The Devils Teardrop by Jeffery Deaver

Author:Jeffery Deaver [Deaver, Jeffery]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781439195116
Amazon: 0671038443
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 2010-12-28T06:00:00+00:00

17

The large Winnebago camper rocked along the streets of Gravesend.

It was the MCP. The mobile command post. And it was plastered with bumper stickers: NORTH CAROLINA AKC DOG SHOW. WARNING: I BRAKE FOR BLUE RIBBONS. BRIARDS ARE OUR BUSINESS.

He wondered whether the stickers were intentional—to fool perps—or if the Bureau had bought the van secondhand from a real breeder.

The camper eased up to the curb and Lukas motioned Cage and Parker inside. One whiff of the air told him that it had belonged to dog owners. Still, it was warm inside—with the cold and the scare from the private eye Parker was shivering hard and he was glad to be out of the chill.

Sitting at a computer console was Tobe Geller. He was staring at a video monitor. The image on the screen was broken into a thousand square pixels, an abstract mosaic. He tapped buttons, spun the trackball on his computer, typed in commands.

Detective Len Hardy sat nearby and C. P. Ardell, in his size 44 jeans, was wedged into one of the booths against the wall. The psychologist from Georgetown University hadn’t yet arrived.

“The video from the Mason Theater shooting,” Geller said, not looking away from the screen.

“Anything helpful?” Lukas asked.

“Nuthin’ much,” the young agent muttered. “Not yet anyway. Here’s what it looks like full screen, real time.”

He hit some buttons and the image shrank, became discernible. It was a dim view of the interior of the theater, very jumbled and blurry. People were running and diving for cover.

“When the Digger started shooting,” C. P. explained, “some tourist in the audience turned on his camcorder.”

Geller typed more and the image grew slightly clearer. Then he froze the tape.

“There?” Cage asked, touching the screen. “That’s him?”

“Yep,” Geller said. He started the tape again, running it in slow motion.

Parker could see virtually nothing distinct. The scene was dark to begin with and the camera had bobbed around when the videotaper had huddled for cover. As the frames flipped past, in slow motion, faint light from the gun blossomed in the middle of the smudge that Geller had identified as the Digger.

Hardy said, “It’s almost scarier, not exactly seeing what’s going on.”

Parker silently agreed with him. Lukas, leaning forward, stared intently at the screen.

Geller continued. “Now, this one’s about the clearest.” The frame froze. The image zoomed in but as the pixel squares grew larger they lost all definition. Soon the scene was just a hodgepodge of light and dark squares. “I’ve been trying to enhance it to see his face. I’m ninety percent sure he’s white. But that’s about all we can say.”

Parker had seen something. “Back out again,” he said. “Slowly.”

As Geller pushed buttons the squares grew smaller, began to coalesce.

“Stop,” Parker ordered.

The image was of the Digger from the chest up.

“Look at that.”

“At what?” Lukas asked.

“I don’t see anything,” Hardy said, squinting.

Parker tapped the screen. In the center of what was probably the Digger’s chest were some bright pixels, surrounded by slightly darker ones in a V-shape, which were in turn surrounded by very dark ones.

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