Groaning at the pain in his arms, he stood and folded his yoga mat. Maybe a glass of water would help. Hell, maybe he could just have a whiskey neat and go back to bed. Though he had to meet Anita for practice, and he had at least three deadlines before he left for the competition on Thursday. Whiskey would have to wait.
Work. There was an idea. At least he could drown himself in that for a while as opposed to his own misery and aching muscles.
He grabbed two ice packs from the freezer, one for his back and one for his left hip. He would work for a bit, then maybe get out his foam roller.
Patrick leaned backward in his chair, tipping the front two legs off the ground to balance on the rear, while he waited for his computer to load.
What were they going to do? There were only four days until Keystone started, five days until the open professional Latin heats. His high school kids were competing on Friday morning, and he needed to make sure they were in good shape.
His high schoolers were the least of his problems.
Finally, his computer dinged to life, and Patrick yawned as he brought the front of his chair back to the ground.
He had to help her. That was it. The stalker’s actions had taken away part of the vitality that he loved. He could not let her live in fear.
He found a yellow legal pad, an extra pen, and turned on the coffee maker. If he couldn’t fix his love life, he could certainly delve into an internet troll.
****
“Wait, you did what?” Anita leaned over his shoulder and peered at the computer screen. Patrick was seated in front of it to show her what he had already been working on. “I understood literally five percent of what you said. What is a burner account?”
“You’re so analog, it’s adorable.” Patrick yawned. He absolutely could not stare at the hollow at the base of her throat, the curve of her collarbone.Nope. Firewalls, activate.“A burner account is an account someone creates either because they want to do something that they don’t want traced back to them, or you want to segregate the information you’re getting. A lot of celebrities have them, either so they can act like a normal person online or behave inappropriately without it getting linked back to them.”
“Doesn’t it always get linked back to them?” Anita picked up a folding chair and positioned herself beside him. “I mean, I’ve seen a gossip magazine. Now and again.”
“I always knew you’d admit it one day.”
“A lot of people read it. And it’s a good thing to leave lying around the studio.” She brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her gray top. “For research and whatnot.”
“Right. Research.” He pointed at a spreadsheet. “Anyway, I started out first by identifying people that we know here IRL. Do I need to translate?” She rolled her eyes in response. “Good. So that’s the list here. I figured most likely it’s someone we know, someone local because they definitely know about the studio.Then I made a list over here of the burner accounts that have sent me weird messages. I then listed who those burner accounts interact with, especially the ones they interact with frequently.”
“Interact with?”
“Seriously, Anita?” He stifled a laugh, unsure if it had arisen out of fatigue or frustration. Not the only part of him frustrated lately.I need to stop.“Do you even have a social media account?”
Gotcha.She examined her manicure. “I have chosen to spend my time in other pursuits.”
“Like what?”
“I just find it all overwhelming. Like there’s all this pressure to post and be viral and get likes.” She sighed and shook her head. “Feels like a good way to be rejected.”
“Not necessarily.” In his early days of blogging, he had encountered more than a few asinine comments. “I get what you’re saying. There are a lot of people out there with good intentions, and then a lot of assholes who take advantage of the relative anonymity.”
“And which one are you?” She arched an eyebrow at him, her blue eyes sparkling. This was worth the hour of sleep and the four Americanos that had brought him here.
“I can’t believe you even asked that.” He raised a hand to his chest in mock horror. “PhillyProudis one hundred percent authentic, thank you very much.”
“Doesn’t this all take a long time?” She gestured vaguely at the computer. “Can’t the police do it?”
“It’s hugely time consuming.” He hadn’t made too much headway on his deadlines that morning after falling deep down the catching-an-internet-troll rabbit hole. “I don’t think John or Sheriff Forbes has the time.”
“If only Lewis rated a cybercrimes unit.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice? Maybe they can repurpose their Old Lady Crossing the Road Squad. Anyway, after we identifywho the burner accounts follow, like, etc., then I can work on geotagging their photos, see who’s around when. All that.”
“Is there a computer program that could do all of this?” She placed her hand on her temples, smoothing back her hair, her this-is-giving-me-a-headache gesture.
“I have no idea,” he replied. “I didn’t really have time to look into that, I suppose.”
