#youlikeit - BLACKBIRD book 1

1. details

Brock walked in no hurry down Cambridge Street, then Tremont. He turned onto School past the Old City Hall and entered Boloco, like the day before. On his way in, he realized he had just scanned the faces at the tables. He scowled deeper than usual, wondering why he expected to find Gillian there, if he'd just seen her on live TV. So he waited in line, eyes fixed ahead, entertaining himself with an unnecessary account of the subjects he'd left for the last lecture of the seminar. They were three, and they were the same he always left for last. At every seminar. Every week. In every field office of the country. For the last four years.

"Oh, thank God you're here."

Brock's body didn't consult his brain. It just turned around to face a panting Gillian trying to smile at him.

"I was afraid to miss you," she said, answering his questioning scowl.

"Your salad, sir," said the boy behind the counter.

Brock turned to the boy. "A mango juice, please, no ice," he said, handing out his credit card.

Gillian swallowed a smile. That was what she was having there the day before, with Banks. Was he paying her back for the whiskey she'd ordered at the bar without even asking him? Some I pay attention to details too sort of message?

They sat together at the first table they found vacant. Brock unwrapped his salad while she took a long sip at her juice, still catching her breath.

"So you identified the killers," he said, instead of asking why she was there.

Gillian shrugged and replied in a light, casual way. "Homicide is trying to build a case against the girls, but I think they're gonna turn themselves in and confess in a day or two. We have at least fifteen minors abused by the victim, including the three killers, about as many adults involved in covering it up, some of them outstanding citizens from health and education areas, and half a dozen rich boys who witnessed many of the assaults. So I'm gonna be up to my neck as soon as I step back in my office, and soon probably suspended without pay, according to my boss' habit every time I nail a bad guy. But that's just a day at the office, right?"

Brock didn't even nod. He just kept looking at her.

She grimaced. "We found the original upload of the viral picture," she said. "That's why I'm bothering you again."

She fished through her bag to produce a folded page and handed it to him. Brock unfolded it and found a screen capture from an online group. The name was BEB and the picture of the body was posted there. He put on his readers to study it and Gillian smiled to herself. For some weird reason, she liked seeing him with those glasses. They were so human. Those were real, human eyes behind them, in a man made of flesh and bone just like anybody else. He hadn't used them last night at the bar, when he checked her file case.

"The original hashtag is different," he said.

"Yes, #youlikeit. That's what the pretty boy used to say to the girls while raping them, 'Say you like it, bitch.' A total Romeo."

Brock looked up at her from over his readers, raising his eyebrows—so? She grimaced again, her chin pointing at the page.

"The name of the group is what worries me."

"BEB Stands for?"

"Bull's Eye Boston."

Brock leaned back in his chair, frowning down at the print, and nodded slowly.

"Right now we have our hands full, so I cannot ask my techs to keep digging into this. And we may be busy with this Johnson case for another couple of weeks."

Once more, he waited without a word for her to go on. This time she sounded a little annoyed because he pushed her to explain it all to the last bit.

"This site speaks of nothing but teens sick and tired of being bullied, and watching bullies get away with it. But they don't only whine. Some of the members, mainly the ghost user who uploaded the picture, instigate these kids to take matters in their own hands, like those girls did with Johnson."

Gillian almost shot one of her death glares at Brock when he kept silent.

"Bull's Eye Boston, Agent Brockner. You don't identify a group with the name of a city unless there are other groups with the same name in other cities."

Oh, yes. Gillian almost chuckled now, because she got to spot his eyebrow raising slightly—I can put two and two together, you know? This man's hardened face managed to be so frigging expressive. So she took her turn to stare, waiting for him to say it.

Brock used his flattest tone to state the obvious. "It would become federal, or at least state jurisdiction." And he was finally forced to ask, "So?"

"So I need to take this to SAC Cooper. But I can't do it openly, or I can kiss my badge goodbye. It's politics. I hate politics, but nobody in the PD brass will agree to hand it over to the feds without further proof. Which I won't be able to legally provide like, ever, and illegally for another week. And they'll kill me bloody if I walk my ass across Cambridge Street and bring it to her anyway."

"You want me to present the case to SAC Cooper?" Brock gave her back the print, kicking himself back into character, and Gillian was taken aback by the bitterness flooding his words. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but if you want our field office to pay any attention to this, I'm the last person to bring it to the table." He checked his watch. "And now if you'll excuse me, I have to—"

Jeez, what was with this man and leaving her sitting alone like an idiot. Not this time. She stood up, raising her hand to cut him off. "I get it. I'll leave you to your lunch, sir. I gotta go back to work."

Her phone buzzed when she was picking up her bag and she paused to take the call. He saw her frown first, then her eyes widened in horror. She disconnected and whispered to him, "Another picture on BEB And this time it's a bomb!"

Brock didn't get a chance to even be surprised. Gillian rushed away. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look down at his salad, as if it were of any use to fight back the angry impotence he felt.