least ten years older. She had straight auburn hair and a milky-white complexion. Not actually bad looking, except for a pair of deeply recessed eyes that gave her a slightly cadaverous appearance.

‘Brandon Fisher didn’t come from a large family,’ Hunter explained. ‘In fact, he was the only child of Graham and Margaret Fisher. His mother—’ he indicated the photograph on the screen ‘—was a frail woman, who had developed multiple sclerosis just a few months after giving birth to Brandon. His death hit her hard. The shock-video website where Brandon’s suicide footage appeared, coupled with the devastating comments made online, hit her even harder. Her son, together with all his pain and struggle, were now exposed to the entire world, ready to be judged by anyone with an Internet connection. She was unable to sleep and started rejecting food. Soon she developed anorexia nervosa, and quickly became addicted to sedatives, among other drugs. She wouldn’t leave the house and was subsequently also diagnosed with major depression and severe anxiety disorder, all brought on by her son’s suicide and how abusive some people remained, even after his death.’

Hunter moved around to the front of the podium before continuing.

‘Her already delicate health deteriorated faster than was predicted based on her long-term illness. About ten months after Brandon’s suicide, due to how little she ate, she had to start being fed via an IV drip. She passed away twelve months ago.’

The room remained quiet.

‘And that brings us to Brandon’s father, Graham Fisher,’ Hunter said, moving on. ‘At the time of his son’s suicide, Mr. Fisher was a professor at UCLA. He taught advanced programming as part of the university’s computer science degree. He holds a PhD in Engineering and Computer Science from Harvard University. One of his many areas of expertise is in Internet security. In the past he has even worked as a consultant for the US government.

‘Not surprisingly, Mr. Fisher also took his son’s suicide very badly, and with his wife’s health and sanity fading so quickly he saw no alternative but to quit his job. He then dedicated all his time and effort to taking care of her. She was all the family he had left. Her death, together with Brandon’s suicide, was much more than his psyche could withstand. My guess is that after Margaret Fisher’s death, Graham found himself alone, hurt and very, very angry. Someone in that state of mind armed with his sort of intelligence and enough time on his hands would contemplate anything.’

More hushed murmurs.

‘He methodically made a list of all the people he considered guilty,’ Hunter continued, ‘not for his son’s death but for making a mockery of it. For exposing Brandon’s most intimate psychological and emotional pain to everyone. For transforming his and his wife’s personal loss into a sideshow attraction . . . a public entertainment. And certainly for contributing to the rapid decline in Margaret’s health.’ Hunter paused for breath. ‘After identifying the parties, which I’m sure took some finding, he busied himself engineering and developing his torture and murder devices, before seeking out every name on his kill list, one by one. The problem we have is that there’s no way we can know how many names are on that list. As we all know, three are already dead.’

‘Do we have his picture?’ the SWAT captain asked.

Hunter nodded and pressed the clicker button.

The photograph now showing on the screen was of an attractive man in his early fifties. His robust face suggested both trustworthiness and self-confidence. He had high cheekbones, a prominent brow and a strong chin with a subtle cleft. His light brown hair was worn just off the shoulders, pleasantly tousled. He looked to be broadly built, with sturdy muscles and wide shoulders.

‘No fucking way.’ Everyone in the room heard Garcia cough the words.

‘Something wrong, Carlos?’

‘Yeah,’ Garcia nodded slowly. ‘I know him.’

One Hundred

The man was putting the final touches to his latest torture and murder device. He had spent considerably more time developing this particular apparatus than the previous three, but his work had paid off. He considered this one to be a work of art – ingenious and evil in equal measures. Once the mechanics of it had started working, no one could stop it, not even himself. Yes, this device was something special. Something that would undoubtedly teach ‘that bitch’ an unforgettable lesson.

‘That bitch’ was sitting at the far end of the large open-plan room he was in, still tied up to the same heavy chair. He had to sedate her again, though. Her crying was driving him insane. But her time was coming.