Serial

72

Edmundsville, the present

Edna Wellman was distraught when she phoned the sheriff’s office, so Billy Noth passed the phone to Westerley. The sheriff and Edna’s husband Joe had been hunting buddies before Joe’s fatal heart attack five years ago.

“It’s about my nephew Mathew,” Edna said in a voice made soprano by… what, disbelief? Anger?

“He and I have met,” Westerley said calmly, trying to slow down Edna. “He seems like a nice kid.”

“Well, you wouldn’t think so if…”

“If what?” Westerley wanted to get this call out of the way and tend to more important business, like surveying the week’s traffic citations and felony statistics.

“If you come over here, I think you could better understand the problem.”

Westerley sighed, hoping Edna hadn’t heard. “Okay, Edna, I’ll be right there.”

The Wellman house, a 1970s brick ranch with two-car garage, was only three blocks from Westerley’s office, on a tree-lined cross street of similar houses. Edna was waiting for him with the door open.

She was in her early fifties now, and had put on a lot of weight since Joe’s death. Her pretty, flesh-padded face was lined with concern. “Thanks for coming, Sheriff.”

Not Wayne. A professional call.

“Somebody try to break in?” Westerley asked. There’d been a few house burglaries in the area over the past six months.

“Worse,” Edna said.

She led Westerley to a small den where Joe used to go to smoke his cigars. The room hadn’t changed much, except now there was a computer with a large monitor on the old maple desk.

On the monitor was a hefty blond woman having sex with a cucumber. Though he didn’t know quite why, Westerley was glad to see that the cucumber was wearing a condom.

“This is mild,” Edna Wellman proclaimed, looking away from Westerley and the image on the monitor, “compared to some of the other sites Mathew has been visiting.”

Westerley coughed. “Well…”

“Isn’t this kind of thing illegal?” Edna asked.

“It is if there are minors involved.”

“Oh, I’m sure there are, on some of the sites.”

“You’ve looked at other sites he’s visited?”

“Yes, I thought I had to know what I was talking about, if I was going to confront Mathew.”

“Good point. He’s no dummy.”

“I swear, Wayne, you wouldn’t believe some of what goes on that a ten-year-old could visit if he swore he was twentyone. There are safeguards to screen out minors, but there are also mere children who know more about computers than the people who designed the safeguards.”

“Sometimes the people who produce this stuff use models who are of age but look a lot younger,” Westerley said. He looked again at the woman on the screen. She didn’t seem to be enjoying herself. “Mathew’s what, twenty-two?”

“Just.”

Westerley shrugged. “He’s an adult, too.”

Edna Wellman stared at him. “So what can we do, Wayne?”

“Where’s Mathew now?”

“He left right after I walked in and found him looking at this filth. He’s embarrassed, no doubt. He should be.”

“I’m sure he is.” Westerley moved the mouse along a series of blue numerals on the screen and clicked on one. A brunette with bangs was performing fellatio, not on a vegetable. She did look like a minor, but it was impossible to be sure. “I’ll go look around, see if I can find Mathew. If I don’t, and he comes back here, tell him I want to talk to him.”

“I’ll do that. And thanks.” Edna shook her head. “He seems like such a normal young man.”

“He is,” Westerley said. “He’s curious, is all.”

“Then you don’t think it’s unusual for a boy-a young man-his age to visit these kinds of Internet sites?”

“It can’t be,” Westerley said. “Porn sites are the most visited places on the Internet.”

“The women in those photographs, at least some of them, must have parents, husbands, maybe children.”

“You left out money,” Westerley said.

Edna looked disgusted. “Some world it’s become.”

“Some world,” Westerley agreed.