Neither Dance nor O’Neil did.

“Oh, well, here, take a look.” He hesitated a moment. “You better brace yourself.”

“Brace?”

He typed and a page loaded.

Dance’s eyes widened. “Oh, my. What’s this?”

O’Neil walked around and stood on Dance’s other side. The three of them stared at the website. It was called Cyber-Necro.com and the opening graphic revealed a computer-generated image of a man plunging a knife into the belly of a buxom woman strapped down to a medieval table.

Boling said, “It’s a pay site devoted to graphic images of murder and rape victims, disasters, crime scenes, accidents, medical procedures. The Solitude Creek pictures were in the section on ‘Theater and Sporting Events Deaths.’”

“That’s actually a category?”

“Yep. People pay a lot of money to see those pictures and videos. I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe a shrink could. Voyeurism, sexual, sadistic. Who knows? I’ve gotten quite an education in the past few hours. There’re hundreds of sites like this. I might write a paper on it. Some sites are like this one.” He nodded at the screen. “Real deaths and injuries. But you can also get custom-made videos. Actresses—usually actresses, men sometimes—being shot or stabbed or hit by arrows. Strangulation and asphyxia’re popular too. Sexual assaults. Some hard-core. And the weapons? The special effects’re good. Shockingly good. You’d almost think the women were actually being killed but they keep appearing in other clips. It seems some men have favorite actresses they want to see killed. Over and over.”

O’Neil whispered, “I’ve never heard of this.”

“A whole underground, I found.” Boling typed. “Here’re the pictures of Solitude Creek.”

The page on Cyber-Necro.com with images of the disaster had about fifteen pictures. Most were from the media, shot afterward, depicting blood. Some were bad phone videos, low resolution, taken inside, during the crush.

Dance and O’Neil glanced at each other. They’d both be thinking the same thing: Was there anything shown in the videos or pictures that might help the case?

“How can we watch the videos?” Dance asked.

“You join. A hundred a month and you can download whatever you want.”

Dance went to the home page and signed up.

Boling added, “If you want, you can get a discount if you join the Cyber-Necro’s sister site at the same time.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

Boling smiled. “I think it’s called ‘Sluts-On-Demand.’”

Dance nodded. “Probably just the one. It’s going to be hard enough to get Charles to sign off on my expense account as it is.”

In a half hour they’d downloaded all of the clips and images of Solitude Creek. She wondered who’d taken the videos. During the canvassing she’d asked if anyone had done so; no one admitted they had, perhaps not wishing to seem heartless.

But they found nothing helpful. The images—video and still—were low resolution and murky. No clues.

One picture Dance stared at for a long moment. It was a still image similar to the one Prescott had used for his phony jihad rant on Vidster. Shown was the interior of the club, taken several days after the event, according to the time stamp.