Free The Short Drop by Matthew FitzSimmons

guilt anymore. Or wind up in jail for something unrelated and brag about it to a cellmate. The chances are remote, but it happens.”
    “So how much traffic are we talking about?” Gibson asked.
    Mike Rilling sat forward, anxious to contribute something. “Over the previous five years, the eight hundred number averaged one point eight calls per month. Discounting spam, we were seeing four point six e-mails per month. And the website was getting four hundred sixty-seven hits per month. We monitor traffic to the website and back check IP addresses on the off chance the perp gets curious and/or stupid.”
    “Smart. And recently?”
    “Thirty-eight calls per month. Two hundred forty-eight e-mails. Thirty-thousand-plus hits to the website.”
    “All crap, of course,” Hendricks said.
    “It only takes one,” Abe reminded him.
    “Have you thought about doing a website redesign?” Gibson asked.
    Mike shook his head.
    “Well, if it was me, I’d give some thought to updating it. Old websites look . . . well, they look old. They look forgotten. If you’re hoping to lure him in, then you need it to look like an ongoing investigation.”
    “That’s a good thought,” Abe said. “Michael, get that ball rolling on Monday.”
    “And while you’re at it, the FBI documents in this folder? Put some of those up too.”
    “Wait. Why tip our hand?” Jenn asked.
    “To bait the hook. Give your guy a reason to visit the site. Don’t these serial-killer types have a thing for reading about themselves? Don’t they get off on that shit? Or is that just in the movies?”
    Jenn nodded thoughtfully. “No, that’s not just the movies.” She turned to Abe. “We’d have to clear it with the Bureau. But it’s a possibility.”
    “Agreed.” Abe made a note on a legal pad with his fountain pen. “I’ll call Phillip in the morning.”
    “I’m happy to talk website design all day, but are we getting to the part where WR8TH contacted you?”
    “Getting there, yes,” Abe said. “The increased traffic to the website was what made me decide to do the CNN interview. My condition for doing the interview was that it would mention the website and hotline, and our info would be in the crawler as well as linked on CNN’s website. In the end, it was pretty perfunctory stuff. I was hoping to get into some depth, but they only used about three minutes. Still, I was able to confirm that the reward was still available for a credible lead that led to Suzanne. And that was it. Exchanged some pleasantries and went back to the office. Didn’t even bother to watch the broadcast. But the day after it aired, we were e-mailed this. Mike?”
    A new photograph appeared on the screen. A pink Hello Kitty backpack sat on a wooden table. Off the edge of the table, Gibson could see dirty linoleum tile and the base of a kitchen cabinet. The backpack showed the wear and tear of a well-loved possession. The photograph itself was old or was staged that way—the resolution wasn’t as clear as modern digital cameras, but that was simple enough to fake. Clearly, the backpack was meant to be the one from the infamous Breezewood footage. If genuine, it was an astonishing lead.
    “Was there a message?” Gibson asked.
    Abe nodded. A blowup of an e-mail appeared on screen.
Nice interview, George. Very moving. You should have kept her safe. How much for the backpack?
    Gibson winced and shot a quick glance at Abe, who sat stoically. It was a cruel taunt, but Abe kept whatever he felt about it well hidden.
    “What about the e-mail address?” Gibson asked.
    “[email protected]. We traced it to a privately hosted server in the Ukraine,” Mike replied. “The domain was registered to a ‘V. Airy Nycetri’ for an added screw-you.”
    Gibson rolled his eyes. No real surprise, though. The fringes of the Internet were often hosted in places like Eastern Europe, where governments had more pressing concerns than shady web hosts. Spammers, illegal gambling sites,