The article began by telling the story of how a young Thomas Paulsen, only twenty-one at the time and a computer enthusiast, saw an opening in the market and a golden opportunity to start a software company. He then borrowed whatever he could from family and friends and started PaulsenSystems from his parents’ garage in Pasadena. He made his first million a year and a half later.

The article also carried three photographs of Paulsen. One was a professional portrait, also found on the company’s website, but the other two were more personal, taken inside a nightclub – hidden-camera style. The first one showed Paulsen kissing the neck of a brunette woman who looked to be at least twenty years younger than him. The second photo showed him with his hand firmly planted on the woman’s ass.

The story went on to reveal that the young woman was actually Thomas Paulsen’s new secretary. She’d been with the company for six months. According to the paper, Paulsen would do his best to wine, dine and charm any employee he took a fancy to, take them to bed and then intimidate them into keeping their mouth shut, in whichever way necessary, including terrorizing them. The story ended by saying that the accurate number of women Thomas Paulsen had taken advantage of was unknown, but he’d been doing it for over twenty years.

Hunter had no doubt that a story like that one, with a front-page call on a high-circulating national newspaper like the LA Times, would’ve seriously rocked Paulsen’s personal life and public image.

Hunter spent the next hour or so searching the net for aftermath and spin-off articles. He wanted to find out what sort of snowball Christina’s piece had started. He found several. And the snowball had been big and damaging.

A very interesting article he came across had also come from the entertainment desk at the LA Times, published two and a half months ago, but it hadn’t been written by Christina. The article talked about how Christina’s report had stabbed at the heart of Paulsen’s marriage. Gabriela, Paulsen’s wife of twenty-seven years, had no idea of what her husband had been getting up to with some of his female employees. She had filed for divorce a month after the article was published. It was also reported that their twenty-five-year-old daughter had stopped talking to him.

Another hour and Hunter had found numerous articles referring to Paulsen’s company. He had business contracts all over the country, and apparently, due to Christina’s story and the moral issues it touched, several of them had been terminated. Financially, PaulsenSystems had taken a sizable hit.

As Hunter read each article, he passed it over to Garcia.

‘Christina Stevenson’s story cost Paulsen a hell of a lot,’ Hunter said. ‘In every aspect of his life. If anyone had a good reason to go after her, Thomas Paulsen did.’

‘True,’ Garcia agreed. ‘But as far as we know, he had no reason to go after Kevin Lee Parker, our first victim.’

Hunter pulled a face. ‘As far as we know.’

Garcia smiled. He knew exactly what was going through his partner’s mind.

‘I’ll get a team on it,’ he said, reaching for the phone on his desk.

Before Garcia came off his phone, the one on Hunter’s desk rang.

‘Detective Hunter, Homicide Special,’ he answered it while trying to massage his aching neck.

‘Guess what, Detective,’ the caller said with the same electrifying enthusiasm of a television hit show host. ‘It’s show time again.’

Seventy-One

Garcia was still on the phone to the research team when he noticed the look on Hunter’s face. A look so cold it could’ve frozen the air inside their office. A look that could only mean one thing – the killer was at work again.

Immediately Garcia thought of Anna, and his heart almost exploded inside his chest. He cut his conversation mid-sentence, slammed the phone down and frantically reached for the keyboard on his desk.

Hunter switched the call into loudspeaker mode before also reaching for his keyboard.

‘No, no, no, no . . .’ Garcia whispered to himself as he typed the address into the address bar, his fingers unsteady.

The website loaded on both detectives’ screens in just a couple of seconds.

Glaring.

Squinting.

Confusion.

‘Shit!’ Garcia finally breathed out, slumping back down onto his chair with a thud. His instinctive emotional response was relief. They were looking at a close-up shot of someone’s face, but that someone wasn’t Anna. He was a white male who looked to be in his mid thirties. He had an oval-shaped face, a round nose, plump cheeks, thin eyebrows and short darkish hair.

The images were shrouded by a green tint, indicating that the killer was once again using night-vision lenses. Just like with the first two victims, the pictures were being broadcast from a dark place.

The man’s eyes were darting from side to side, scared . . . confused . . . pleading . . . searching for an answer. It was easy to tell that they were light in color, but the green tint made it impossible to be specific. A leather gag had been strapped so tight around the man’s mouth it was cutting into his skin. Fear and sweat covered his entire face.

Silently Hunter signaled Garcia to call Michelle and Harry at the FBI Cybercrime Division. He knew that the call was already being recorded by Operations.

Garcia quickly used his cellphone, cupping a hand over his mouth to minimize the noise.

‘The website is back online,’ he whispered into the phone when Michelle answered.

‘We know,’ she replied, her voice tense. ‘I was just about to call you. We’re trying, but he’s using mirror sites again, reflecting the broadcast from server to server. We can’t track it.’

Garcia suspected that would be the case.

‘Has he called you guys again?’ she asked.

‘He’s on the line right now.’ Garcia got up and placed his cellphone on Hunter’s desk so Michelle could listen in.

Suddenly, just like with the broadcast of the second victim, the word GUILTY was displayed, centered at the bottom of the picture.

Then, on the top right-hand corner of the screen, a new number sequence was displayed – 0123. They waited for another letter sequence similar to ‘SSV to appear on the top left-hand corner of the screen, but it never came.

‘The rules are the same as last time, Detective,’ the caller said, almost laughing. ‘But today I am feeling generous . . . and dare I say it, a little confident, even. So instead of a thousand votes in ten minutes, let’s make it ten thousand votes in ten minutes. What do you say, huh? That should give you a prayer.’

Hunter didn’t reply.

About halfway down the right-hand edge of the screen, the word STRETCH appeared, followed by the number zero and a green button. A fraction of a second later, directly underneath it, the word CRUSH appeared, also followed by a zero and a button. Both buttons were deactivated for the time being.

Hunter and Garcia frowned at the screen at the same time, and as they did the camera started to slowly zoom out.

Little by little, the man’s whole body started to come into view. He was wearing nothing but a pair of dark boxer shorts. He wasn’t a slim man, but he certainly couldn’t be called overweight either. He looked to be lying down on some sort of wide wooden table. His arms were extended high above his head in a V shape. His armpits had been shaved clean. His legs had been placed a little wider than shoulder length apart, and were also completely stretched out.

It took several long seconds for the zooming out to be completed. Only then Hunter and Garcia could see the man’s hands and feet, and that was when they finally figured out what the sadistic voting process meant.