Cold Grave (35 page)

‘Trolls are all over it.’

Anya had no idea what that meant, but remembered reading
The Hobbit
while at school. In that, trolls turned to stone if they ventured into daylight. ‘Which means . . .?’

‘Trolls. They act like major league jerks on the net. They deliberately say disgusting things to bait fundies.’

‘Fundies?’

‘Up-tights. Trolls think it’s funny to say controversial stuff. Sometimes they flame, and say offensive things about murder victims, or someone who died, just for fun. A lot of people on the RIP site are feeding the trolls by getting angry and telling them where to go.’

Martin joined the conversation. ‘So the trolls go around vandalising tribute sites?’

‘’Cause there are more likely to be fundies there, and . . . well, because they can. Then other trolls find out and join the party.’

The whole notion was sickening. ‘What sort of things are they posting about Lilly?’

‘The usual. That she was a slut, bitch, or dog. They post stuff like she had sex with her father, then suddenly, all these Christians get on and say incest is a sin against God and she should burn in hell. Then her friends get upset and feed the trolls and it keeps going.’

It boggled Anya’s mind how the tragic and sudden death of a teenage girl could be a source of amusement and cruelty. Worse, there were names for the behaviour, like it was a type of sport with players on different sides.

‘Have you ever done it?’ Martin asked Wes.

‘Heck, no. These guys are sick. They think it’s hilarious to make fun of people. I’ve had that all my life. Why would I do it to someone else?’ He paused. ‘I thought about getting into some bullies’ sites, but that’d just be lowering myself to their level.’

Wes was proving himself to be mature and insightful. Anya hoped Jasmine and her family did not see the website.

‘Can you take the site down, or at least delete the foul comments?’

He shook his head. ‘Only the site owners can do that. Police are helpless. There are a lot of people who fight to protect the First Amendment and the right to free speech. It’s what media moguls use to get away with trolling legally. Only they do it in papers and on TV.’

Anya wondered who cared about the rights of people who are libelled, tormented and devastated by cruelty disguised as amusement.

‘Can you identify who’s doing it, maybe report them to the school they come from?’

‘Guarantee you, not one is a real name. One calls himself Mahariji Yumyum. Another goes by Banana Pie.’

He checked the screen again. ‘Oh no. You are not going to like this. Someone just posted graphic pictures on the blog. It says they’re of Lilly.’ He turned the screen around. They were nude images of the sixteen year old lying on her back, head to the side, eyes closed. They were accompanied by the post, ‘Asian chick wasted. Screwed her once. Didn’t bother again.’ There was also an image of a blonde, Kandy, performing oral sex on an unidentifiable man. ‘Blonde bitch bigger tits and swallowed the load.’

Anya felt acid rise in her throat again. ‘Is your programme working yet? Did you get the photo of whoever posted them?’

Wes checked his email. ‘Sorry,’ he sat back in the chair. ‘This time he got lucky. Five minutes more and we would have had him on camera.’

Night Rider 14 was the name of the poster. It had to be one of the men who had seen Lilly in the cabin that night. Proving who was the challenge.

Martin moved around to the table, pulled out a chair and sat. ‘You have got to catch these bastards. They can’t . . .’

‘Let’s focus,’ Anya suggested.

‘Maybe I can get his email address using his password,’ Wes said. ‘Maybe he uses his real name for work or home.’

‘Why would his password be any easier to work out than College Girl’s?’

‘He’s used the number fourteen. He’s probably born on the fourteenth, or lives at a number fourteen.’

‘Couldn’t he have a child who’s fourteen? Or maybe it’s his wife or girlfriend’s birthday?’

Wes shot Anya a sympathetic look that made her feel simple.

‘The age of a kid would change so he’d have to remember when he started the account. He also has a Smartface page. Judging from the detritus on it, he isn’t the kinda guy who respects a woman enough to remember her birthday. Besides, if he had a girlfriend, why would he bother being such a perv? But what would I know?’

More than Anya had anticipated. Wesley Meeks was wiser than most people his age. She suspected caring for his father had made him grow up a lot more quickly. ‘Logical thinking.’

He interlocked his fingers and stretched both arms at chest level. The knuckles cracked and Anya felt a shiver down her back.

‘You still prefer I don’t do anything illegal on your computer?’

‘If there’s another way . . .’

He returned to his laptop. ‘You might want to powder your nose, as they say.’

Anya preferred to make a tea. Wes asked for white coffee and took a bite out of an apple. A few minutes later, he had a list of passengers whose birthdays fell on the fourteenth or had the number in their addresses.

There were almost 200 names on the list. Anya put her face in her hands. It was worse than a needle in a haystack.

‘If I eliminate the women . . .’

‘And what about anyone over seventy . . . or under sixteen,’ Martin suggested.

Wes typed as if he had claws, and didn’t once look at the keyboard. After the last keystroke, he lifted his hand in the air, like a concert pianist at the conclusion of a piece.

‘That leaves us with . . . twelve.’

Anya’s heart skipped. One teenage boy had already narrowed down the passengers who could have posted the pictures. ‘Can you take out the ones travelling with families or women?’

The speed typing began again. Screens scrolled as he deleted the least likely candidates.

‘When you do that, you’re left with three. ‘Leslie Rivers, on deck twelve. Brian Peterson and Gus Berry. They’re both on deck one. In separate rooms.’

Anya could have hugged him. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than they had before. It was too much of a coincidence for Wes to have been wrong about the number fourteen being important.

‘Can you check if any have Smartface pages in their own names?’

‘Yeah, but you can use any name. Let’s see who’s friends with Night Rider.’

It sounded a reasonable, if slightly circuitous way, to find out if they were linked to the unidentified page.

‘Surprise. No one is using their real name. Let’s try something else.’ Wes was in his element. ‘These guys aren’t smart. Night Rider doesn’t have privacy settings.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Anyone can see his photos and posts. There’s also some personal info.’

He went back to his own computer again.

Anya began to feel nervous, but thought of Kandy and Lilly. Neither girl deserved the degradation these men had inflicted, and were continuing to inflict through the internet. There was enough consensual pornography people could access for free. This had to be about power and boasting, for friends.

‘I have a thought,’ Wes said. ‘What if I start a new page, making out I’m a young woman. See if he becomes my friend.’

Anya didn’t follow the logic.

‘I get him talking about himself, where he is, what his real name is.’

‘Isn’t that entrapment?’ Anya knew none of this would hold up in court, but if Wes managed to find out the identity of Night Rider, it could help them notify authorities. At the very least, Kandy was under-age.

Martin interrupted. ‘I don’t like it. These guys are intimidating. Wes, I’m concerned—’

‘You sound like my grandmother. Trust me. These guys will never know who they’re talking to.’

36

That evening in the central dining room, the mood was upbeat. The bowling shirts were already seated at two tables of eight, all in uniform. The maître d’ led Anya, Martin and Ben through the central section, past the table with Genny and Peterson. The men began to howl and bark.

Anya took a deep breath and held Ben’s hand. She was more concerned about Martin rising to the bait than what the men were doing. Trolls was a good word to describe them. Thankfully, Martin pretended to ignore them this time.

Karen was tending to an elderly passenger at one of the tables near the wall.

Anya detoured to say hello. ‘Need any help?’

‘Nah, our Mr Jonas had a giddy turn but promises to lay off the Scotch. At least until I’m out of sight.’

The elderly gentleman pouted like a sulky child. His similarly aged male companion nodded, beer in hand. ‘No fool like an old fool, I always say.’

Karen stood and moved closer to Anya. ‘Don’t suppose you know anything about a mad rush we had this afternoon for genital checks? They were all convinced they had syphilis. One mentioned a doctor but it was all pretty vague.’

Anya coughed to stifle a laugh. ‘Probably good that there’s increased awareness out there.’ She changed topic. ‘How’s Rachel?’

‘She’s managing, but her mind’s definitely somewhere else. Carlos is doing better, but Fitz is like a bear with a sore tooth. I wish I knew what was going on. Maybe I could help.’

‘You know where I am if you need me,’ was all Anya could think of to say.

Karen nodded and whispered, ‘Likewise.’

Shouting on the other side of the room caught their attention. Anya saw the maître d’ rush over. A woman stood and threw a plate of food in a man’s face. It was Doctor Chan. The object of her throw was wearing a bowling shirt.

‘You crazy bitch!’

Screaming, Lilly’s mother punched him repeatedly with her fists. He tried to cover his head, but then Doctor Chan’s sister launched into him as well. Karen headed over, a little more slowly than she could have. Jasmine was trying to calm her mother down. The rest of the room was silent, apart from laughter coming from the other bowling shirts. Four more waiters appeared and attempted to escort the Chans from the room.

Karen seemed to stop them. Jasmine noticed Anya and rushed over.

‘Please help my mother. That man said he knew Lilly and said he was sorry she had died. Mom went crazy. She thinks he gave her the drugs and did unthinkable things to her. And now people are writing things about Lilly on the internet. What sort of monsters are they?’

Anya’s heart sank. The Chans had seen the vandalised RIP site. They didn’t deserve any of this.

She headed across with Jasmine, and the men began barking again. Waiters had physically separated the Chan women from the man they were assaulting. FitzHarris strolled along, after calm had been restored. Service to other tables quickly resumed.

‘What happened here?’ he demanded.

‘Just a misunderstanding.’ Karen had an arm around Lilly’s mother. ‘The gentleman said something about knowing Doctor Chan’s late daughter. No harm done.’

‘No harm done!’ Genny, the one who had physically threatened Anya, was quickly at his friend’s side. ‘That crazy bitch should be locked up. She threw a plate at my friend and started laying into him. Then her freaky lookalike joined in.’

FitzHarris glanced at the men, who stood a good foot and a half taller than the women they accused.

‘And you’re saying you boys couldn’t defend yourselves against these petite, older ladies.’

Karen squeezed Doctor Chan’s shoulder.

‘She went nuts. Everyone in the room saw what happened. Ask anyone.’

The waiters and maître d’ all had their heads down, going about their business. Animated conversation in the restaurant had resumed. Then Anya saw two familiar faces: Emma and Bec, the women from the disco who had been harangued and intimidated by some of the men on board. They were going around the room saying something to people at each table. Within a few minutes, the men were getting glares from other guests.

‘Hey,’ Genny shouted. ‘Can I have your attention?’

The room fell quiet again, apart from some clanking of cutlery on plates.

‘Can someone please tell this idiot how those women attacked my friend, totally unprovoked?’