MDGUY4U: so ur home alone?
CYNDI_WITH_NO_FELLA: yeppers
MDGUY4U: Mind if I call?
CYNDI_WITH_NO_FELLA: monday is my day off frm skool
MDGUY4U: Lucky u
CYNDI_WITH_NO_FELLA: for teachers meeting r sumthin
MDGUY4U: Kewl
CYNDI_WITH_NO_FELLA: lemme go see if moms got her stoopid skedule on da fridge
MDGUY4U: ok
CYNDI_WITH_NO_FELLA: shes off dis weekend
MDGUY4U: Kewl
MDGUY4U: wat u wanna do?
CYNDI_WITH_NO_FELLA: LOL I DONT CARE
MDGUY4U: DO U WANT ME TO SUCK ON UR TITTIES?
Feeling ill, I scanned down the chat, all the way near the end where MDGUY4U had arranged to meet CYNDI_WITH_NO_FELLA and her titties at her home in Rockville, Maryland, which turned out to be the sting house where he would later get busted.
“Enough!” I cried.
But Erika chugged on. “And down here we have…” She worked the mouse, scrolling quickly to the end of the chat. “See here?”
CYNDI_WITH_NO_FELLA: whats ur number?
MDGUY4U: I cn get in trouble just talking to you. lol
CYNDI_WITH_NO_FELLA: lol. No 1 will ever no, silly.
MDGUY4U: ok
“The bastard knows she’s underage.” Erika snorted. “But watch how fast he sends Cyndi his phone number anyway.”
While I stared in disbelief-this was my pastor’s husband talking dirty here-Erika highlighted the phone number. “That’s Roger’s actual cell phone number. And that’s my job.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m the verifier. I call the guy up, pretend to be Cyndi, and verify that he’s for real.” Her voice slid up an octave; she sounded no more than twelve or thirteen. “Oh, snap! Dad just walked in. He’s so bunk.”
Emily smiled. “Erika’s got the lingo down pat.”
“How do you sleep at night, Erika,” I asked, “knowing all these perverts are out there lurking on the Internet?”
“I sleep because for every perve we catch, there are ten, maybe twenty, little girls and boys who won’t be abused.
“Listen to this.” Erika clicked around, then read an excerpt from another long, dirty chat.
“‘If you are interested, I could show you a few tricks.’ And the child replies, ‘What kind of tricks?’ Then he IMs back, ‘Let’s put it this way. I am a little older and more experienced than you. I have been married and have tried many different things and can probably show you things that your boyfriend never even thought about.’
“It goes on and on,” Erika said.
“Sick.”
“What happens now, Erika?”
“My best guess is that the police will eventually come calling on old Roger and he’ll be heading for the slammer.”
But it wasn’t Roger I was feeling sorry for, it was his wife, Eva.
My heart ached for my friend. I prayed she hadn’t seen the broadcast-that would have been too cruel. “Poor Eva.”
“What do you mean, ‘Poor Eva’? She had to have known about this.”
“Not necessarily.”
“But she certainly knows now. And I, Erika Rose,” she said with a flourish, “took the liberty of notifying the congregation via the St. Catherine’s e-mail list.”
“My God, Erika!” Even for a lawyer, the woman had chutzpah. “Isn’t that list supposed to be used for church business only? No one wants to be swamped with used car notices and the latest religious jokes making the rounds on the Internet.”
“Chill, Mom. I told her to do it.”
“You?”
“I can’t think of anything more relevant to the business of the church than to inform its congregation that their pastor is harboring a pedophile.”
Erika demonstrated how easily we could e-mail anyone a link to Roger Haberman’s special Predator-Beware Web page featuring his picture, his cell phone number, and the full text of his revolting chat room sessions with Cyndi, page after page of it. “We sent it to his boss on Monday, asking if this was the kind of guy they wanted working around the kids enrolled in the sailing program.”
Cassandra Matthews would have found out about the Cross Current program soon enough anyway, but even so, I thought that Erika’s actions were a bit over the top. Roger was guilty as hell, of course, and he’d brought it all upon himself, but with everyone ganging up on him, I worried about the guy. “He’ll have some excuse to explain away his behavior,” I suggested.
“They all do,” Erika said. “You heard it on the show last night, didn’t you? Same old thing. I’ve never done this before. I knew she wasn’t twelve, I was just playing along. I’m here because I thought the house was for sale. How lame is that?”
“I’m a bit uncomfortable with it, to tell you the truth. At the end of the day, your group is just a bunch of vigilantes. It’s the twenty-first-century version of tar, feathers, and running a guy out of town on a rail. Almost makes me feel sorry for some of them.”
“Look, we’re not totally devoid of compassion. We offer pedophiles the opportunity to post rebuttals, for example, and we’ll actually remove them from the website if they can prove they’re getting help. But, trust me, Hannah. These guys are dyed in the wool perverts. Do you want to see how ridiculously easy it is?”
“Convince me.”
Erika relinquished her chair and motioned me over to the keyboard. “Have you ever signed up for an account on Yahoo?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, then. Log on to Yahoo dot com and set up a new user ID.”
While Erika and Emily watched, I tried half a dozen combinations before I came up with a screen name that hadn’t already been used: Krazy_4_Katz.
“Now, go ahead and set up a profile.”
With Erika coaching me, I filled in the blanks for Candy Williams. When I came to the section for date of birth, I closed my eyes and started counting backward, trying to come up with a date that would make Candy turn thirteen on her next birthday.
When I started to fill in the age blanks, Erika raised a cautionary hand. “Don’t do that. If Yahoo thinks you’re under eighteen, they won’t let you into the chat room. Either lie or leave it blank.”
“But how will the guy know that I’m only thirteen?”
“When the time comes, you’ll tell him.” She flapped a hand. “Now, go on. Try out your ID in a chat room.”
Erika showed me how to find the chat rooms, and suggested that I join one of the regional chats. There were chat rooms for every major metropolitan area. Washington, D.C., had five. I clicked my mouse and, simple as that, I was in.
“What now?”
“Now you wait.”
I watched, alternately amazed and disgusted, by the amount of traffic scrolling by me in the room. People joined the chat, stayed for a while, and left. One strange, misspelled message repeated itself so many times that I was certain it was being generated by a robot. Hands off the keyboard, folded in my lap, I ignored them all.
“Some of these guys are just goofing off,” Erika commented. “Others are probably kids pretending to be horny, thirty-five-year-old guys, but way too many are exactly who they say they are, and they’ll end up arranging to meet the child.”
After only two minutes a box popped up on my screen titled PM. DonnieWants2Screw had dropped in to say “Hi.”
“It says PM. What does that mean, Erika?”
“Private message. That’s where they’ll try to lure you in.”
“Do I want to talk to someone named DonnieWants2Screw? I don’t think so.”
“That’s okay. Just wait.”
After a few Hello U Theres, DonnieWants2Screw gave up and Randy_in_Rockville29 stopped by, desperate to talk to Candy, too. “What should I say?”
Erika shrugged, so I typed Hi.
A/s/l, Randy replied.
From reading the previous chats, I knew what that meant. Age, sex, location. I typed in 13/F/Rockville, lying to Randy about everything except my sex.
Randy was twenty-nine, male, and lived in Rockville, if he weren’t lying, too. Got breasts? He wanted to know.