“We are part of the Cyber Action Team of the FBI,” Keyon said. “It has been brought to the Cyber Division’s attention that there has been significant felonious online activity perpetrated from this location. It needs to be investigated.”
“What kind of felonious activity?” Gary said in a hesitant, tremulous voice. He was, as his visitors assumed, of medium height, corpulent but not obese, with blotchy skin and thinning hair. He was not a stud.
“That is exactly what we have to talk to you about,” Keyon continued. “Now, we can arrest you and take you to the FBI field office, or you can let us in and talk with us and perhaps clear up this problem. It’s your choice, sir.”
Gary backed away, still holding on to the front doorknob.
Keyon and George entered a small foyer. Gary closed the door. He was visibly trembling. “We can sit in the living room,” he managed, gesturing to his left.
“We’ll stand, you sit,” George said, pointing toward the couch as all three entered the drab room. There was an open laptop on the coffee table displaying a dramatic photo of mountains as a screen saver. There was also an open bottle of beer.
Gary did as he was told. He reached out and shut the laptop.
“First off, I want to ask if you are alone in the house at the moment.”
“Yes, I am alone,” Gary said.
“Okay, good,” George said. “Second, I’d like to ask if you are familiar with cybercrime punishment here in Connecticut?”
Gary shook his head. He visibly swallowed.
“It is considered a serious offense, punishable by up to twenty years in prison.”
Gary stared back without blinking.
“Is there any other computer in this house,” Keyon asked, “other than the laptop here on the coffee table, a desktop or another laptop?”
“No.”
“Good,” Keyon said. “Now, we may have to confiscate this machine because what we suspect is that it has been used for serious cyberstalking, harassment, and threats to a thirteen-year-old girl by the name of Teresa Puksar. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“I suppose,” Gary said weakly.
George and Keyon exchanged a knowing glance.
“It seems that this online activity,” Keyon continued, “has been carried out by an individual whose user name is Savageboy69 and whose Facebook profile is under the name of Marvin Hard. Are either of those names familiar to you?”
Gary visibly swallowed again. He nodded.
“Okay, very good,” Keyon said. “We are making progress here. That’s encouraging.”
“So those are two of your online monikers?” George asked.
Gary nodded again.
“Do you use any other sock-puppet names?” George said.
“I used Barbara Easy for a while, but not for a long time.”
“Interesting,” George said with a wry smile. “A little gender role reversal. Very clever. Was it rewarding?”
Gary didn’t answer.
“Let’s get down to specifics,” Keyon said. “As Marvin Hard you managed to get Teresa Puksar’s IP address and then used it to get her real address. With that you threatened her with swatting if she didn’t send you nude pictures. Is that an accurate description of your activities?”
“Should I be talking to a lawyer?” Gary asked hesitantly.
“That is your call, Mr. Sheffield,” Keyon said. “But if you want to involve a lawyer at this early stage of our investigation, we will have to arrest you, confiscate this laptop, and take you to the FBI field office. Then, within twenty-four to forty-eight hours, you will be able to make a call to your attorney if you have one. Does this sound like the way you want to go? It’s up to you.”
“I don’t know,” Gary admitted. He felt like he was caught between a rock and a hard place.
“As I said at the door,” Keyon said, “we would like to clear all this up and be on our way. Arresting you creates a ton of paperwork for us. We’d prefer to avoid it. We need to finish our investigation, make sure you understand the kind of risks you are assuming with your trolling behavior, and make sure you mend your ways. In your favor, you didn’t try to meet up with this underage young lady. That’s good. At the same time, threatening her is certainly against the law. Exactly what you were going to do with the nude photos is another issue entirely. Luckily, at this stage, we can ignore the child-pornography problem. But there are a few things we need to ask you.”
“Like what?” Gary said.
“A key point,” Keyon said. “Are you working with anyone else? Have you communicated to anyone anything at all that you have learned about Teresa Puksar in your ongoing chats and messaging with her? Anything in particular that she has revealed to you or you have learned?”
“No,” Gary said. “What I do online is private. I don’t share it with anyone.”
“From some of your messages that I’ve read, I think that is a wise idea, Mr. Sheffield,” Keyon said. “You presented yourself as a twenty-year-old college student to Miss Puksar, but to me you seemed even younger than she. Be that as it may, right now we are mainly interested in one particularly important question: Have you communicated to anyone Miss Puksar’s physical address or her IP address? Now, don’t answer immediately! I want you to think for a moment, because it is very important. Have you told anyone Miss Puksar’s location or anything about where she lives?”
“I don’t have to think about it,” Gary said. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“Have you written Miss Puksar’s address on any paper or transferred it to any storage device or put it into your contacts? Think, Mr. Sheffield!”
“It is just in this laptop,” Gary said, pointing to the machine on the coffee table.
“How about your cell phone?” Keyon suggested.
“There’s no address in my cell phone,” Gary said. He was beginning to perk up, sensing he was pleasing his interrogators and that this scary episode was coming to an end.
“Show me!” Keyon said.
Gary straightened out his right leg and pulled his smartphone from his front pants pocket. He went into his contacts and pulled up Teresa Puksar. There was a phone number with a 617 area code. He showed the screen to Keyon, who nodded.
Keyon looked at George. There was a moment of nonverbal communication between them as they tried to decide if they were finished with the interview. Each nodded slightly, indicating that he was content, meaning that they had learned what they needed to know. Keyon used his right hand to form a make-believe gun with his index finger extended and thumb upright. He pointed it at George.
George took the hint, and in quick, smooth motion reached under the lapel of his jacket and pulled out a Smith & Wesson .38 Special revolver from a shoulder holster. A fraction of a second later the gun was pointing directly at Gary’s forehead. The report was loud in the small room with its unadorned plaster walls and ceiling. The soft-nosed bullet hit Gary in the middle of his forehead, snapping his head back and spraying the wall behind the couch with blood and bits of brain.