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Dan walked from the metal detectors to the first-floor elevators. He still limped somewhat, but he hoped if he kept a slow steady pace, no one would notice. These elevators were as old as the courthouse, and most times he just took the stairs. But not today. His leg didn’t need any extra pressure. And since he was about to address the prospective jurors, he thought maybe it was best not to work up a sweat.
Mr. K had insisted on hiring security to keep an eye on him, and the other members of the team and Camila. But they kept a discreet distance. He didn’t want the jury to think he was an egomaniac who traveled with an entourage.
And he didn’t want whoever was behind that attack to know how badly he’d been shaken by it.
Just before the elevator doors closed, another local attorney, Greg Conrad, slid inside. As soon as he spotted Dan, he grinned.
“Here for the mayor’s case?”
“Yup. Jury selection.”
Greg whistled. “That’s going to be a challenge.”
“More for my client than me. But she’ll hold up.”
“No doubt. You might remind her that it’s always important to stretch before a workout. Don’t want to get a cramp at the wrong moment.”
Whaaaat?
The bell dinged and the doors opened. “Good luck in court, Dan. Remember—four’s a crowd.”
He squinted, trying to make sense of the encounter. But he couldn’t. He would just have to remind himself of a fundamental fact—Greg was a jerk.
He made a beeline toward Judge Hayes’ courtroom. He didn’t see Maria. But he did spot an African-American woman he recognized from the coffee shop. Claudia? Claudine? She locked eyes with him and made a tsking noise, shaking her head back and forth.
“Mm, mm, mm.”
“I’m sorry. Is there a problem?”
She held up her hands. “None of my business.” But he could tell she was desperate to say more. He paused and waited. “Didn’t your mam tell you the difference between right and wrong?”
“I taught myself the difference between right and wrong. Are you suggesting it’s wrong to provide a defense to the accused?”
She looked at him as if he were completely clueless. “You just be careful, that’s all I’m sayin’. You don’t know what diseases people got these days.”
Why did he suspect everyone else knew something he did not? He didn’t like this at all, but sadly, it was nine o’clock and he needed to be inside the courtroom.
Jazlyn stood inside the door talking to one of her associates.
“There he is, right on time,” the younger man said.
Jazlyn nodded. “Morning, Dan. Are you okay? Your face—”
“I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle.”
“That’s because of all the time in the gym,” the other man said, then laughed as if he had made the funniest joke in the world. He kept walking.
Both Maria and Camila were already at the defendant’s table, huddled around Maria’s laptop.
“Give it to me straight,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“She’s been attacked,” Maria said, not looking up.
He rushed beside Camila. “What, at your house? Are you okay?”
Camila frowned. “Define ‘okay.’”
“I don’t mean physically attacked,” Maria explained. “Something far worse.” She pivoted the laptop around so he could see the screen.
The browser was on a social media page. The headline was large enough to read from a distance.
MAYOR CAUGHT IN THREESOME AT GYM
He lowered himself into a chair. “Someone tell me what this is.”
“Fake news,” Camila explained. “It’s all over Facebook, all over Twitter, all over YouTube, and featured on dozens of webpages accessible from hundreds of links all over the Net.”
“When did this start?”
“Last night, apparently, but it expanded exponentially every time someone clicked on it. By this morning, it was in the news streams of everyone in the city.”
“Everyone?”
“Everyone with a computer or a cellphone.”
He fell back into his chair. “Everyone.” The photo beneath the headline was blurry but it did appear to be Camila. Though photographed from behind, she appeared to be nude. Another naked woman embraced her, and a third person, a man, leered at them.
“Photoshop?”
“Or Gimp. Same thing, but free. More than adequate to handle this.”
“Who’s the woman?”
“It’s supposed to be Benji, my secret lover masquerading as Chief of Staff. But it isn’t. Look at those sculpted French nails. Benji would die first.”
“And the man?”
Maria arched an eyebrow. “According to the article, it’s you.”
“What?”
She read from the article. “...caught in a torrid embrace with her attorney, known for his history of sexual exploits.”
He tucked in his chin. “I have a history of sexual exploits?”
“The story is implying you’re a demented pervert screwing your client, which would not only get you disbarred but would completely undermine your credibility in court.”
“And we’re in a gym?” He paused. “And I’m just watching?”
Maria put a hand on her hip. “Seriously? That’s what you’re most worried about here?”
“I’m just asking. Why a gym?”
“Because it sounds public and shameless.”
Now he understood the comments he’d been hearing since he entered the courthouse. “Every juror in the pool will see this.”
“With the possible exception of a few grandmas, yes.”
He pressed a hand against his forehead. “Is there more?”
“More than you can imagine.” Maria took him on a quick tour of all the sites she had tabbed this morning. The headlines were varied and amazing. The only common denominators were that all the stories were supported by doctored photos and promoted a sleazy negative view of Camila Pérez. Apparently suggesting she was a murderer wasn’t enough. Someone had to convince everyone she was a deviant as well.
MAYOR CAUGHT IN BED WITH UNDERAGE GIRL
DID OUR MAYOR DO THIS HOMELESS MAN?
MAYOR LAUGHS AT HANDICAPPED PANHANDLER
PEREZ LETS HER CAT DIE OF STARVATION
“That’s the worst one of all,” Camila said. He could see she was trying to keep her face stoic. But this was an onslaught she didn’t need, coming at the worst possible time.
“How can you rank them? They’re all bad.”
“Being a pervert is bad. Letting a cat die is unforgivable.”
“Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
“Of course. This is a standard element in modern American campaigning. Opponents hire hackers to launch Twitterbots. Self-replicating programs that spread crap all over social media. Then they create fake webpages designed to look like legitimate news outlets. The social media posts have links to lead people to the webpages.”
“Clickbait.”
“Exactly. They can actually make money selling advertising on fake news webpages. The more clicks, the more money they get. Destroying reputations is profitable.”
“Can’t you complain? Get the posts removed?”
“You can try. Twitter will take down defamatory posts or freeze accounts. But remember, these are self-replicating—and vengeful. You get rid of one, they replace it with ten more. It’s like playing Whack-A-Mole. You can’t stop it.”
“We need to learn who’s behind this.”
“Good luck. These people are expert catfish. They masquerade as people they aren’t. They use false names, accounts, and bounce through dozens of servers all over the world between launch and destination. Tracing to point of origin is time-consuming, expensive, and all but impossible.”
He felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out of his pocket—and saw a News Alert about Camila’s wild sex orgy on North Beach.
Camila frowned. “I’ve been getting those all morning.”
He scrolled through his messages and realized that he had been too. He just hadn’t noticed because he hadn’t looked at his phone.
“They must have a great mailing list covering most of the adults in St. Petersburg—in other words, the jury pool. Possibly hacked the City Hall databases—that would be my guess.”
“I’ll complain to the judge.”
“You think that will help?”
“At the very least, he might delay the trial. Or take away the juror’s phones.”
Maria laid a hand on his arm. “Dan—don’t make them hate us.”
“He’ll have a revolt on his hands if they have to surrender their phones,” Camila agreed. “They’ll refuse to serve and march out en masse.”
“Why so many posts? Doesn’t that undermine the credibility?”
“The variety is purposeful,” Maria said. “Something for everyone. If you’re hung up on sex or homosexuality, here are some posts to turn you against the mayor. If you have a handicapped person close to you, here’s a reason to hate the mayor. And if you love animals—which would be almost everyone—here’s a reason to send her to death row.”
“Someone put a lot of thought into this.”
“Yes. Someone.”
“Sweeney?”
“He would have the resources to orchestrate something like this. But he’s not the only one who has an interest in seeing Camila convicted.”
“The murderer?”
She touched her nose. “Ding ding ding.”