Blake knew some people in Phoenix. They were experts at smuggling people across the border. But they also had other skills.

“And you had nothing to do with it? With his hesitation to cooperate?”

“I swear it by my mother’s grave!”

“Well then, let’s resolve this. Do you have his authorization code?”

Ibrahim’s voice was tremulous and faltering. “Get a pen. It’s long. You’ll want to write this down.”

“I’ll remember it. Go ahead. Tell me.”

27

It was going to be a tough night.

The team had found five other suicide videos along with half a dozen live-streamed homicides that had taken place over the last few months that had the possibility of being related to the video Jon had made of his death. One of them had been aired live on YouTube, the others on the social networking giants Facebook and Krazle. And tonight, I got to study them all.

After putting on some coffee, I set up shop at the kitchen table facing the living room where Tessa was reading the Timothy Sabian novel The Nesting Dolls that I’d bought for her.

Feeling parentally solicitous, I was concerned for her not bursting into tears again. By using my headphones out here, I could watch the videos and also keep an eye on her to make sure she was doing alright, and I could do it much better than if I were sequestered working in my bedroom.

Next to my laptop, I placed a photocopy of the cryptogram Mannie had written down. I decided that in between watching the videos I would try my hand at cracking the code.

Normally, I study victimology—the links that victims of crime sprees have with one another. When you’re tracking serial offenders, the better you understand the victims, the better you’ll understand the offender. Then you can focus on why he was there at the times when the crimes occurred, and maybe discern where he might have gone when he left the scenes.

In this instance, however, I didn’t know if or how the victims were linked to each other.

Time to find out.

Headphones on so that Tessa wouldn’t hear any of the sounds from the footage, I cued up the first suicide video and pressed play.

++++

Sasha was on the veranda grabbing a smoke when Mannie arrived.

Through the window, she watched nervously as he spoke with Blake inside the condo. Although she couldn’t hear them, it looked like their conversation was cordial enough.

The night had turned cold, and she was wearing a wool shawl over her shoulders. The tapped ashes from her cigarette glowed and curled their way downward, becoming dark, forgotten cinders as they descended from the fortieth-floor balcony and were swallowed by the night.

Inside the room, the plastic tarp was gone. At least Blake hadn’t killed that second man. At least there was that.