Daryl couldn’t stop himself from correcting Jason. “Technically, they’re echo reconstructions, not recordings.”
Jason snapped, “Whatever they are!”
Caitlin smiled briefly, knowing how much their boss disliked emotional outbursts. Jason was losing his cool.
Daryl remained completely even-keeled. “I’m not suggesting anything, Jason. I’m clarifying that there are two possible scenarios. One scenario is that the three reconstructions stored on the device—the one with Dr. Fenton and Michael Barnes, the one with the boy being hit, and the one of the kidnapping suspect being interrogated—are legitimate. In that case, you are correct. Something had to have changed. But if they’re not legitimate, the logic doesn’t follow.”
Stenson chimed in. “They’re legitimate. We know too much about Skylar Drummond and Edward Parks. Neither is capable of the kind of forethought to have intentionally set all this in motion. It’s simply too far-fetched.”
Vindicated, Greers glared smugly at Trotter, who shrugged. He was only trying to help. He wanted to make sure they considered every alternative. “So what changed?”
Harwood looked up as the diagnostics concluded. “Nothing.”
Jason stared at him. “Not possible.”
The scientist stared right back. “Machines don’t lie. I’m telling you I’ve compared every line of code from the previous version I tested, which I had stored on my machine, to the present version on the Parks machine. Not a single character in a single line of code changed.”
Caitlin McCloskey was dumbfounded. “So how do you explain it?”
Jason Greers didn’t know. Neither did Bob Stenson. Then Daryl Trotter got an idea. “Does each reconstruction include a separate file of the original degenerated sound waves that served as the basis for the reconstruction?”
Harwood knew the answer, but double-checked just to make sure. “All three folders include files with the original fragments, as well as each reconstructed version.”
“Why?” asked Stenson.
Trotter smiled. “I know what changed.”
CHAPTER 107
The Remains of Michael Barnes’s House, Swedesboro, New Jersey, May 28, 9:15 a.m.
Following the local sheriff, Marcus Fenton was allowed to pass beneath the yellow crime-scene tape that now stretched around the entire perimeter of Michael Barnes’s property. It wasn’t long after sunrise when the first of Barnes’s neighbors had noticed the currency fluttering into their properties. A few Facebook updates and tweets later, hundreds of people from all over the area had raced to the property, trying to grab whatever cash they could. Homeland had initially assigned a dozen agents to the scene, but quickly added another two dozen to maintain security and, more importantly, collect all the cash. By eleven forty-five a.m., their count had reached well over $400,000, and they were barely through half of what they had found.
Much of the debris was still smoldering as the sheriff led Fenton toward the back of the property. The hood of Barnes’s car was lodged in his kitchen window. Articles of clothing, ranging from an olive-green winter parka to bright-orange swim trunks to white running shoes, dangled from tree branches in every direction. The two men were met by the Homeland agent in charge (AIC), Arlo Gunn, who was coordinating the cleanup. After brief introductions, Fenton asked, “What the hell happened?”
Gunn smiled. “We were hoping you could tell us.”
Fenton looked around at the devastation surrounding them, realizing how quickly his situation was going from bad to worse. “I have no idea.”
“Michael Barnes worked for you, didn’t he?” He asked it casually, without any hint of suspicion.
“He did. He was my head of security.”
“Where is that?”
“Harmony House. In Woodbury.”
“What kind of facility is it?”
“It’s a government-funded assisted-living facility for patients with particular gifts.”
Gunn scratched his sideburns, as if making mental notes for later. “How long had he worked for you?”
“Well over a decade. Almost fifteen years.”
Gunn nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. “How would you have characterized your relationship with the deceased?”
“Professionally, he was a trusted employee. But we had no personal relationship outside the workplace.”
“Had he ever mentioned that he kept a stockpile of cash and explosives on his property?”
“No, he never did. Honestly, I still find all this hard to believe.”
“Really?”
Fenton cleared his throat. “I mean, that he could have been so paranoid. And stupid. I had no idea.”
Gunn nodded. “Had the two of you gotten into any kind of argument yesterday?”
Fenton could feel his shirt collar sticking to the back of his neck. He was starting to sweat. “I wouldn’t describe it as an argument. We were managing a patient crisis.”
“What kind of patient crisis?”
Fenton was quite certain Gunn already knew the answer. He was more interested in how Fenton answered than what he said. “A patient had fled the facility.”
“Which was Barnes’s job to prevent from happening.”
“It was among his responsibilities, yes.”
“So in other words, he had failed you.”
“Not him personally, but members of his staff.”
The agent in charge crossed his arms over his chest. “Barnes failed to return this patient to your facility, did he not?”
“In that regard, yes, he did fail.”
The AIC smiled ever so slightly. He was enjoying this. “Were you aware that your missing patient, Edward Parks, has been in the custody of Homeland Security since approximately midnight last night?”
Fenton gritted his teeth. “No, I was not aware. That’s very good news.”
The AIC glanced at someone approaching in the distance. All Fenton could see was a man in a suit. The senior doctor hadn’t brought his distance glasses, and couldn’t make out any further details.
The agent in charge asked Fenton, “Why did the New York Police Department bring you in for questioning last night?”
Fenton’s jaw tightened noticeably. “As best as I could determine, to harass me with inadmissible evidence.”
The AIC turned to the man approaching them, who was now close enough for the doctor to recognize. “Detective, was the purpose of your interrogation last night to harass this man with inadmissible evidence?”
Detective Butler McHenry shook his head innocently. “No, sir. Where did you get that idea?”
The agent in charge studied Fenton. “Doctor, what evidence were you referring to?”
CHAPTER 108
American Heritage Foundation, Alexandria, Virginia, May 28, 10:06 a.m.
Daryl Trotter stood behind the scientist as he worked Edward Parks’s computer inside the conference room. Bob Stenson and the other two American Heritage Foundation lieutenants looked on impatiently from the opposite side of the mahogany table. Harwood removed a pair of headphones and turned to Daryl. “I’ve gotten all I’m going to get out of it.”
Daryl nodded, then turned to his colleagues. “Okay, what I want you to do is listen to the difference between these two reconstructions produced from the same original wave fragments. I had him pick the file with the lowest amount of white noise, which was the interrogation of the kidnapping suspect. The characteristics of an interrogation room are ideal for this purpose, and the echoes are also the least decayed due to age.”
Stenson was growing annoyed. “Get on with it.”
“Right. Okay, this first one is the reconstruction that was already stored on Parks’s machine, presumably made yesterday.”
He nodded to Harwood, who hit “Play” on Edward Parks’s computer. The voices came through clearly, just as they had the first time the reconstruction was heard inside the Sixth Precinct.
SUSPECT: I swear to God, I don’t know where she is!
DETECTIVE LIEUTENANT VICTORIA DANIELS: Tell me where she is, Henry.
SUSPECT: I don’t fucking know! What are you, deaf?!
Stenson shook his head. “We’ve already heard this, Daryl.” The scientist stopped the playback.