“Or all of the above. The pedophile community isn’t that large. It’s not unreasonable that their paths crossed in several different sites on the Web.”
D.D. could buy that. She straightened, working on getting the choreography established in her head. “Sixteen-year-old boy targets seven-year-old-boy. Lures him to dark alley. Then…this woman appears. What happened next?”
“According to our seven-year-old witness, she was already holding the twenty-two. Pretty much ignored the younger boy, homed straight in on Barry. Of course, at this point, Barry had his pants unzipped and was holding his penis, making himself the obvious target.”
“What’d she say?”
“Not much. Confirmed the older boy’s Internet identity as Pink Poodle—”
“A sixteen-year-old boy is Pink Poodle?”
“Welcome to the Internet. And for the record, that strategy helped him. The seven-year-old agreed to meet tonight in part because he assumed he’d be meeting a girl, and who’s afraid of a girl?”
“Shit,” D.D. said.
“The shooter then identified herself as Helmet Hippo, another user from the website. Teenager tried to defend himself. Argued his age, said he’d change.”
D.D. looked down at the snow angel. “Obviously, that didn’t work.” But it bothered her again. Sixteen years old. Shot down in cold blood. What if he could’ve changed? The courts probably wouldn’t have tried him as an adult, but another citizen had. Tried him and executed him in a matter of minutes.
“The woman stated he’d been a very naughty boy, ordered him to be brave, then shot him.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Granted, our witness is young and traumatized, but his best guess is that the entire altercation took about three minutes.”
“Be brave, you said. Was there a note?” D.D. asked. “Everyone has to die sometime, yada yada yada.”
“Tucked inside the victim’s coat. Most likely written in advance, as, according to the witness, she didn’t have time to write anything at the scene. He saw her bend over the body, however, probably placing the paper in the victim’s jacket.”
“So definitely the same shooter. Refining her game now. Not just picking off pedophiles, but rescuing their victims.”
“In her mind, I’m sure she had a good night.”
“What happened after she shot the sixteen-year-old?”
“The shooter introduced herself to the witness, told him not to worry, then walked away.”
D.D. arched a brow. “Which way did she exit?”
“To the left. The boy didn’t follow, though. He stood there a minute longer, then bolted back to the library, where his mother had alerted the staff she couldn’t find him. They were going to lock down, police had just been called, when he came tearing up the steps. He was hysterical, she became hysterical. It took five or ten minutes to sort things out. Then uniformed officers immediately dispatched to this location, while broadcasting the woman’s description, but no hits.”
D.D. wasn’t surprised. Anyone could disappear in Boston. Which is why Charlene Grant had originally moved here.
D.D. thought about it. “That the Internet user was sixteen should’ve startled her. Made her pause, ask more questions, something. But it didn’t. Meaning your theory stands to reason—she’d been stalking her target for a bit, visiting his Facebook page, maybe even following him in person on other occasions. She wasn’t surprised by his age or his actions. She expected both.”
“Premeditation,” O supplied. “Planning. Strategy.”
“Smart. Adept with computers. Patient.”
“Controlled,” O added to their profile of the shooter. “She shot the sixteen-year-old, then walked away. No collateral damage, no fussing with the witness. Just in, out, done.”
“Where’s the witness now?”
“Back of a squad car with his mother. We’re arranging for a forensic interviewer who specializes in children to meet them at HQ.”
“Can he talk?”
O shrugged. “Last time I saw him, he clung to his mother and didn’t say a word.”
“I’d like to try.”