Part 27 (1/2)
”They did not.”
”So what's in them?”
”Why should I tell you?”
”Because we're on the same side.”
”Are we?”
”Neither of us is into snuff films, and I don't like child p.o.r.nographers and a.s.sa.s.sins any more than you do. So yeah, this time we are.”
He removed his gla.s.ses, rubbed his eyes, and softened his glare a little.
”Off the record?”
”Sure,” I said, and then counted off five seconds.
”What we've got,” he said, ”are e-mails from twelve hundred and fifty-four perverts in the market for videos of adults raping children, five hundred and fourteen more who get hard watching kids diddle each other, and another seventy-six who asked specifically for videos of kids getting murdered after they've been violated.”
”That's more than eighteen hundred people,” I said.
”It is.”
We looked at each other and shook our heads.
”f.u.c.kin' case is giving me nightmares,” he said.
”Tell me about it.”
”If you ask me,” he said, ”the killers performed a public service.”
”But you've still got to catch them.”
”Yeah, but then what? Arrest them or give them medals?”
”Why not both?”
Parisi closed his eyes, nodded, and seemed to doze off for a second.
”The e-mails,” I said. ”Are they traceable?”
”Mostly not. My tech guy says the senders used some kind of cloaking software to mask their IP addresses, whatever that means.”
”Mostly not?”
”Six of 'em were careless. That means their Internet providers should be able to tell us who they are.”
”They'll be willing to do that?”
”Once they're served with subpoenas, they will.”
”Gonna share the names when you get them?”
”No.”
”Got the ballistics report yet?” I asked, and counted off five seconds again.
”All three victims were shot once in the head with nine-millimeters,” Parisi said. ”Two of the slugs were too damaged to make a comparison, and the intact slug doesn't match anything on file. With no sh.e.l.l casings found at the scene, there's no way to tell if more than one gun was used.”
”Maniella's double was shot with a twenty-five-caliber pistol,” I said.
”That's right.”
”Doesn't really tell us anything.”
”It doesn't,” he said. ”Could be different shooters. Could be the same shooter with a different weapon.”
”Can you release the names of the three dead lowlifes yet?” I asked.
”The Winkler brothers, Martin and Joseph, and their cousin Molly Fitzgerald.”
”Part of the Winkler clan from Pawtucket?”
”Yeah. Both guys had records. Peeping and molestation as juvies. Larceny and narcotics distribution as adults. Molly didn't have a sheet.”
”What else you got?” I asked, and then waited as he considered his reply.
”Neighbors said they saw five or six people coming and going from the apartment the last few weeks.”
”So two or three snuff filmmakers are still on the loose?”
”Looks that way.”
”Learn anything about the three kids found in the apartment?”
”Other than the fact that they'd been repeatedly raped?”
”Aw, f.u.c.k.”
”The girl,” Parisi said, ”was a ten-year-old who ran away from home in Woonsocket last September. One of the boys was the nine-year-old who vanished on the way home from school in Dighton a couple of weeks ago. The other boy is another story entirely.”
”Oh?”
”The mother's a heroin addict. Claimed her eight-year-old son was kidnapped from their hovel in Central Falls last month, but she'd never reported him missing.”