It’s been over a week since Martine was shot. I can’t say things are going well, because the charges against Oliver haven’t been dismissed. I can’t say they’re going well while he’s still in jail, not seeking bail. Otherwise, though? I hesitate to consider otherwise. It seems flippant.
Everything is going well here, except for the fact my brother is in jail, having been framed for shooting his girlfriend.
Martine is fine and being released in a couple of days. Sources say she’s going to stay with her parents in Toronto. She hasn’t made contact, and I know better than to reach out. Dinah has tried speaking to her again, but Martine still refuses.
Her story remains firm, which is actually to Oliver’s benefit. We know it was his car in that driveway. Our fear would be that, on recovering, she’d claim she saw something about her shooter that proved it was Oliver. I won’t say she’d lie, but she’s been through a trauma, and if she is absolutely certain Oliver shot her, she might misremember details or mold the narrative to ensure he goes to prison. But she doesn’t. So between that and her refusal to speak to Dinah, we can interpret that she is no longer convinced it was Oliver, but she’s not sold on the frame-up theory, either. In her shoes, I’d think the same.
The police have reopened Laura’s case file, but all Dinah hears is that they’re still reviewing it along with “new” evidence. She suspects that they only have that one anonymous tip and a witness changing his story, and it’s not enough to lay charges.
Castillo hasn’t been able to track down the woman from my event yet. He did contact the person who sold her the ticket, but the transaction was small enough to go through an anonymous money transfer service, and the buyer sent the tickets to an email account that seems to have been opened just for that one purpose and closed right afterward.
Castillo also managed to convince the library to share security-camera footage, and with my help, he found the woman. His hope was to match it to a photo online, but it’s too grainy for a simple plug-and-play reverse image search. He’s still working on that.
I’ve recorded two podcast episodes on Oliver’s case, but the second was little more than a “nothing new” non-update. If Dinah has any leads, she’s not sharing them, and I know better than to ask. Same with Castillo.
The episodes have done exactly what I needed them to do. The first went live the night I recorded it . . . and just in the nick of time. The connection between me, my podcast and Oliver hit the news the next morning, thanks to an anonymous tip. By then, my podcast episode about it had been live for nearly twelve hours, which meant the connection wasn’t much of a scoop.
My favorite part was when the article claimed that I tried to hide my connection to Oliver by using my mother’s surname. Dinah got in touch, and there was soon a correction, stating that I had never used Harding—my birth certificate surname is Gibson. Then there was the article that claimed I hadn’t said a word about my brother’s arrest on my podcast site . . . which was taken down soon after commenters pointed out that I’d already posted an entire episode on it.
In the end, news articles linking Oliver with me and Known to the Victim only served to direct people to my podcast, where they got insights into the story that the regular media lacked.
I spent two days dealing with an explosion of calls and texts. Then it went quiet. Yesterday, I even went out to coffee with my thesis advisor, and no one recognized me. The media coverage of Oliver’s case was already petering out, a fire that dies from lack of oxygen.
I visited Oliver earlier today. He’s struggling in jail but holding firm to his commitment to remain there. Dinah and I went to dinner afterward, and she told me that Castillo has proof that Oliver’s security system had been hacked. With any luck, charges will now be dropped.
Buoyed by that, I spend the evening surfing my podcast forum. There’s a section for Oliver’s case, which Raven is monitoring, but she’s sent me direct links to a few questions I can safely address. I’m doing that when a username lights up in the list of members currently online.
VAWSurvivor3.
That’s the username of the woman who bought that ticket. The one who stood up at my show.
I click it to be sure. Yes, it’s her—as I noted before, she’d signed up on the forum the day of the show, with only two posts from when she bought the ticket. She hasn’t posted since.
My admin panel shows she’s currently in the subforum devoted to my coverage of Oliver’s case. The same subforum I’m in, along with a dozen others.
My username is AmyGibson, and I’m showing as “active” right now—always set that way when I’m answering posted questions. Otherwise, it looks as if I’m sneaking in and answering when no one knows I’m there so they can’t—God forbid—speak to me.
I hesitate. Then I click the link on her profile to send a chat message.
AmyGibson: Hello! It’s Amy. I see you’re new to the forum, and I wanted to reach out and say welcome!
I hold my breath and watch the green dot beside her name. It stays green. She didn’t immediately log off. Nor did she answer, though. I count to five. Still green. Still no reply. Then I reread my message and wince.
AmyGibson: That sounded auto-generated, didn’t it? Sorry! I just popped in to post, and I’ve been trying to say hi to new members. We have a lot lately lol
Five seconds of silence. Her green light stays on. Then she answers.
VAWSurvivor3: That’s really you? Not some intern?
AmyGibson: I’m not at the intern-hiring stage yet. Or the assistant-hiring stage or the social-media-manager hiring stage. It’s me.
VAWSurvivor3: Prove it
I try not to be taken aback.
Remember who this is. Not an actual subscriber. A woman who got up and confronted you in front of a room of people.
AmyGibson: You want to see my ID? 😉
VAWSurvivor3: Where were you living before you got your apartment?
A chill touches the back of my neck. Stay calm, Amy.
AmyGibson: I grew up in Toronto, went to Montreal for school, and then I lived in my brother’s guesthouse for a few years
VAWSurvivor3: When did you move out?
AmyGibson: After Oliver got married
VAWSurvivor3: Why?
We’ve been theorizing that the person framing Oliver knew Laura. An old friend. Whoever called the police did know things only a friend might. This is also something a friend might know. A test, yes . . . and proving that she’s not some random forum member.
AmyGibson: Newlyweds don’t need anyone living in their backyard lol
I watch that dot. It stays green.
She’s on the hook, and she has no interest in wriggling free.
Do I have her? Or does she have me?
With a jolt, I realize something I should be doing, and I quickly dial Castillo’s number.
VAWSurvivor3: Your choice? Or his?
AmyGibson: I think I’d rather have shown ID. This feels a bit like therapy 😊
“You okay?” Castillo says as he answers.
“Yes,” I say. “Sorry for calling.”
“It’s only eight thirty, Gibson.”
“I meant that I know you don’t like talking on the phone.”
“I’ll survive. What’s up?”
The woman types something. I resist the urge to read it and instead quickly fill him in.
“What?” he says, his voice sharpening. “You’re talking to her online?”
“Hold on a sec.”
I read her message.
VAWSurvivor3: Fine, you’re Amy
AmyGibson: In the cyber-flesh. Now that we’ve established that, did you have a question for me?
I glance away from the screen to focus on Castillo. “My producer has an ID set up to be incognito—it won’t show when the user is online,” I say. “I have the login info. I never use it—feels unethical. Do you want it? You can join the chat.”
“She won’t know I’m there?”
“No.” I open my email and click a few more keys.
“So it lets someone eavesdrop on private conversations?” he says. “Yeah, ‘feels unethical’ is right.”
“Which is why I don’t use it. I’ve just sent you the login.”
“Got it. Signing in now.”
I turn back to the screen.
VAWSurvivor3: I remember you. Oliver’s kid sister
AmyGibson: Wait, we’ve met?
VAWSurvivor3: Long time ago. You were a stuck-up little bitch
I reread the line, as if I might have misinterpreted that. As if it might be a poor attempt at humor.
VAWSurvivor3: Everyone else buys your sweet-little-sister act, but I never did. Just like I never bought your brother’s nice-guy act
“She’s goading you.” Castillo’s voice makes me jump. “Yeah, I’m in. Just keep her talking. I’m trying to get her IP address.”
I turn back to the screen. Before I can come up with something to say, she messages again.
VAWSurvivor3: You must have been delighted when Laura was gone. Got your brother all to yourself again. There was something creepy going on between you two. You were sooo close. Still are, I bet
“She’s still goading,” Castillo says. “Keep acting confused.”
“I am confused,” I say. “No, I’m disgusted and confused.”
“Yeah, that’s the point. She’s trying to get a rise out of you. Once she does, she’ll sign off.”
AmyGibson: I don’t understand
VAWSurvivor3: Oh, I think you do, but in case you don’t, Sweet Innocent Amy, here’s a tip. Your brother is a little too interested in your welfare. It’s unnatural
AmyGibson: Unnatural for a brother to be interested in his sister’s welfare?
VAWSurvivor3: On that podcast, you talk about predators, but you don’t see the one circling you. You think the sun shines out of his ass. “Oh, he’s staying in prison to protect me. How sweet!” Is that what he told you?
AmyGibson: Why would he need to protect me?
VAWSurvivor3: He doesn’t. He just wants you to feel like he is. Big brother, looking out for you, sooo sweet. Whatever excuse he gave for not seeking bail, it’ll end tomorrow
AmyGibson: ???
VAWSurvivor3: I’m using my crystal ball to foresee the future. Tomorrow, he’ll decide you’re safe. Or maybe he’ll decide he can better protect you from the outside. He’ll request bail. Mark my words. Within twenty-four hours, your brother will try coming home
The green light next to her name goes red.
“She’s gone,” I say to Castillo.
“I see that.”
“Do you understand what she just said?” I ask.
“The bullshit about you and Oliver? She’s trying to make you doubt him by creeping you out. As for the bail shit? It’s an educated guess. Martine is due to be discharged from the hospital in a day or two. Dinah has been trying to convince Oliver that once Martine is safe at her parents’ place in Toronto, there’s no reason for him to stay in prison. Right now, he’s resisting. I get it. It’s shit inside, but it’s safe—no one can do anything and frame him for it. Whoever you were talking to expects he’ll go for bail as soon as Martine’s safely away.”
“Which is why she’s saying that nonsense about him being in there to keep me safe. Diversion. If she says it’s about Martine, I’d make the connection and realize it’s an educated guess.”
“Right. Because Martine is being released, she expects he’ll try for bail soon. That will make it seem like she predicted it. As if she knows him.”
A clicking of keys. Then a grunt.
“You couldn’t track her IP,” I say, interpreting that sound.
“No, I just got it.”
So apparently, Castillo-grunts work for everything from disappointment to contempt to disbelief to success. That’s helpful.
“You have her IP address?”
“Yeah, she tried to hide it, but she did a shit job. She obviously researched how to disguise her IP, but she used a program that was hacked months ago, with the hack readily available online.”
“Short version being that you have her IP address.”
“And her rough actual address.” There’s no change in inflection. His voice is its usual gravelly tone, somewhere between bored and “Why are you talking to me, and can we stop now?”
“That’s great.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It’s not great?” I try. “You don’t sound excited.”
“This is my excited voice.”
I choke on a half laugh. “I can tell.”
“Excited would be waking up to realize I’ve won the lottery. Never happens.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Would help if I bought tickets,” he says.
“In other words, the bar for exciting is set so high you never have to worry about reaching it.”
“Yep. This is fine, but it’s not case-breaking. It’s just a lead.” More tapping of keys. “You want to come with?”
“Come with . . . ?”
A snap, like the closing of a laptop. “She lives in St. Anthony. I’m going to scope it out. All I have is your description of her and a shitty photo.”
“Hey, my description is good. You said so yourself.”
“You got a good look at her, which is why I’m giving you the option of coming along. If I spot her, you can make an ID. Oh, no, wait. It’s almost nine. Wow, when did it get so late?”
“Ha-ha.” I close my own laptop. “Yes, I want to go. Should I meet you there?”
“You’re on the way out of town. Give me twenty minutes, and don’t come down to the lobby until I’ve texted.”