“What about the other members of the group?”

“Weren’t no other members. He kept trying to recruit some but couldn’t get them to go for it. Too scared, he said. Said we was the only ones with vision. I offered to help recruit, but he said it was safer if it was just him.”

“How’d you communicate with him?”

“Notes at first, like on my door. Then after I got me a computer we’d talk on there.” Tate had a thought. “He told you I done the Lombard girl, didn’t he? That’s why you motherfuckers flew me to this hellhole. ’Cause he said I done her.”

Flew? In the gloom, he hoped Tate didn’t catch his flicker of puzzlement. He’d worry about a mystery flight if it came to it. In the meantime, he just rolled with it.

“That’s what he told us.”

“Well, it’s bullshit.”

“Do you have Internet at your house?”

“My house? Nah. I ain’t got nothing at that shitbox.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t afford it, man. You know how much an ex-con child molester makes these days? Not much. People ain’t exactly falling over themselves to hire me. I do odd jobs for my uncle. Day work when I can get it, but the fuckin’ Mexicans like to hire their own, you know? Ain’t no way I’m affording no satellite. Besides, what I need the Internet for? I mean, all I gotta do is go to the library for that, so what’s the point?”

“The Internet does other things, Kirby.”

“No, man. Too much reading. Fuck that. Hurts my head.”

“So why are you protecting this guy?”

“I ain’t protecting him. I don’t know who he is. I ain’t got shit to do with him.”

“You hacked into ACG for him. Or did you just do that on your own?”

“Them other two was going on about that too. Man, I didn’t hack shit.”

“Come on, Kirby. I’m trying to help you here, but you have to give me something. At the library on Friday, you downloaded about ten megabytes of data from ACG.”

“No, man, no. I was just downloading, you know, pictures and shit.”

“Don’t lie to me. We watched you. It was on your computer.”

“Look, the only reason I bought the computer off him was to get my pictures. That’s it.”

Gibson stopped. “He sold you the computer?”

“Yeah, I was gonna buy a used one, but he said no, he could build me a new one. Make some tweaks to help keep me safe.”

Gibson shut his eyes. Tate didn’t have a mysterious benefactor, and he didn’t have a partner. He had a puppet master. It was brilliant. Recruit a pedophile to a nonexistent kiddie-porn ring, custom build him a computer, and sell him some crap about Friday afternoons.

“What? What is it?” Tate asked.