“We’d like a word,” Jacob said.
“About what?”
“Is this your vehicle?”
His gaze narrowed. “Yes.”
“Do you jog here every morning?”
“It’s free parking. I’m in a space.”
“Do you jog here every morning?” Jacob repeated.
The man watched him, and Jacob saw the moment he realized that he and Kendra weren’t here to issue parking tickets. He’d probably seen something about the murder on the news.
Jacob watched the man’s eyes, gauging his reaction, and he knew Kendra’s attention was on his hands. Reynolds didn’t look panicked or threatened. His blue eyes showed wariness. And just enough curiosity to wipe out Jacob’s slim hope that this might be their guy.
“I jog here most days.” He rested his hands on his hips. “Why?”
“Does this woman look familiar to you?” Kendra held out a paper. It showed a photograph of Dana Smith that Celeste Camden had provided to police.
Reynolds glanced at the paper. “No.”
“Look again, please.”
He took the paper and gave it a longer look. “I don’t recognize her.”
“What about this one?” Kendra handed over another photograph. The shot was more candid, and Dana was smiling and had a cat in her lap.
The man’s expression changed as he studied the picture. “I don’t know her, but she looks familiar.” He glanced at Kendra. “Why?”
The tone of his voice told Jacob he knew who this was.
“This woman was murdered on the trail Saturday morning,” Kendra stated.
Reynolds held the picture out to her. “Well, I don’t know her. I might have seen her around, but—”
“Did you see her Saturday?” Jacob asked.
“No.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“I don’t know.” He shot a worried look at Kendra. He was getting nervous now. But it was the mild kind of nervous, the kind anyone might get from being approached out of nowhere by a pair of homicide cops. Not the kind that reeked of guilt.
Kendra took back the picture. “Relax, Mr. Reynolds, this is a routine canvass. We’ve talked to dozens of people on the trail this week. We’re trying to find out if anyone saw anything suspicious or out of the ordinary on Saturday or any other day, all right?”
He nodded.
“Now, can you look again?” She held up the second photo. “You said you’ve seen her around. Do you recall if that was Saturday?”
He took a deep breath and blew it out, then settled his gaze on the photo.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Maybe?”
“I saw her recently. I think it was Saturday.”
Kendra nodded. “Do you remember what time?”
“No.” He wiped the tail of his T-shirt over his mouth. “Sometime before my run. She might have been over there by the lamppost.”
“Doing what?” Jacob asked.
“Stretching. I think she started behind me.”
“And you’re sure this was Saturday?” Kendra asked.
“Yeah. I remember now because I didn’t have my Airpods in. Usually, I do, but I left them at home.”
“What else do you remember about Saturday?” Kendra kept her tone low-key, but she and Jacob were both on high alert now.
“I don’t know.” He raked his hand through his shaggy brown hair. “It was a regular day. Hot. And humid, too. We had that rain later.”
Jacob waited, watching him, looking for anything off—even the slightest hint that he was lying or making something up.
“Who else did you see on the trail that morning?” Kendra was pure chill, no urgency at all. She’d taken over the questions, because the witness seemed more comfortable directing his answers at her.
“I don’t know. The usual.”
“What’s the usual?” she asked.
Jacob had a pretty good idea already, because they’d spent two mornings canvassing this place.
“There’s a running club. Some people with dogs. You know.”
“What about individuals?” she asked. “You remember anyone specific?”
“I passed a couple track guys. UT track.” He paused. “There was someone near the nature center.”
Jacob’s pulse picked up.
“A man?” Kendra prompted.
“Some guy. He was crouched near a tree, tying his shoe.”
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t know. Dark hair? He was looking down. I didn’t see his face.”
“Was he white? Black? Hispanic?” she asked.
“White. And he had gloves on.”
“Gloves?”
“Golfing gloves. I noticed his hands when he was tying his shoelace.”
Kendra shot Jacob a look. Holy shit.
“Did you think that was odd, someone wearing golf gloves to run?” Kendra asked.
“I thought it was random, yeah.” He darted a look at Jacob. “But so what? Some guy out here rides his bike in a G-string. People are weird.”
Kendra lifted an eyebrow at Jacob. He was right about the biker. Police called him Captain Butt Floss, and he was known to shout at tourists and pass out religious flyers on Sixth Street.
And so far, everything Christopher Reynolds said seemed credible.
Jacob looked at his partner, and he could tell she was feeling the same rush of adrenaline he was. After six long days, they had a potential eyewitness. It was a huge break. Maybe they could get him with a sketch artist and get something solid.
“What about his height? His build?” Kendra asked.
“I don’t know. He was kneeling.”
“And his hair?”
He sighed. “Dark. Short. That’s all I remember. I really barely noticed him.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Look, I need to get to work soon. Are we almost done here?”
“Uh, no,” Kendra said. “Not even close.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
BAILEY FOUND NICO in a conference room with his computer and stack of file folders. He plucked out his earbuds as Bailey walked in.
“You writing?” she asked.
“Transcribing an interview. What’s up?”
She set a cold can of Dr Pepper in front of him, and his look turned suspicious.
“Thanks for setting up the interview with Seth,” she said. “He says hi, by the way.”
“I talked to him. He thinks you’re hot.”
“He does?”
The corner of Nico’s mouth curved up. “You sound so shocked.”
She perched her hip on the conference table. “I just didn’t get that read from him.” Well, maybe she had a little. At certain points in the interview, he’d seemed like he wanted to impress her, but that was pretty standard for people talking to a reporter.
Nico folded his arms over his chest. “So, is there a story there?”
“Nothing yet. I’m just doing background on something, like I said.” She studied Nico’s face. “What’s that look?”
“You sure you’re not poaching?”
“No. I told you.”
“I thought you liked the crime beat,” he said. “You got nominated for that AP award after the vice squad exposé.”
“I love the crime beat. And I’m not poaching.”
“But you can’t tell me what you’re working on.”
“Not yet. But if it turns into anything big, we can work on it together.”
He watched her for a long moment and seemed to believe her. He pulled the soft drink toward him and popped it open.
“So, what’s up?” He took a long swig. Dr Pepper was his favorite, and she’d brought it as a goodwill gesture because she knew he was sensit
ive about her treading on his turf. Reporters were territorial.
“I’ve been reading about this FBI program. Next Generation Identification.”
“Yeah, NGI. There’s a company in town that developed some of the software. I wrote a piece about it last year.”
“I know. What can you tell me about iris scans? Your article didn’t go into much detail.”
“Well, they’re building a criminal repository of iris images. But that’s just a small component of the overall project. NGI also includes fingerprints, palm prints, faceprints. The thing they love to talk about the most is the fingerprint database. The faceprint database is kept a lot quieter.”
“How come?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Fingerprints are less controversial. They’ve got public opinion on their side. People generally figure if you’re being fingerprinted for some reason, you must have done something wrong. Faceprints are a whole other matter.”
“Why?”
“A lot of the images in the database are taken from noncriminal contexts, like state driver’s license databases or passport applications or military records. We aren’t just talking about mug shots here, and that’s one thing that has privacy advocates up in arms.”
“Tell me about the technology involved.”
His gaze narrowed. “What are you writing about, exactly?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He didn’t look like he believed her, but he let it go. “Well, originally some of the best tech was implemented by the big casinos. They were trying to spot people counting cards and running cheating scams. Since 9/11 the federal government has been in on the action, too, using the technology for law enforcement, antiterrorism, that kind of thing.”
Bailey crossed her arms. “One person’s ‘terrorist’ is another person’s ‘peaceful protester.’”
“Exactly. You can see how the technology could be abused. It’s already happening in China and Saudi Arabia, where they’ve deployed it all over the place to track dissidents.”
“They’re probably doing that here, too.”
Nico lifted an eyebrow. “Paranoid much?”
She shrugged. “I don’t trust institutions. Never have.”
“I can’t say I disagree with you. I read about some shit in Virginia a while back. Some cop who took a cell phone picture of a woman he thought was hot, then got a friend to track her down in the DMV database, found out where she lived, and started stalking her.”
Bailey’s skin chilled.
“The thing about this technology,” Nico said, “is that most people have no idea how insidious it is.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, it’s based on math. Distance between pupils, nostrils, earlobes. The length and angle of the nose. It’s things that are near impossible to change, so it’s not like you can just wear sunglasses when you go out if you want to avoid it. And these cameras are everywhere now. They’re capturing your image when you don’t even know it.”
A knot of dread formed in Bailey’s gut. “So . . . someone could just look someone up?”
“No, not really. It’s way more complicated than that. These databases aren’t all connected, and there are rules about not sharing images. Plus, there’re firewalls.”
She thought of John Colt’s words. Nothing’s impenetrable.
“What’s wrong?” Nico asked. “You look sick all of a sudden.”
“I’m just . . . I’m fine.” She stood up. “I shouldn’t have skipped lunch. Thanks for talking.”
She left him sitting there, baffled, as she crossed the newsroom to her desk. She wanted to talk to Jacob. Now. Maybe she could catch him at the police station. She grabbed her keys and pulled her purse from her desk drawer just as her phone chimed.
She didn’t recognize the number or even the area code.
“Bailey Rhoads,” she said as she cut through the maze of cubicles.
“Bailey, it’s Seth.”
The voice surprised her. She reached the elevator and tapped the button.
“I got your voice mail,” he said, and she heard traffic noise in the background. “How did you get my cell phone number?”
“Oh. Sorry. Nico gave it to me last week. I hope you don’t mind. I called your office earlier, but you weren’t there, so—”
“When?”
“I’m sorry?”
“When did you call my office?”
“I don’t know.” The elevator was taking too long, so Bailey headed for the stairs. “Maybe around ten this morning? I left a message with Levon.”
“What was it you needed?”
“Just a follow-up question about Granite Tech.”
Bailey hurried down the stairs, passing Max, who gave her a reproachful look. She’d skipped the staff meeting this morning and he’d put her on the budget for tomorrow. Some damn fluff piece she didn’t have time for.
“Seth? Are you there?”
“My reception’s bad,” he said. “What was your question?”
“When we were talking yesterday, you mentioned a rough patch four years ago. The company was doing layoffs and you said tensions were running high.”
“Yeah?” His voice sounded wary.
“What prompted the turnaround?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, things were looking bleak for Granite Tech financially. But now they’re adding employees and coffee bars and fitness studios.” She reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed through the door into the lobby. “I’m wondering about the turnaround. What changed?”
Silence.
“Seth?”
Nothing.
“Seth? You there?”
She looked at her phone. But the call had dropped.
* * *
* * *
JACOB HAD JUST left the police station when he noticed Gabby on the sidewalk waving him down. He pulled over and lowered his window. She wore workout clothes and had a computer bag over her shoulder, and her short pink hair was pulled back with a cloth headband.
“Hey, I was looking for you.” She rested her arm on the door. “Everyone said you’d taken off for the day.”
Jacob had spent the afternoon at Cold Storage poring over a copy of Dana Smith’s autopsy report, which he’d finally gotten his hands on, despite Mullins hijacking the case.
“I’ve been in and out,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Want to give me a lift to my yoga class? I can fill you in on the way.”
“Sure, hop in.”
She slid into the truck and stashed the computer bag at her feet. “It’s five blocks west, right by the post office.”
Jacob pulled into traffic.
“I went through every minute of video from the trail Saturday, everything we have,” she said. “No sign of a dark-haired man in golf gloves. Or any gloves, for that matter—which isn’t surprising since it was ninety degrees out.”
“He could have removed the gloves. I’m sure there were plenty of dark-haired men.”
“Yeah, but not jogging on that particular stretch of trail when Dana Smith was there. I got a couple women with dogs, a blond cyclist, a stroller mom. And then your witness, Christopher Reynolds. But no sign of this mystery man with the gloves.”
Jacob pulled up to a stoplight and looked at her. “You check the boathouse footage?”
“Yes.”
“The nature center?”
“Yes.”
“All three cameras?”
“Yes. I told you, I checked everything.” She dragged her computer bag into her lap and unzipped it. “He’s not in the parking lots and not on the trail with her—not the section that’s picked up by security cameras. At least not the cameras we’re aware of. There could be more.”
“There aren’t. I’ve
been down there three times now looking.”
She opened her computer and powered it up. “I have a theory about that.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’ll show you.”
She tapped open a file as Jacob neared the yoga studio. It was a narrow storefront, and he didn’t see anywhere to park, so he turned into an alley.
“Check this out.” She placed the laptop on his console, the same console that Bailey had sat on the other night when she kissed the hell out of him.
“This is a map of the trail, and I’ve got all the camera locations marked in blue. The green areas show the view they cover.”
“Okay.”
“There’s no way to run any significant stretch of this trail and avoid all these areas.”
“Unless he scoped it out ahead of time.”
“Yeah, that’s my theory. I think your guy did some serious recon before the crime. He knew where the cameras were, where the tree cover was. He knew how to get in and out of that stretch of trail without being seen.”
Recon. Another military word. According to an expert with the ME’s office, Dana Smith’s stab wounds had likely been made with a seven-inch tactical knife that had a serrated blade on one side. A combat knife.
“You see what I’m getting at?” Gabby looked at him. “He had to know all about this area ahead of the attack.”
Jacob studied the screen. “He knew her timing, too.”
“Well, maybe. If you assume she was the target. He could have just been waiting there, looking for a target of opportunity, some woman running alone that maybe fit the type he wanted. She could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it could have been random.”
It wasn’t, but Jacob didn’t share that information with Gabby.
“Send me that map, would you?”
“No problem.” She snapped the computer shut. “I’ll do it after my class. Thanks for the ride.”
“If you come up with anything else, let me know. Call me anytime, day or night.”
She got out, and he watched her walk to the end of the alley. He backed up and made sure she got into the studio okay before he checked his mirrors and pulled into traffic. His phone buzzed, and he dug it from his pocket. Bailey.
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