Death Before Facebook

well. They weren’t used to men; she didn’t know if they knew he was gay, but she was damned sure they weren’t used to gay men. So they clung to her. Which made Jimmy Dee look sad, even though he knew she was the bridge between himself and them; that he’d been right in more than one way when he said he needed her. And it made her feel slightly panicky—panicky because, much as they weren’t used to men, she wasn’t used to kids. She didn’t know how to replace their mother, which was apparently what they wanted her to do. And she knew it wouldn’t solve anything—Jimmy Dee had to be their main parent, no matter how painful it was for everybody.
    So instead of Jimmy Dee, she called Steve Steinman, her California beau: “Something weird’s happening.”
    “What? In the weird capital of the world? Stop boring me.”
    “No, really. This is one for the books. I got this murder case—I mean, a coroner’s case that looked like murder. I went out to ask a few questions and all the victim’s friends had already seen the autopsy report, had solicited doctors’ opinions, and been out with their deerstalker caps and magnifying glasses for a good two days before the police ever even heard of it. I was last on my block to know and, let me tell you, it wasn’t fun.”
    It was a good thirty seconds before Steve Steinman stopped laughing.
    “What’s so funny?’ She was impatient.
    “You. You’re such a cop. You people hate it if anybody knows more than you do.”
    “Something wrong with that?’
    “Who’s dead?’
    “Guy named Geoff Kavanagh.”
    “Oh, shit. Not Vidkid.”
    “I’m asleep; I’m dreaming. This isn’t really happening to me.”
    “The autopsy report and all that stuff—the people who did that are all on the TOWN, right?’
    “Don’t tell me you are too.”
    “What happened to old Vidkid? I’m sorry to hear about this.”
    “Obviously, you haven’t been logging on, or you’d know.”
    “Not in about three months, actually. I burn out on it after a while.”
    “You’re going to love this.” For once, she was unfettered by the police code of secrecy, since almost everything she knew about the case was public—had been public before the murder. And he
was
going to love it; Steve was a sucker for a good yarn, and also an excitement junkie.
    He was beside himself. “I can’t believe what I’ve been missing.”
    “You can know a person and not really know him.”
    “What do you mean?’
    “I had no idea you were a TOWNsperson.”
    “Well, you know I’m heavy into computers.”
    “Oh, yeah. You took some sort of course recently.”
    “Some sort of course that changed my life, that’s all. But the TOWN—I guess I never talk about it because it’s so boring.”
    “Oh, right.”
    “Well, this
is
our first homicide. Really low crime rate, usually.”
    “Do you post or lurk?”
    “Got the jargon already, I see. I lurk, mostly, but now and then—” He paused for a long time.
    “What?”
    “I was just trying to figure out what. I can’t explain it; something comes over you.”
    “Like a spell?”
    “An evil spell.”
    “Oh, great. First virtual sex. Now black magic. What’s your user ID?”
    “I’m afraid it’s a little unimaginative.”
    “Hit me with it.”
    “Steve.”
    “Steve?”
    “Don’t be so merciless. Look, you’ve got to get on this thing.”
    “My thought, exactly. But I don’t want them to know I’m lurking—and you can’t hide it, right?”
    “Oh, sure you can. Nobody asks for your driver’s license. All you really have to do is join using someone else’s credit card. The TOWN bill goes to them, but you can log on from anywhere; so if you’re working at home, you’ll just get the phone bill yourself. Pretty neat, huh?”
    “But not very inventive, criminally speaking.”
    “Well, here’s something even less inventive—but more elegant. Why don’t you be me?
    “Can I do that?”
    “Sure. All I have to do is tell you my password.”
    “And you’d do that?”
    “I’m not so sure. It’s a little embarrassing.”
    “Why?”
    “Oh, hell. Just get a pencil, okay?”
    “Got one.”
    “You can’t use real words because there are programs that can go through the dictionary until they get to your password.”
    “You lost me.”
    “Hackers do this. They’ll break into your personal file and into the whole TOWN if they want to.”
    “Oh, who could be bothered?”
    “Did anyone ever tell you there are a lot of strange