Daemon

well-respected citizen of Thousand Oaks, California, the safest city in America.’
    Chilling music rose. The image changed to a still photo of a menacing Sebeck being escorted in handcuffs, his face a blur of fast-moving rage, lashing out at reporters. It was the type of iconic photograph that made careers. A photo of the year. A symbol of the times.
    ‘But this façade concealed a darker side. Peter Sebeck, convicted mass murderer – nine of his victims federal officers. Another victim, a young colleague who trusted and admired him. Conspirator, embezzler, adulterer. Sex and drug addict. What drives seemingly normal people to commit heinous acts? Is it anger? Greed? Or does evil really exist? Can it possess
you
? Tonight we’ll find out as I interview Peter Sebeck live from Lompoc Federal Prison. This is
News to America
.’
    The techno music rose again. A title appeared:
    Sebeck on Death Row
    The screen resolved on Anderson, sitting erect and alert in medium close-up. She looked businesslike yet sexy in a dark Chanel suit. Her makeup was perfect in the warm glow of camera lights. The lighting had to be done carefully so as not to reflect harshly off the bulletproof glass partition – beyond which sat Detective Sergeant Peter Sebeck. The most hated man in America.
    She had helped to make that a reality.
    Sebeck stared from behind the small intercom microphonein the prison visitation cell. The studio provided a better sound system for this interview, and a smaller microphone was clipped onto Sebeck’s khaki prison jumpsuit. One quarter of all households in America were anticipated to tune in. Everything was in place, and after a quick smile Anderson began.
    ‘I must confess, Detective Sebeck, I’m surprised you agreed to this interview. I’m the person most responsible for your capture and conviction.’
    Sebeck regarded her coolly. ‘I agreed for my own reasons, not yours.’
    ‘So you still claim innocence?’
    ‘I
am
innocent.’
    ‘How do you explain the substantial evidence against you?’
    ‘It was manufactured by Matthew Sobol. He stole my identity years ago.’
    ‘So you still claim that Sobol’s Daemon is real, even though all efforts to discover such a thing have come up empty?’
    Sebeck tried to keep his cool. ‘The government wants people to believe the Daemon is a hoax. They think it takes them off the hook.’
    Anderson shook her head sadly. ‘Detective, you’ve already admitted your relationship with Cheryl Lanthrop – or did Sobol fake that, too?’
    ‘He facilitated it. It was designed to impugn my character.’
    ‘But you’ve been quoted saying—’
    ‘I’ve been incorrectly quoted – most of the time by you. And there’s no appeal to the court of public opinion, is there? But I guess you know that.’
    ‘Then this is a conspiracy against you? Everyone from the media to the police, and Sobol himself, have all conspired to frame you for these murders? You’re completely innocent?’
    ‘I’m guilty of this much: being a bad husband and a worse father. I’m guilty of having an affair and of being too egotistical to realize I was being set up.’
    ‘Please forgive me, Detective, but that sounds far-fetched.’
    ‘Yes. That’s the whole point. It was designed to be farfetched.’
    ‘Designed by Sobol?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘So, you’re asking everyone to believe you, instead of the facts. We’re to believe that Sobol went to Herculean lengths to frame you – spending not just millions but tens of millions of dollars in the effort?’
    ‘I’m not asking anyone to believe anything. To be honest, even I wouldn’t believe me.’
    ‘So you don’t blame anyone?’
    Sebeck stared hard at her. ‘Oh, I blame some people. But their time will come.’
    ‘That sounds like a threat. Do you believe the American public will be sympathetic toward threats?’
    ‘I’m not here to talk to the American public.’
    ‘Then who are you here to talk to?’
    ‘The Daemon.’
    ‘The
Daemon
?’ Anderson was taken aback. ‘The Daemon doesn’t exist, Sergeant.’
    ‘You and I both know that isn’t true.’
    Anderson shrugged blissfully. ‘No, I don’t know that.’
    ‘You’re real proud of yourself, aren’t you, Anji? Famous and rich – isn’t that what the Daemon promised you? And all you had to do was sell your soul – if you ever had one.’
    ‘I didn’t come here to be insulted,
ex
-Detective. Why don’t you tell us your side of the Daemon hoax instead? Help us