Fragmented by George Fong Read Free Book Online

on the portable monitor. They scanned rows of commercially manufactured porn in search of anything resembling pictures of minors.
    “Hey, Jack,” one of the examiners called out. “I think you better take a look at this.”
    As Jack walked toward the kitchen table covered in electronic search equipment, Burke shouted, “Hey, man, maybe I want my lawyer.”
    “Shut up, Burke!” Marquez said, continuing to fill out paperwork for the items she planned on taking.
    Jack stared at the monitor. Burke’s computer case was opened with colorful bands of cable streaming out and into the Bureau’s hardware, the data in Burke’s computer pumped like water through a hose into the FBI’s storage space. The computer monitor flashed snapshots from Burke’s hard drive. Mostly commercial grade porn, the stuff Jack had seen floating around for years.
    “What have you got?” Jack asked.
    “Mostly Eastern European crap,” replied the CART examiner. “We peeked at a couple of files and came across some unusual ones. Take a look at these.” The examiner tapped on the keyboard, moving through a maze of files and sub-files before going into Burke’s trash can. He clicked on it and a series of pictures materialized.
    “What the hell is this?” Jack whispered.
    “Pretty disturbing,” replied the CART examiner.
    The first picture was a grainy color shot of a young girl, tape covering her eyes, lying on a bare mattress. The room was dark but Jack could make out cardboard boxes and several pieces of broken furniture scattered randomly around the room. A single overhead lamp was the only source of light, harshly illuminating the unknown girl. Sharp lines and stark features. The girl in the picture wore pajamas, bunched and disheveled. Jack studied the image and a rush of dread filled his body. Jack spoke, his words soft and careful: “This isn’t porn, boys.”
    The CART examiner nodded. “I think you’re right.”
    The picture was clearly not intended for pornography. She was not erotically dressed; she performed no sexual acts, showed no seductive poses. As much as those types of pictorials sickened Jack, this photo was worse.
    Marquez stood from the sofa, left Burke alone and walked over to Jack’s side.
    Jack’s tapped a finger on the screen. “Lucy, that’s not a picture of smut.”

    She studied the picture, nodding the entire time. “You’re right,” she said. “That’s a kidnapping.”

8
     

    Tuesday –
2:48 p.m.
     

    “I don’t know the guy, I swear!” Burke pleaded, the realization that he was in deep shit becoming more evident. After viewing the photo of the tied and bound child, Jack and Marquez surrounded Burke like two hungry wolves standing over an antelope with a busted leg. It was time Burke came clean on his relationship with who sent those pictures.
    “Look, that shit arrived this morning before I crashed. Man, I’d been up all night. Dude sent it to me and I told him it was too freaky, so I canned it. I swear.”
    “Jack,” the examiner called out, “I got more for you to look at.”
    Jack and Marquez walked over to the monitor. Burke’s body went limp as he sunk deep into the cheap sofa.
    The examiner had pieced together another series of photos from deleted fragments. They were similar to the first, same girl, same position.
    “I checked the hash marks on the photos,” the examiner said, “to determine if they were modified at any time. No alterations. What you see is what you get. I also pulled up the internal clock to determine the time and date the pictures were taken. If the camera clock is accurate, they’re from today, probably as early as late morning.”
    Jack turned toward Burke, whose eyes sagged, his posture limp. Jack jabbed a finger into Burke’s boney chest. “Who is he?”
    Burke’s jaw slacked and his head shook back and forth. “Just some guy, some guy that wanted to trade pictures.”
    Jack knelt next to the couch, invading Burke’s personal space. “You better