📸 Photo

KINGPIN

worried his way into a bunch of the faculty accounts. They spent hours in the BSU terminal room, staring at the luminous green text of the terminals and banging on the clacky keyboards. They’d skim through faculty e-mail boxes while holding long, silent conversations, shooting messages back and forth across the room through the computer. David struggled to keep up with Max’s overclocked mind and typing speed, and Max would often get impatient. “What are you waiting for?” Max would type when David fell behind in the conversation. “Respond.”

A little local hacking was generally tolerated by administrators. But then Max started poking at the defenses of other Internet systems, earning him a brief ban from the BSU computer. When his access was restored, he was back on TinyMUD, fighting with Amy.

The sheriff called BSU’s network administrator at two in the morning to tell him about the murder-suicide threat. The police wanted a copy of Max’s computer files to examine for evidence—a request that raised difficult privacy issues for the college. After some discussion with the university’s lawyer, administrators decided not to voluntarily hand over anything. Instead, they’d preserve Max’s files on a computer tape and lock Max out of the computer at once.

Amy worried about what Max might do next, even as she pressed through the slow process of breaking up with him. She still cared about Max, she’d later testify, and was afraid he’d really hurt himself.

Max continued to call her after the TinyMUD incident, and the conversations followed a predictable pattern. Max would start off nice—showing the friendly, caring side that his friends and family knew well. Then he’d escalate into self-pity and threats before hanging up in anger.

On October 30, Max told Amy he wanted to talk to her in person. Still hoping to end the relationship amicably—she was bound to see Max on campus, and she didn’t want him hating her—Amy agreed to come over.