The Other People: A Novel(31)

“If you make it. “Kettle on the side. Instant in the cupboard to your left. There ain’t any milk.”

Gabe walked behind the counter, flicked on the kettle, located two grimy mugs in the sink and added the coffee and hot water. He stirred with a stained spoon from the drainer and brought the coffees back to the table.

“I can see you’re going high end.”

The Samaritan didn’t break a smile.

“You wanted to talk about the Other People.”

So it was straight down to business. Sometimes, Gabe wondered if his perception of their friendship was more one-sided than he cared to admit.

“You’ve heard the name?”

“How did you hear it?”

Gabe fumbled in his bag and took out the notebook. He showed the Samaritan the page with the traced words.

“I found it written here. I wasn’t sure if it meant anything, but…”

“Burn it.”

“What?”

“Take the notebook, burn it and forget you ever saw those words.”

Gabe stared at the Samaritan. It was the first time he had ever seen him anything less than composed. He was almost—and the idea seemed scarcely believable—rattled. The thought disturbed him.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you do not want to go anywhere near that shit, trust me.”

“I do if it will help me find Izzy.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“You were sure you wanted to jump, too.”

“This is different.”

“It really ain’t.”

“I told you, I always thought Harry must have been mistaken about the identification. Now I’m sure he deliberately lied. He’s still lying. He may even know who took Izzy. But I don’t have any proof. If this is somehow connected, if it can help me make sense of anything, I need to know.”

Another long pause. The Samaritan picked up his coffee and took a sip. He sighed.

“You heard of the Dark Web?”

Gabe felt his skin bristle. Of course he had. Every parent or relative who has lost someone would, at some point, hear about the Dark Web. The vast sub-surface of the internet, encompassing everything that’s not crawled by conventional search engines. The hidden place beneath the sheen of the official Web.

It was often used by people who simply didn’t trust the normal Web. But it was also used by those who wished to operate outside of the law. Like any deep, dark place, it was where the filth and sediment settled. Child porn. Pedophilia websites. Even snuff movies.

It was the place that every parent who has lost a child feared they might end up. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t that difficult to access. You just needed something called a Tor bundle (a way of hiding your ISP). But once in, you needed to know what you were looking for. Specific links that might just be a cluster of random letters and numbers. It was a bit like searching for a house without a number, street name or key in a neighborhood full of dead-end streets and locked, steel-reinforced doors behind which who knew what horrors lurked.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s where you’ll find the Other People.”

“It’s a website?”

“More a community where you can connect with like-minded people.”

“What sort of like-minded people?”

“People who have lost loved ones.”

Gabe frowned. That wasn’t what he had expected.

“So why is it on the Dark Web?”

“Imagine the police found the person who killed your wife, kidnapped your daughter. Imagine that he gets off, on a technicality. He’s walking around out there, guilty as hell. What are you going to do?”

“I’d probably want to kill him.”

The Samaritan nodded. “But you wouldn’t. Because you’re not a killer. So, you feel angry, powerless, helpless. Lots of people feel like that. Maybe a guy raped your daughter but the police say it was consensual. Maybe a driver mowed down your mum but all that happens is he loses his license. Maybe a doctor is negligent and your child dies but he just gets a slap on the wrist. Life ain’t fair. Ordinary people don’t always get justice.

“Now imagine someone offers you a chance to put that right. A way to make those people pay, make them hurt like you do. You never get your hands dirty. You’ll never be connected.”

Gabe’s throat felt dry. He took a sip of coffee. “So it’s a place where you can hire vigilantes, hitmen?”

“In a way. Some of the people involved are professionals. But money rarely changes hands. It’s more like payment in kind. Quid pro quo. You ask for a favor, you owe a favor in return.”

Gabe thought about this, let the concept settle.

“Like Strangers on a Train?”

“What?”

“It’s a film where two strangers meet by chance and agree to commit a murder for each other. They’ll both have an alibi. No one will connect a random stranger to the crime.”

“Kind of the deal. Except we’re talking about hundreds of random strangers. Everyone has a use, and everyone has a price. That’s how the Other People work. You ask for their help, you’ll be asked to do something in return. It might be something small. They might not even call in the favor right away. But they will. They always do. And you’d better be damn sure you’re up to returning it.”