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For this account, both Deery and J were willing to speak openly and at length; transcripts of online chats and police interrogations have also been made available.

The story reflects what they said about themselves and their actions, and presents two very different points of view.

Deery would begin a dialogue, dangling the illicit possibility, gauging how serious her mark was.

There were “players,” those who were just horny and despicable, and there were doers, or at least potential doers, the true bad guys.

Her parents sent her to Catholic schools, and her mother, a retired district judge, now jokes that she wants her money back.

Her daughter’s beat is in the vilest corners of cyberspace, in chat rooms indicating “fetish” or various subgenres of flagrant peccancy.

The only window is high on the wall, over a tall filing cabinet, and opens into a well, below ground level.

The space feels like a cave, which has always struck Deery as about right, because her job is to talk dirty online to strange men. She has athletic good looks, with tawny skin, big brown eyes, and long straight brown hair that falls over her shoulders.

Such ordinances answer society’s quest for moral clarity, positing a direct parallel between right versus wrong and legal versus criminal.

After months of prowling Internet chat rooms, posing as the mother of two young daughters, Detective Michele Deery thought she had a live one: “parafling,” a married, middle-aged man who claimed he wanted to have sex with her kids.

But was he just playing a twisted game of seduction?

His screen name, parafling, was a nod to paraflying, the tiny parachute/tricycle flying machines he had once or twice enjoyed.

It was the only really different, exciting thing about him.

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