The Mind Virus

Chapter 9 - Part 2

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Colin's mother's sweet tones were welcome in these trying times.

"I did. I think I did. Do you mind if I take Mel's laptop and phone with me? I just need to really look through them and see if I can glean anything useful. I'll bring them back, of course," Jim reassured.

"Of course you can, officer. You don't even need to ask. If some good can come from it all, I'll be happy with that." She held control over her emotions pretty well. That must be where Colin gets it from.

"Thank you very much. This is a bit of stretch, but would you happen to know her passwords, if any?"

"Not off the top of my head, no, but she keeps them all stored in a note on her phone. I would always tell her that that wasn't a secure way of doing it, but she never listened. Oh well, good thing she never did, or you wouldn't be able to do your investigation."

Jim allowed a polite laugh. "You've been a great help. Thank you very much."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Actually, there is. I forgot to ask you something earlier. Was Melinda seeing anyone? Romantically, I mean."

"Funny you should bring that up. She did begin seeing a fellow not long before her passing."

"Oh? Do you remember much about him?"

"I only met him a few times. He came over for dinner once. Apart from that, they'd go out on their dates."

"What was he like?"

"He wasn't anyone she met in college, that's for sure. He was maybe in his late thirties or early forties. A handsome man, but I didn't feel that it was appropriate for someone his age to be dating someone Melinda's age. She seemed happy with him, for what it's worth, and that's all that really mattered to me. How much he cared about her is wholly another question. He didn't even show up at her funeral. So much for all the romantic gestures."

"That's awful. I'm really sorry. I don't suppose you caught his name, did you?"

"I did, but not entirely. Strange man. Didn't even introduce himself by his first name. Only called himself 'Miller.' Isn't that just bizarre?"

The world was spinning around Jim, and he couldn't tell whether it was because of the alcohol or the revelation that his very own Detective Miller was more involved in the cases than he let on. "Yeah, bizarre," Jim breathed.

"Are you all right, officer? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine, thanks." Jim couldn't muster up more words than that. He was still shaken from the bombshell that the woman had dropped. Could it be the same Miller? It's a fairly common name, and yet... Colin had said he worked in the police. That's it. "Would you happen to know this fellow's profession?"

"No, sorry. I don't believe he ever said."

It didn't matter. Colin knew. It must be the same Miller. It must be. Who else? It all fit together. He was personally involved with one or two – and that's just the ones that Jim knew – of the girls before they took their own lives. Then he was assigned to investigate the suicides, and he swept them under the rug, in spite of what Officer Spaulding seemed to think. He must be responsible somehow. It just fit.

"Officer Ford?"

Jim ignored her. His mind was racing trying to put it all together. It all fit together, except it didn't. There was no motive. Was Miller some sort of serial killer that just got off on the deaths? He certainly hadn't gained anything from them. Nothing that's obvious, at least. And he didn't choose to be assigned to the cases. That comes from above him. Or did he choose? Did he volunteer? Can you volunteer? Jim felt foolish that after so many years in the police, he didn't even really know how something like that worked. But wait, he was only assigned to – what was it? – three of the cases. What about the others? There must be some sort of pattern to it, some common thread.

"Officer Ford?"

So Miller meets with students, seduces them, then kills them. Then he weasels his way into being the detective assigned to the case and makes them disappear. No, wait, the timeline doesn't work. Not unless he was seeing multiple of the victims at the same time. Jim supposed that wasn't impossible to do, but even then, how did he find the free time to wine and dine all of them while working a full-time job and presumably having his own life? Or does he even have his own life? Maybe this is all he does. Jim was more certain now than ever; he had to follow Miller to see what he does on his days off.

"Officer Ford?"

Bitch, shut up. There's a hole in the logic. A few of the suicides were men. Was Miller doing the same with them? Was he offering himself as a romantic partner? Maybe he'd just enter their lives as a new close friend or a mentor or something. Or maybe those suicides just have nothing to do with the general trend. After all, whatever's causing the spike in deaths isn't stopping everyone from killing themselves for other reasons. But for what –

"Officer Ford?"

"Yes! What?"

"I'm sorry, but you seemed to have... zoned out for a moment. And you've gone awfully pale. Can I get you anything? A glass of water, perhaps? Or maybe you'd like to sit down."

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Sorry, I'm just – I need to go. I've got a lot of work ahead of me."

"Oh, OK. Thank you for coming over. You know where to find us if you ever need any more information."

Jim nodded and flashed a forced smile as he gathered up Melinda's laptop and put her phone in his pocket.

*

Jim's computer stared back at him from across his living room. He wanted to call Emma and regale her with news of his progress, but he couldn't think about her without feeling down. He had even booted it up in order to force himself to call her, but the more he had thought about it, the deeper and darker the pit inside of him had grown, and it was still growing. In fact, even looking around at his living room was depressing him. The very living room that he had grown up in, spent his entire life in – it was hurting him now, emotionally, psychically.

"Shake it off," he mumbled to himself. "You've got work to do."

Melinda's laptop had now fully booted up, and the welcome screen was in his path. He had already pulled up the girl's list of passwords on her phone, and typing one in on the computer – let's see – it worked! Jim was in.

He spent the rest of the late afternoon going through Melinda's text messages, emails, and other private files that were meant for her eyes only. Jim felt like a voyeur, that much was true, but he assured himself that he was doing it for the greater good.

Progress was slow. The fixation with this man called Miller was gnawing away at Jim. He had already convinced himself that it was the very same Miller linked to both girls as the one he worked with, but he still needed proof. There were no emails sent to or received from him, and Jim had to laugh as he looked through Melinda's contacts list on her phone and saw his name listed only as "Miller." Frustrating, but kind of funny, he had to admit.

A brief rush of satisfaction ran through Jim as he opened the girl's social media on her laptop and her browser logged her in automatically, but after scanning through a painfully bulky number of selfies and other personal photos, not a single one of them featured the enigmatic Mr. Miller. The same fruitless result came from searching through her online friends list.

No matter. Jim had decided it earlier, and the decision still stood. He was going to track Miller for a full day and catch him in the act, whatever that act may be.