The Match (Wilde, #2)(9)

“No, not much of one at all. He wanted us to know it was the same guy.”

“You said ‘he,’” Panther noted.

“Yes.”

“So it’s a man?”

“Yes.”

None of them were surprised. Yes, women troll. But not like men. That wasn’t sexism. That was simple data.

“His second video…” The Giraffe stopped, overcome.

Silence.

Panther broke it. Tenderly they said, “You okay, Giraffe?”

“Take your time,” Chris said.

“Yeah, just give me a second. It was just hard to watch. The link will be in my report, but in sum, the guy goes to Corey’s gravesite. To the tombstone of a fifteen-year-old boy. The guy is wearing all ninja black and a mask, so he can’t be recognized. Anyway, he brings this device with him. It looks like a metal detector you see guys walking with at the beach. Heck, it probably is. He claims it’s a ‘BCD’—a Buried Corpse Detector. He demonstrates at other graves how when he hovers it over the ground, it gets a reading. A sound like static. That’s how the device knows, he claims, that there is actually a dead body buried underneath the tombstone. Then he waves the device over Corey’s tombstone. Guess what happens?”

“Oh my God,” Alpaca said.

“Exactly. He claims the reading says that there is no body underneath.”

“And people buy this?”

“If it fits their narrative,” Chris said, “people buy anything. We all know this.”

“Sadly, I’m not finished,” Giraffe said, letting loose a deep breath. “At the end of the video, the guy urinates on Corey’s grave.”

Silence.

“He then posts the video of him doing that on every page associated with Francine Courter.”

Silence.

Chris spoke first. “What’s his name?” he asked between clenched teeth.

“Kenton Frauling. It took me a while, but I traced at least ten of the bots to the same account as Bitter Truth and Truth de Bitter.”

“How did you track him down?”

“I sent an email pretending to be a member of the media who believed his story. He clicked the link, and well, you know the rest—”

“So not only did this Frauling guy create these awful videos—”

“He made most of the comments, yes. Carried on fake conversations with himself. Attacked in unison. He also hired a foreign bot farm to join him in the ceaseless barrage on Francine. Besides tons of posts on Twitter and Facebook and all that, he calls Francine’s phone at all hours. He sends letters to her home with graphic pictures of Corey, even put flyers on her car.”

“And what’s Frauling’s deal?”

“He’s a thirty-six-year-old sales manager for a large insurance company. Makes six figures.”

Chris felt his hands tighten into fists. This part, the fact that Kenton Frauling had a life, should have shocked him, but it didn’t. Most people assumed that the vast majority of destructive trolls harassing people were unemployed losers furiously posting from Mommy’s basement, but more often than not, they were educated, employed, financially comfortable enough. What they did have in common was carrying some sort of perceived slight, some sort of imagined resentment, some unwarranted feeling of victimhood.

“Frauling has two kids. Recently separated. That’s the outline of the case. I’ve sent you all a file with the videos and posts.”

Chris said, “On behalf of the other members of Boomerang, I want to thank Giraffe for their tireless work on this case.”

There were murmurs of agreement.

“Let’s take the vote,” Chris said. “All in favor of moving forward on Kenton Frauling?”

All voted “Aye.” This was the sixth and final case presented to the Boomerangs today. The rule was, if two members voted nay, the troll was left alone. Of the six cases today, five had passed. The only one that had been rejected involved a pretty-boy reality star getting hounded online. Panther had presented, but the pretty boy was a fairly unsympathetic victim, so they chose to spend their energies on the more deserving.

The Boomerangs’ motto was an obvious one: Karma is like a boomerang—whatever you give out will come back to you. The group carefully selected their targets after a thorough application and vetting process. In his previous guise as The Stranger, Chris had learned the hard way that you only seek justice when there is no question—no reasonable doubt at all—that the perpetrator deserves it. To be absolutely sure, Chris would now comb through Giraffe’s full file to make sure all the details fit the presentation. Doubtful that there would be an issue. Giraffe was the most anally thorough of them all.

“Okay,” Chris said, “let’s talk response. Giraffe, what hurricane category do you want to go with?”

Giraffe did not hesitate. “If there was ever a monster crying out for a Category 5…”

“Aye,” Panther cut in. “Category 5.”

The rest quickly agreed.

The Boomerangs did not go to Category 5 often. Most trolls came in more at a Category 2 or 3, in which case their punishment would involve hurting credit ratings or emptying a bank account or perhaps blackmail, something to teach the troll a lesson but not destroy them.

Category 5, on the other hand, was cataclysmic. Category 5 wasn’t so much about damage as total annihilation.