Monday, 4/11/10 - Friend Me

The dark truck pulling up in front of the condo triggered a series of recollections. I had seen this vehicle before, several times, in several places.

As I watched the two, well dressed men emerge from the back I remembered my afternoon run around Lake Eloise. This truck was parked at the boat ramp.

Yesterday I spotted it parked alongside Richard's Cafe while I ate lunch.

And the night before it was parked behind the hotel, nose out and ready to roll.



There was no doubt where they were headed as they walked directly from the truck to the pathway leading to my door.

I thought about not answering when they knocked but the front door was open and I had made no effort to hide myself. They knew I was here and I was about to find out why.

I met them at the door.

"Mr. K?"

"Yes."

"May we come in?"

"I don't know who you are."

The man in front, the one doing the talking, pulled aside his jacket to reveal a badge and a holstered pistol. He reached in and pulled out an envelope.

"We have a warrant."

He held the document out to me. I viewed it throught the closed screen door.

"May we come in?"

I opened the door and walked into the living room with both men following. I was using these few moments to try and figure out what I could possibly have done. There were two armed men with badges and a warrant looking for me - looking AT me!

Having taken the few short steps from the doorway to the living room I turned and happened to look down at their perfectly shined shoes. Were these the same shoes that had left prints in the soft soil in the flower beds outside my windows?



It seemed likely.

"Would you like to sit?" I asked extending my hand to indicate the couches in the living room.

"No, but you probably should," he replied extending his hand toward the dining room table.

I took a seat and the two men positioned themselves across from me.

The second man placed a briefcase on the table and snapped open the latches. The first man pulled a photograph from the case and placing it on the table in front of me he asked, "Have you ever seen this man before?"

"No."

"Are you sure you have never seen this man before?"

"Yes, I am quite sure."

"So you are telling me that you don't know J.J.?"

"That is correct, I don't know this man."

"You might know him as Jack Jackson, or Jimmy Jimson, or Jerry Jerson. No?"

"No."

The person they were showing me and the names they were reciting were of no one that I knew. Maybe they had me confused with someone else.

"May I see that warrant?"

He passed it over to me and there, at the top, under the official seal, was my name.

"Do you mind telling me what this is about?"

"How about you tell us? Did you recently purchase a Braun type 2748 electric toothbrush charger?"

It was an odd question. "Yes, I did."

"Can you show us that charger, Mr. K?"

I was beginning to have a sinking feeling. We had moved from pictures of someone I don't know to my recent purchases. It was making no sense.

"No, I cannot."

"You did buy the charger, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did but it was the wrong one. So, I threw it out."

"And then you bought another one didn't you?"

"Are you telling me that you got a warrant to come here and check on my dental hygiene?"

"No, Mr. K, we came here to talk about murder."

The floor which moments ago was wooden and solid had suddenly become quicksand and I was sinking fast.

"Murder?"

"Yes. It seems that your friend J.J. used a couple of Braun toothbrush chargers and a cell phone to create a small incendiary device that was used to kill someone. Someone very important."

"I told you, I don't know this J.J. person. I have no idea who he is."

"Then why is he on your friend list on FaceBook?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know why you friended him? You mean to tell me that you just friend total strangers?"

"Yes, I do. I friend anyone who wants to be friended."

How could I explain this?

"If someone asks me to be their friend I just can't say no. That would be, well, it would just be cruel."

I thought about all of those people sitting alone in Starbucks. Every table taken by individuals staring into laptops. There are people all around them to talk to but they make no contact. Choosing, instead, to chat with people online.

"What could it hurt to friend someone?" I asked. My fear was being replaced by annoyance. Who were these people and where do they think we are?

This is America!



I am an American! And I have rights!!! I was about to wax patriotic when he raised a red flag.



"Who is Tiffany?"

"Who?"

"Please, Mr. K., we know all about Tiffany."

"Good, then you won't mind telling me about Tiffany."

"Very well." He reaches into the briefcase and pulls out a document. "It seems that just yesterday you wrote Tiffany and told her you wanted to meet."

Red flags were going up everywhere.

"She is just a kid." No sooner was the thought out of my mouth when I realized my mistake. "Oh, no, you can't think that."

"Think what? Tiffany is nine years old and you are what, fifty-two?" He gave me a slight nod as if to let me know that was exactly what they were thinking.

"You have been corresponding with Tiffany - oh, wait, you call her 'Tiph' with a 'ph'. You have been talking with her for six months now. Lately you have been getting a little more friendly and even suggested that you would like to see her ride her pony."

"She doesn't have a REAL pony! It's just a game that kids play online..."

"And how do you know about what kids do online? You don't have any children of your own, do you?"

"No, no, she asked me to friend her so I did and she started sending me notices from Friendly Farm. It's a virtual farm where kids go to learn about animals. They are given virtual farm chores and they earn points for completing those chores. Tiffany was so proud that she earned enough points to purchase a virtual pony. It wasn't real. What harm could there be in telling someone that they had done a good job and that you were proud of them?"

"No harm when that person is a peer, Mr. K. There is the potential for a lot of harm when one of those people is a child. We will be taking your computer for analysis."



"There is nothing on there but work."

"Then you will have nothing to worry about."

I had the feeling that there was nothing that they did not know about me. I felt that I had been living in my own little world and had never noticed that someone was there watching me all the time.



I didn't like the feeling.

They packed up my computer.

"So when do I get my computer back?"

"Maybe soon, maybe never. Depends on what we find. Before we go, why don't you tell us about the money?"

"The money? What money?"

Like a magician reaching into his tophat, he reached into the briefcase and pulled out statements from all of my recent investments. There was Putnam, Franklin Templeton, Bank of America and dozens more. He even had the AIG account that I had closed several years ago.

"We know your friend Barry has been communicating buy and sell orders to you. We can see it in your transactions. Barry sells and two days later you sell. Barry buys and two days later you buy. And every time it is at the right time. What we don't understand is how he is letting you know what to do. Can you enlighten us? Is it a coded message on his wall? Or is it visual clues in the pictures? What is it, Mr. K.?"

I was exhausted. I had nothing for these men. I didn't know any of the people they were talking about - I had never met any of them, they were just people I friended online.

"It's OK, we will figure it out. And when we do, we will confiscate your investments as evidence. Insider trading is illegal, you know?"

They had both stood over me, unmoving, during the entire conversation. With papers back inside and latches secured the quiet man lifted the briefcase and moved toward the door.

His parter picked up my computer and turned to me before heading out. "You have some friends that we will be visiting. I strongly suggest that you don't go trying to contact them to tell them we are coming."

I sat at the table staring blindly into the space where these two men had stood. Several minutes passed before I realized that I was staring at a business card that one of them had left on the table.

I picked it up and read what was printed on the front, "Detective Peter Rapp" before turning it over and reading the hand-written words on the back of the card, "Friend Me".