Free Twisted Vine by Toby Neal

collar from the torn earlobe.
    Ang punched some buttons on her computer, and a website, DyingFriends, popped up, appearing on the screen. “I know there’s a lot of pressure, sir, and I asked for this meeting because I thought it was time that discussed what’s happening with these ‘odd’ suicide cases.” She made air quotes. “I was the one to ask that we take the Hale boy’s case. There’s a reason for that, and I’ll get into that in a minute—but for now, I wanted to tell you that in addition to the anomalies at the sites of the two suicides, both Shimaoka and Hale belonged to a website called DyingFriend.com.”
    A pause as the team digested this. “DyingFriends? Why would a healthy young guy like Corby Hale belong to something like that?” Lei asked. “I didn’t find his name or that site when I was just searching his name in general.”
    “I don’t know why. Don’t you have a meeting with Fukushima about his autopsy later? Maybe there will be some answers there,” Ang said.
    “So this is the commonality between them? Did you find anything else connecting the two?” Waxman asked. “I haven’t had time to read all your case files so far.”
    Ken spoke up at that. “We got the call for the Shimaoka site when one of the HPD detectives lifted a print of Corby Hale’s off duct tape on Shimaoka’s tailpipe. We did a full search of the house and car yesterday, but so far, no other trace of Corby Hale.”
    “My guess is that they’ll be connected somehow on this website. The problem is, Corby’s and Shimaoka’s identities have already been deleted by the system admin of DyingFriends. Which implies knowledge of their deaths, something none of their other online accounts seem to have.” Ang typed rapidly, and they were able to view the error message 404 pages. “There’s something about this site that’s fishy. I’d like permission, sir, to develop a profile and impersonate a DyingFriends member. I will see if I can figure out what really is happening on this site behind the fire wall and track the system admin.”
    “Permission granted. Please submit all particulars on this to me—identity, details, et cetera—before you initiate the impersonation. Yamada and Texeira, where are you with your part of the investigation?”
    Ken cleared his throat. “We’re still sifting through the trace and evidence collected at both the crime scenes. Now that we’re aware there was some sort of crossover between Hale and Shimaoka, we’re planning to go back through everything we found at Corby Hale’s. We also have some follow-up interviews to do, including one with Senator Hale. We didn’t find any foreign trace at Corby’s scene—what’s notable was that there were no prints at all on his heroin kit. The syringe had his prints on it, but awkwardly placed. The setup was for a right-hander when Corby was left-handed, a difficult maneuver to pull off.”
    “So these are the anomalies.” Waxman switched to photos of the scene on his computer, and they flashed on the screen overhead. Lei was struck again by Corby’s beauty, the posed quality of his body like an angel on a tomb.
    “We’re also still waiting for toxicology reports from Dr. Fukushima’s office,” Lei said. “She can give us preliminary findings on the autopsies as early as today.”
    “What about the suicide notes?” Waxman pulled images of those up—the enigmatic handwriting of Corby’s beside the elegant finality of Alfred Shimaoka’s. “They look genuine—what did handwriting analysis reveal? Any trace on the paper?”
    “No trace but the vic’s prints,” Lei said. “Handwriting analysis came back as consistent. These notes are real, and they were handled only by Corby and Shimaoka.”
    “So what’s going on here, exactly?” Waxman looked up at them over the narrow steel rims of his reading glasses. His icy eyes tracked their faces and made Lei’s bladder cramp, reminding her of her old boss, Captain Omura on