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“Of course.” He smiled. “But I promise I’ll fill you in on everything we learned. By the way, I meant to ask if you were able to find Garofalo’s digital footprints before you took yourself to bed?”
At the mention of the late mob boss’s name, Roseline straightened, setting her coffee aside and sliding past him to wake up her computer. “I got access to Garofalo’s phone records from the past month leading up to his… demise.” She pulled up the data on-screen. “Looks like his cell pinged towers in his home neighborhood up until two weeks ago, then complete radio silence. My guess is that’s when the Game Master abducted him.”
Callan’s jaw tightened, a stormy look in his eyes. “Which means that psycho was holding him captive somewhere, torturing him, and we had no clue.” He dragged a hand through his hair.
“Don’t do that.” Roseline kept her voice gentle but firm. “You can’t change the past or blame yourself for not stopping something you didn’t even know was happening. Our only choice now is to take it one step at a time, moving forward until we can figure out where he’s hiding.”
Callan nodded, a bit of the shadow fading from his expression. “You’re right. Wallowing in hypotheticals won’t help anything.” He exhaled and straightened. “Well, I did get some interesting details that might mean something when cross-referenced with Garofalo’s records. Want me to fill you in?”
“Absolutely.” Roseline swiveled her chair to face him more directly, leaning forward in anticipation. They were getting somewhere.
Callan outlined how he and his partner Brandon had visited a seedy bar known to be frequented by Garofalo and his associates on the edge of the French Quarter. The atmosphere had been tense, with patrons exchanging whispered conversations and suspicious glances. But they learned Garofalo had been a near-nightly regular up until about two weeks ago when he stopped coming at all.
“It wasn’t easy getting anyone to talk,” Callan explained. “We got a lot of shrugs and muttered excuses. But the fear was obvious once we pressed a little. Something has the entire local underworld spooked.”
“You think they know about the Game Master and his live streams?” Roseline asked.
Callan nodded, then shrugged. “I don’t know, but maybe. Whatever remaining mob bosses or criminals are left have gotta be looking over their shoulders wondering if they’ll be next for the virtual chopping block.”
“Can’t say I have much sympathy for their paranoia,” Roseline said. “They profit off others’ misery often enough.”
“True,” Callan conceded. “But we need them cooperative right now. Luckily, Brandon and I were able to work our charm at our last stop.”
He went on to describe how they’d found Garofalo’s wife, Gina, at home in the lavish Garden District manor she shared with her husband, pacing the marble foyer in a glittering cocktail dress and full makeup as if waiting for the oft-absent Vincent to return home that night per usual. Only this time, her agitated state suggested she knew deep down something was very wrong.
Again, they had gotten nowhere at first, probing about Vincent’s unexplained absence. But Brandon used his naturally disarming, compassionate demeanor to gain Gina’s trust. She confessed through frightened tears that Vincent had grown paranoid over the past month, raving to her about unnamed rivals trying to send him a message, likely wanting him out of the way.
He began insisting on varying his routine, having her check for unfamiliar cars following them, and upgrading their home security system multiple times. She hadn’t understood the full extent of his unhinged ravings until two weeks ago when he failed to come home at all. Her calls went straight to voicemail. None of his men on the streets had seen him either. He had vanished without a trace, and now the detectives’ questions made her terrified that Vincent had met a violent end.
“She knows more than she’s admitting,” Callan said. “But Brandon convinced her that her cooperation might help us locate Vincent and stop whoever was targeting him. Once she realizes he’s gone, who knows if she’ll stay willing to talk.”
Roseline considered the details thoughtfully. “So Garofalo knew he was in someone’s crosshairs,” she mused. Perhaps he had heard about the Game Master’s plans for him. But how? And what made him such a specific target?”
She turned back to her computer and pulled up the audio file of the Game Master’s eerie digitally disguised voice, the one she had isolated from the live stream video. His arrogant words still chilled her blood.
Callan leaned forward far enough to view her screen as the recording began.
“Let this be a lesson to all who think they hold power in this city or any other,” the phantom voice declared. “I alone decide who shall rise and who shall fall. Resist me, and you, too, may find yourself at the mercy of forces beyond your control.”
Disgust coursed through her as she closed the file. “Well, he has delusions of grandeur.”
Callan let out a mirthless chuckle. “That’s an understatement. The narcissism it takes to appoint yourself judge, jury, and executioner… A sort of morbid vigilante.” He trailed off, staring at the blank screen.
Roseline looked over and saw his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. She recognized that pent-up tension simmering beneath his composed front. She felt it, too. Raw fury over their helplessness to stop the Game Master so far was close to spilling over.
“Hey.” She waited until his eyes met hers. “We’re going to figure this out, piece by piece. One concrete lead at a time. I know it feels like grasping at straws right now, but we must be methodical.”
Callan’s taut shoulders relaxed as he let out a slow breath. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just can’t stand feeling so useless when someone’s life may be in the balance.”
“I know.” She gave him a somber smile. “Believe me, I get it. But getting overwhelmed won’t make us work faster or smarter. Let’s just stay focused.”
He nodded, resolute once more. “Okay. Where do we go from here on the digital side, then?”
Roseline considered for a moment. “Well, since we now have a record of Garofalo’s movements leading up to his abduction thanks to the phone data, we can use that to identify locations he frequented where the Game Master might have been able to monitor his activities and select an ideal site to kidnap him.”
Callan came around her desk to stand behind her, and she pulled up a map overlaying the cell tower pings and other data points. One area lit up, showing Garofalo spent a significant amount of time there in the weeks prior.
Roseline tapped the cluster of intersections. “This is a fifteen-block radius encompassing his home, some businesses he owns, and a gym his men workout at. There’s a chance I can cross-reference these with the cell phone date and maybe sort out the last place he was before his phone shut off.”
