Page 104 of The Bone Code
Vislosky badged her. Pickle studied the info for so long I thought she was memorizing it. Then, “You’re a police officer. And poor, dear Harmony is, I mean, may be”—her voice trailed off, leaving the awful thought unspoken—“so I suppose it’s permissible to share what I know.”
Vislosky waited.
“In my opinion, Harmony Boatwright was a very troubled girl.”
“Troubled?”
“After her mother left, the child bounced from relative to relative. The family is, well, what doesn’t need saying. Her granddaddy tried, but he was a drinker. And ill-equipped to handle a teenage girl. I’m sure you know that Harmony’s mother disappeared when the child was twelve or thirteen. All Harmony wanted in life was to find her. In my view, she was obsessed with the idea.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We provide Wi-Fi here. Otherwise, some of the children would have no access to the internet. But we don’t just turn them loose. That would be foolish. We make it clear upfront that the browser history on each and every machine is reviewed each and every day. That’s one of my tasks. If any user does anything that breaks house rules, they lose their internet privilege.” Pickle cupped her mouth and spoke in a low, conspiratorial whisper. “You know, like looking at porn and such.”
“What if a kid connects using a private device?” I asked.
“We can’t control that.”
“Did Harmony have her own laptop?”
“I don’t believe so. She used one of the house PCs. That’s how I know she frequented sites devoted to finding missing persons. That poor, sweet lamb ran endless searches on her mother’s name.”
“Can you recall which sites she visited?”
“I’m sorry. It was a long time ago.” Pickle looked genuinely regretful, then her face brightened. “Wait. There was one called MMM. I’m partial to the candy, you know, the little round chocolates? M&M’s? Melt in your mouth, not—”
“Yes.” Vislosky flicked impatient fingers.
“That’s why the name stuck with me.” A bit pouty due to the brusqueness.
“That’s very helpful,” I said, not sure that it was but wanting to placate.
“Harmony mentioned making a friend that way, in some kind of chat room.” Pickle raised a pudgy hand to me, palm out. “But please don’t ask. She never shared a name. Just that this other person was also looking for her mother.”
“Do you recall anything about this cyber-friend?”
Pickle’s response sent adrenaline firing through me.
“Missing and Murdered Moms dot com.” Vislosky was at the wheel. I was Google searching with my iPhone. “It’s a site for the children of—”
“Missing and murdered moms.” Vislosky cut me off.
“Do you want to hear this?”
Vislosky shrugged. We were both cranky. I was regretting my decision to ride the nine hours with her to Charleston. But Anne had phoned, adamant. She was in crisis mode again and wanted me back ASAP. She’d explained the latest drama, something involving her ex-husband, but I hadn’t really listened.
“The site has a chat room, so Pickle’s intel tracks,” I said.
“Can anyone join in the lively banter?” Disdainful.
“Participation is free, and users don’t have to register for an account. It’s like Zobe or Teen-Chat.”
“Zobe?”
“Never mind. All one does is create a username and sign in.”
“So there’s no way to identify participants.”
“Correct.”
