Salgado drew breath and tried to make sense of it.
‘Would he have had to click on your message for us to know he’d read it?’
‘Yes. The indicator initially reads as “delivered” until it’s clicked, then it changes to “read”.’
‘But he could have seen it without having to click on it?’
Geisler nodded. ‘As long as the chat box was open, yes. And the fact that it was viewed so quickly suggests it almost certainly was.’
‘So, he’s making a point. Letting us know he’s seen it. Letting us know he’s still there. Why?’
‘Not my area of expertise, Detective. But I’d say he might want to talk but he’s making you sweat for it.’
Salgado pulled out his cell and called. O’Neill answered immediately.
‘Why is this guy Marr talking to us when all he’s doing is putting himself at risk? Why is he taking the chance of communicating with us?’
‘He replied?’
‘No, but he read it. Let us know he did too.’
The line went quiet while she thought it through. ‘He wants something from us. Something only we, or Garland’s computer, can give him.’
He let it percolate. ‘Yes. Yes, that’s it. You’re a genius, O’Neill.’
Salgado ended the call and reached for the keyboard.
Who are you, motherfucker? Who should be dead and what the fuck do you want?
He stared at the line for a while, aware of Geisler standing anxiously over his left shoulder. His finger hovered above the enter button but didn’t press it. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not that stupid. Not quite. Anyway, even if he’s there, I want to make him wait. It’s twenty-five minutes till he expects us to message him again. Let’s wait till then.’
His poised finger switched to the delete button, strip- ping the line away a letter at a time. He hesitated when only the last three words were left, Who are you, then punched those too into oblivion.
They dragged their feet. Salgado looked from the key- board to the screen and back, playing out conversations and strategies in his head. It was all the more real now, knowing that Marr would be coming back.
The moment the clock reached the top of the hour, Salgado typed and sent.
I’m here, Matthew. Let’s talk.
His eyes were on the status. Delivered. He watched and waited, aware of his own nervousness, unsure if he was the cat or the mouse, still not sure what he’d type or do. Was the man even there . . . Yes, yes, he was. Delivered became Read and a surge of adrenalin made Salgado sit up and draw in breath.
He waited again, giving Marr the chance to reply. Two minutes and that still hadn’t happened. He typed again, giving up an element of his knowledge but sure that Marr already knew anyway.
I know you’re there, Matthew.
Read. No reply.
And I know you want to talk.
Read. No reply.
So what are you waiting for? Scared?
Read. No reply.
Maybe I got it wrong. I guess you don’t want to talk after all.
Read. Replied.
Okay. Let’s talk.
Salgado jumped. Hesitated. Answered.
Goodbye!
The gap was long and Salgado imagined the confusion. Marr typed again.
No. I said I’ll talk.
Read. No reply.
You’re playing games. Fuck you.
Read. No reply.
The tech looked at Salgado like he was crazy. And maybe he was.
It was a huge gamble and one he was going to find diffi- cult to justify or explain to his bosses if this blew up in his face and Marr never came back to him. Hell, he was going to have enough trouble explaining it to O’Neill.
Marr hadn’t messaged again after saying fuck you. It was enough to make Salgado worry. Had he overplayed the poor hand that he had? If he had managed to make his only point of contact so mad that he’d walked away, then he’d be out on his ass.
The countdown to the next hour crawled even slower than the previous one. He’d sent Geisler home, seeing no point in them both missing out on a night’s sleep. The empty office echoed to his thoughts and he had to get up and walk around the room, circling the chair, talking to himself.
‘Asshole. Asshole. Always got to take the risk.’
He walked and talked and watched the clock inch over towards nine.
‘Always sure you’re right. You had him and kicked him loose. You blew it.’
He wound himself up further by wandering around the perimeter of the room, then back to stand in front of the investigation board, staring at the photographs that were pinned to it. His mind drew lines from Garland’s photographs to the images of the body parts they’d found in the locked cabinet. He slammed the doors shut to hear the noise bounce off the walls. He saw nothing and the clock turned over like sludge.
Five minutes till nine and Salgado slid back into the chair, eyeballing the computer as if he might be able to jump-start it with the power of his mind. The machine stared back, refusing to bend.
When the clock showed one minute to go, he could feel his veins knot at the wrist, pulse quickening, but it was like it was all dressed up with nowhere to go. It showed nine. Nothing. Not immediately. But he hadn’t expected there to be, just hoped. Marr would be doing the same thing. Sitting, waiting, not wanting to be the one to go first, not sure if the other would go at all.
9.01.
9.02.
9.03 and it was Marr who folded first.
Okay, you made your point. Talk.
Salgado held his nerve for as long as he dared, wanting to puncture the other guy’s sense of certainty but not pre- pared to take another chance of losing him.
I’m here. And I’m listening.
Where is Ethan? Is he dead?
Yes.
How did he die and who are you?
He had a heart attack.
I asked who you were. If he’d been murdered, then I’d think you were the person that killed him. If he did die of natural causes, then there’s one answer most likely as to who you are.
Salgado didn’t see any need or practical way to hide it.
I’m the police.
There was a considered pause, but not a long one.
Who am I speaking to?
Detective Bryan Salgado, LAPD. And who are you?
You can see the name on the screen. And I’m guessing LA cops can read.
So, you’re Matthew Marr?
Maybe. But it’s good to have it confirmed that that’s what you’re seeing. Ethan never knew my name. Who am I? Go fuck yourself, that’s who I am.
Salgado swore under his breath.
Let’s get real here, Matthew. Why don’t you me what it is you want?
They batted it back and forth for a few minutes, neither giving way, until Salgado heard the door open behind him. O’Neill and Geisler slipped through it, the cop pulling up a chair while the tech hovered behind.
‘He’s talking? Let me read what he’s said. Delay him till I catch up.’
‘Delay is easy. He’s dicking me around. I’m gonna push him.’
‘Be careful.’
Salgado linked his fingers as he thought, then released them to type.
Matthew, if there isn’t a reason for you to talk to me then maybe there isn’t a reason for me to talk to you. Get to it. Let me take a wild guess. It’s something to do with the man who should be dead. Am I right?