Social Media Murder Read online

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER 1: TWEET NOIR

  CHAPTER 2: QUICK CUT

  CHAPTER 3: CRADLING GRAVES

  CHAPTER 4: SHOOTING STARS

  CHAPTER 5: OUT OF THE LIGHT

  CHAPTER 6: DEAD WEIGHT

  CHAPTER 7: FOUR SQUARED!

  CHAPTER 8: HARD THINKING

  CHAPTER 9: LIES DOWN

  CHAPTER 10: INTO THE DARKNESS

  CHAPTER 11: DOUBLE DOWN

  CHAPTER 12: PERSISTENT MAYBE’S

  Social Media Murder

  By Timothy A. Price

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to everyone who has had a positive effect on my life up to this point. Special thanks to:

  Sheila Margaret for always believing in me

  Rachel for giving me the confidence to write

  Caitlin for helping me when I needed it

  Charmaine for encouraging me to write

  Paul for the invaluable advice

  Serena for the editing

  You all played a part in helping me achieve a lifelong dream.

  CHAPTER 1: TWEET NOIR

  Moon glistens. Police car pulls up to the curb. A detective steps out and walks past some drugged out kids. Turning up Little Lonsdale Street, she spots a body strewn across the sidewalk. Blood is dripping down the pavement. An open hand lies just out of reach, of a blood stained iPhone.

  “Just another glorious weekend in Melbourne, Andy.”

  “That’s right C, the home of sport, the arts, and weekends of drunken violence.”

  “What do we have?”

  “Not sure. Someone reported a dead body at 1:05am”

  “Look at all these people around here, surely they saw something?”

  “I’ll go talk to some of these witnesses C.” Detective Pearce walked over to the surrounding crowd and began to question them.

  Detective Celia Hughes knelt down by the body. She had just joined the Homicide squad. A background in Psychology helped her quickly rise through the police ranks. She was sharp, and a keen student of human behaviour, which would make solving the cities grisly murders easier than most. Although people are very complex, their actions and motivations are not. Detective Hughes was often disappointed by just how simple these cases were to solve. A jilted lover, an angry family member, a crime of passion, man’s basic instincts and desires were often the root of all these evil acts.

  People are very predictable and their patterns of behaviour rarely deviate. She could see these patterns since she was a child. She had a heightened skill and awareness that was fostered by her mother. Her mother possessed the same skill but rarely used it. She was an emotionally drained recluse but they were deeply connected. Words were rarely necessary, they communicated between each other with thoughts. The ability had often left Celia with a shallow feeling of disappointment. Particularly when her friends fell into the same old traps. She could see things before they happened. These days she arrived at scenes when it was all a little too late. She actually preferred this as she got to avoid the emotional trauma, although death seemed a far more abrupt end to a humans failings. The cases she dealt with rarely mirrored the cop shows seen on TV. There were less twists and turns, and more connecting A to B.

  Detective Pearce returned after questioning many of the largely drunk onlookers.

  “What you see, C?” Pearce asked.

  “Bruising of the ribs, looks like a car ran through this guy at some point,” Hughes replied.

  “Yeah one person saw a Ute hit the man at high speed and drive off.”

  “Not the cause of death though.”

  “Whaa—“

  “I think this is murder, the hit and run may have been after they were well dead.”

  “The hit from the car wasn’t enough to kill him?”

  “Yeah I think there may be more to this.”

  “Drug overdose?”

  “No, I don’t think this is a junkie OD’ing off his weekly fix. This is murder.”

  “Let’s wait until they check the body...”

  “No, I can feel it Andy.”

  “What do we know about the victim?”

  “Can you pass me the iPhone?”

  “Sure.”

  Detective Hughes pulled out her gloves and once in place grabbed the iPhone. It was a familiar feeling, holding an iPhone in her palm. She loved her own. It was practically a third hand. She quickly logged in and out of the Apps available. Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Google Maps. These days’ people carried their entire lives around with them. Forever connected.

  Detective Andrew Pearce looked on in amazement. He hated technology and the invasiveness of it in our everyday lives. He would walk through the nearby shopping centre at lunch time and wonder what world he was living in. Everybody had their head down looking at their phones. They are so connected that they don’t even exist in the now, he thought? Who ever had time to enjoy the moment they were in, you know where they were actually standing and breathing? It was a fractured world. He now spent most of his time while navigating the centre trying to avoid people walking into him. So addicted to typing away on their phones they didn’t even have a moment to focus on looking where they walk. Hughes moved her fingers across the screen quickly, letting out an “hmm” or “interesting” every few moments. He was impressed by her speed; she clearly knew what she was doing.

  “Well then?”

  “Well according to his Facebook profile his name is John Raspovic, late 30s, Croatian heritage, worked in IT, apartment in South Melbourne, in a happy relationship, from all reports seemed to be living a charmed life.”

  “No one lives a charmed life C, at least not behind closed doors.”

  “So negative Andy–”

  “–In fact those that you think are living a charmed life, are the ones to worry about.”

  “So what was he doing out on this fine evening?”

  “One of the witnesses said they had seen him earlier. At, a… umm… twigup? Whatever the kids do these days.”

  “Tweetup, you mean?”

  “Twitter, Andy, it’s a twitter meet up called a tweetup.”

  “Doesn’t make sense to me C, who cares what someone just had for lunch.”

  Pearce was a 20 year veteran of the police force. He had been working in the sexual crimes unit. That was until the government introduced a mandate to move detectives around different units. He was a specialist in his field, recognised overseas. He had the ability to get into the mind of the perpetrators and catch them. He was still resentful for being moved and after this year in Homicide he was going to take a long leave of absence. A year of long service leave and then a quick exit was on his mind. Tweetups? Not so much.

  Detective Hughes however was a keen user of social media and was beginning to realise its increasing importance in tracking down and uncovering criminals in the 21st century. People often didn’t realise what kind of information they were sharing. People’s online profiles were now a breeding ground of evidence that quickly revealed motives. The more information that was available, the clearer the picture she could draw. She was a visual person. As she scanned through this man’s iPhone it was clear there was a lot of misinformation. His interactions with others were not always truthful. She could see a man living 5 or 6 different lives and no family member, friend or work colleague was ever getting the entire 360.

  “Interesting DM’s here.”

  “DM’s?”

  “Direct Messages.”

  “Huh?” Pearce looked confused.

  “On twitter you can send someone a private message. They are called Direct Messages or DM’S,” Hughes explained.

  “Oh okay, so what do they say?”

&nbs
p; “Well there are a few people who he planned on meeting tonight. Ellie, Sam and Walter”

  “Interesting.”

  “Hey, hey stop that!” Pearce yelled out at a young woman standing by the crime scene. She was taking a picture of the dead body with her iPhone.

  “Shameful,” Pearce muttered underneath his breath. “Kids have no respect for human life these days.”

  “...or death,” Hughes retorted.

  “It’s those damn video games C. They grow up with bloody violence from the moment they are born. This all means nothing to them.”

  “You are too old school Andy. That woman has probably twitpiced the body already. It’s online, it’s on Twitter and thousands of people have seen it. In the next 5 minutes they will all be commenting on it. There won’t be a report until tomorrow’s afternoon paper, but with social media everything is instant.”

  “I don’t care about the aftermath C, but if someone mentioned on that Twitter bullshit that they murdered someone tonight, then I’m interested.”

  “True indeed.”

  .....

  The crowd was overflowing onto the sidewalk as the two detectives stepped into the bar. Loud music drowned out the remaining sounds. The bar was filled with smoke, and it was hot. A red neon light shone from the back. It was a diverse mix of people with one thing in common. They all had a glowing iPhone in their hand.

  “Okay, let’s see if anyone knew this Raspovic character.”

  “Raspovic? No, never heard of him,” a tall lanky man replied. He was standing near the bar.

  Detective Hughes raised her voice above the noise, “His username was therapture”

  “Oh, yeah I did talk to him. I don’t know most people’s real names, only what they use online.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “A few hours ago, I think. I’ve had a few drinks. I saw him leaving with Ellie.”

  “Ellie, what can you tell me about Ellie?”

  “Ellie, she’s one of the regulars at these tweetups, she’s umm, very popular.”

  The detectives exchanged a glance and Pearce wrote the name down in his notepad.

  “Description?”

  “You’ll know her when you see her, she’s hard to miss.”

  Suddenly, someone grabbed Detective Hughes from behind.

  Tall, ungainly and bright eyed. “Hey!” he yelled. “Don’t I know you?” Hughes was caught off guard and this man’s hands were flailing wildly.

  “No, no you don’t.”

  He stared at her, then into the distance; eyes darting and head jerking around in strange movements.

  “Well can you show me your tits?”

  “I can show you a jail cell. You are speaking to a detective.”

  “A detective?” someone else butted in. “Can I get a hug? Hi I’m Ponyboy.”

  “Charming, but no.”

  Pearce looked on in amusement, but when they both turned back to the person they were interviewing, he had vanished.

  “Shit.”

  “Well, we may have a lead C.”

  “Not sure, it’s something, but there a lot of shady people here. We have a lot of suspects.”

  “Really? These bunch of creepy geeks? They don’t seem the murderous type?”

  “You’d be surprised Andy, and you’ve been a detective long enough to realise people go a lot deeper than first impressions. Don’t assume anything.”

  “True enough.”

  “You cops are you?”

  Two men step forward.

  “Yes.”

  “Marorgi and antifuzz.”

  “Huh? Doesn’t anyone use their real names around here?”

  “Sorry, force of habit. It’s Tom, Tom and Patrick. Can we help?”

  “Did you know Raspovic... and before you give me that blank look his username was therapture?” Pearce asked.

  “No, no, not really, we met him briefly.”

  “I think he left here pretty early.”

  “With anyone?” Detective Hughes queried.

  “I’m not sure, I think by himself.”

  “Well now he’s dead.”

  “Tragic.”

  “Yes.”

  After an uncomfortable pause the two men walked away before quickly sliding out at the nearby exit.

  “C, I think we should get someone to follow them. Call one of the officers.”

  “Kat, hello, yes, yes, it’s Detective Hughes.”

  Kat was one of the younger members of the police force. She was in her mid 20s, tall, beautiful and always great assistance to Hughes. It also helped Celia talking to someone not in Pearce’s generation, or even mental state for that matter. If he was an aging fossil, Kat was a breath of new born fresh air.

  “It’s about this twitter murder case; I need you to follow this Patrick character. He is leaving the bar now with another man. Mid 30s, thin build, brown hair.”

  “No, I refuse to follow him. In fact everybody should unfollow him.”

  “Very clever, but I mean on foot.”

  “Couldn’t help myself,” Kat let out a big laugh.

  “Make sure you stay on their tail, I don’t think they are telling the truth.”

  “Well everybody lies, just not all the time”

  “...and that’s the point,” Hughes finished.

  As Detective Hughes hung up the phone something resting on a table grabbed her attention.

  “Grab that piece of paper, Andy.”

  “What is it?”

  “It appears to be a list of every person who attended the tweetup.”

  Pearce scanned the list, there were over 20 names written down including “vosky, civoc. twisties, blackpanther, therapture, ellie87, fieldm, wharris, skeebear, misscoke, ladybug, darkkirk, zencrazy.”

  “It’s hard to read too much into their names, well except the last one,” Pearce said handing Hughes the piece of paper.

  “They’re all suspects.”

  “Yeah, and its most likely one of them is responsible for this man’s death.”

  “The timing suggests the murderer came from this tweetup.”

  .....

  Heavy breathing, much like a possum that is way too close to your house.

  “Just head down to the basement.”

  “Oh really, is — this your dungeon?”

  He began to tie her up.

  “Ron, come closer.”

  “You’ve got something I need.”

  “I know.”

  Deep breath released.

  The man in his 40s, greying hair, reached behind his back and pulled out a knife. His face suddenly became expressionless.

  “Where is it, Ellie?”

  Ellie began to panic. “Where is what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The basement was suddenly full of tension. Breathing stopped.

  “You’re man had something of mine, something he stole and I know you’ve got it,” he said with distinct venom between gritted teeth.

  He reached in and slowly moved the blade closer to her face. Utter fear.

  In that moment fear can render you powerless. Fear can also be a powerful driving force for action. Ellie was suddenly hit with a sense of calm. She hit him where it hurts. She bent her knee and looking him dead in the eye thrust it deep into his groin. He let out a groan and fell to the ground, bent over in sheer pain.

  “You’ve got it all wrong,” she screamed as she untied herself frantically. She looked at the knife that had dropped out of his hand.

  “You will pay for this,” she screeched as she picked the knife up off the cold basement floor. She stared deep into his eyes, eyes that were watering as he stayed bent over writhing in pain, “just not right now.”

  She climbed up the steps and ran out of the house. Her feet moved as fast as her heart was racing.

  ............

  Dee walked up to the third floor, and banged on the door. No response. She pushed the door ajar. She could hear the low murmur of a TV
so she walked in.

  A man lay there, passed out on the couch, saliva dribbling onto the cushion, an iPhone laid on his chest.

  “Hey, heeerooo, wake up please, 1:00pm is about time to start your day!”

  “Waa-D, what are you doing here,” He sat up groggily. “You’re disturbing my blissful sleep.”

  “You call slobbering on the couch while Dr Phil plays in the background bliss?”

  “Hey, Dr Phil is helping me overcome my relationship problems, issues with my father and my fear of balding talk show hosts.”

  “Sure.”

  “Plus I’ve got a sore back, and I still ain’t over what happened, leave me alone.”

  “Still struggling? You need to get over her. Have you even moved from that position in the last 72 hours?”

  “No need, I have an iPhone, I’m connected to the world. Don’t let the solitary surrounds of this apartment fool you.”

  The apartment was a mess, full of old pizza boxes, and weeks of accumulated rubbish. Dee was annoyed already. She liked everything to be in order. She was meticulous, smart as a whip, and got annoyed when people didn’t live up to the standards that she maintained herself. She was however hurting, so even a dirty apartment didn’t get to her as much as it normally would.

  “No time for that Hero, I need your help, I have a case.”

  Hero was a private detective, of sorts. A former federal agent who specialised in online crimes until he was struck down with a debilitating back injury. He was now freelancing. This really meant spending half of his time dealing with Centrelink and the other half taking cases from his friends every couple of months. He hadn’t made it off the couch for a few weeks though. He’d tried every back operation, alternative therapy and just plain quackery known to man. He was now resigned to living in pain. His real name was James but people had been calling him Hero for years. Conceited? Arrogant? He didn’t care what people thought, he thought he was damn good. He believed he was always right, and most of the time he was. Dee was an old friend from his university days. He hadn’t seen her in a long time, so he knew if she if she was coming to him it must be serious.

  “What’s going on?”