in the air, twisting around, the toes of her bare feet barely touching the polished cement floor, sweeping back and forth, like a broom.
Her head was bowed and her honey-blonde hair, stringy with sweat, completely covered her face. Because of the hair and the stocky, athletic body type and what she’d been found wearing, Daria at first thought it was Holly Skole. Then a black-gloved hand came into the shot and tucked the hair behind the girl’s ear, exposing half her face to the camera and she could see it wasn’t Holly. A pair of pantyhose had been stuffed into the girl’s mouth and the nude legs of the hose were wrapped several times around her head and knotted at the nape of her neck. Behind her on a metal table were syringes, gauze, several bottles of different colored liquids, a half-full refill bottle of window cleaner, a bottle of Drano and black electrical tape. The camera jiggled and moved. It was obviously hand-held.
The girl looked up and her scared blue eyes grew large. A muffled whimper came out of the computer. That’s when Daria realized there was sound with the video. The girl shook her head violently at something off camera and her eyes bulged and darted about. Her body jolted in the air, twisting, as if she were running a marathon in place.
But she couldn’t get away. There was nowhere for her to go. The hand returned, and in it was a shiny pair of kitchen shears.
The video stopped and the screen froze. The final frame captured the girl’s frantic face as the nude, muscular back of a white male, scissors in one hand, a long-stemmed red rose in the other, entered the shot. The entire clip had lasted less than a minute. On the far-right bottom of the screen were tiny red numbers: 29:12:14, and 11/07/06.
‘Jesus,’ Daria said as she sat back in her seat. ‘What the hell was that?’
Manny frowned. ‘Is that it? Is there more?’
‘No. Just that clip,’ Abby answered. ‘Like I said, I didn’t know what it was at first. I don’t know that girl and, while I can’t see his face, I don’t think I know that man. “Why would someone send this to me?” I thought. But after today, after what I heard, I think I understand now. This is what happened to the Skole girl. This is what you described in the courtroom today, Detective. The Skole girl had been tied up, and she had been injected with drugs and she had been raped. Just like what seems to be happening to this girl on the video. And someone sends it to me? Obviously because they know that Talbot didn’t do this.’
‘Maybe that’s your son in the video, ma’am,’ Manny said, nodding at the screen. ‘It looks like the same build. Maybe someone wants you to know that your son has done this before.’
Abby’s voice rose. ‘First of all, that makes no sense. Because why would they send it to me? Why wouldn’t they send it to you? So you’d at least have some evidence to support your twisted, sick allegations.’
Daria nodded. ‘Could be an extortion attempt.’
Abby frowned. ‘Extortion? There was no demand for money. Doesn’t there have to be a demand for money?’
‘We can’t be sure this is anything,’ Daria continued. ‘This could very well be homemade porn. Sure, it’s hard-core, but there’s no law against making home videos as long as they star consenting adults.’
‘Give me a break, Ms DeBianchi,’ retorted Abby. ‘This is not some Paris Hilton sex tape that was leaked to the public by the help. You saw that girl’s face. Does she look like she’s enjoying this? She’s terrified and you and I both know it.’
Daria’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’d be amazed what people do when the shades are drawn, Mrs Lunders. And what fantasies they get off playing out while their camcorders are rolling. All I’m saying is that we can’t be sure what this is and I’m not ready to jump to conclusions. Not even close. We don’t know why it was sent to you, or who sent it, for that matter.’
‘Say what you’re thinking, why don’t you? Come on — spit it out,’ Abby snapped. ‘“If someone even sent it to you,” is what you meant to say. What do you think I did? Do you think I surfed porn sites in search of a bizarre S&M video that I could pawn off as a copycat victim in a far-fetched attempt to exonerate my son? Please, check my computer. Do it. I implore you. Check my email. Do whatever you’re supposed to do as officers sworn to uphold the law and investigate crime. Because, while I’m no detective, this seems to me to show someone committing the exact same crime my son is accused of — and I am certain that that is not my son in the video.’
‘How’s that, Mrs Lunders?’ Manny asked.
‘Besides the fact that I am his mother and I know his body like I know my own, including the very prominent freckled brown birthmark in the shape of a waving flag he has between his shoulder blades, which is missing from that animal in the video, there’s also the time/date stamp on the bottom of the screen to consider. And on November seventh, 2006, my son was a patient at Good Samaritan Hospital in Palm Beach having his appendix removed. So, no, that is not my son in that video. But I believe it is your job to find out who it is, and why someone would want to send it to me.’
10
‘That’s one helluva coincidence,’ Daria remarked after Abby Lunders and her ostentatious, mouthwatering, elephant-gray crocodile Birkin bag had finally up and left her office.
‘What?’ Manny asked.
‘Not only did somebody else kill the girl who was last seen leaving a bar with your son, but that somebody else is now sending you video clips of the real murderer having freaky sex with another girl who looks like the girl your son murdered? Am I missing something, or does that sound a little out there?’
‘When you put it like that, it does.’
She frowned. ‘Well, how would you put it?’
‘I don’t know. This lady’s son is accused of rape and murder. Claims he didn’t do it.’
Daria shook her head. ‘They all claim they didn’t do it. When was the last time you had a killer take full responsibility for slitting someone’s throat? Give me a break.’
‘True. But you asked for the lady’s perspective. Her son says he didn’t do it. Her only kid, mind you. Claims he’s a victim of circumstance. Then she gets an anonymous email right before his bond hearing showing a lookalike blonde being what sure looks to me like tortured, and in the background are an assortment of syringes and chemicals — all the fucked-up goodies her son is accused of using on his victim. Except the person in the video is not her son.’
‘So she says. And the girl in the video is not dead.’
Manny shrugged. ‘Not that we know of.’
‘How the hell old was she when she popped out sonny-boy? Eighteen? All that Botox makes her look like his freaking sister. It’s weird.’
‘Careful, Counselor. You sound jealous.’
‘I am. Of her bag, not her face. I’m only twenty-nine. The wrinkles you’re giving me won’t show for a few years.’
Manny laughed.
‘And how old is Dad Freddy?’ Daria asked. ‘Isn’t he, what, twenty-three or -four years her senior? She must’ve been a trophy bride.’
‘It’s
