The IT guy sat up straighter, phone discarded on the desk next to the keyboard. He had a grin on his rattish face. “So we’re alone now.” He pointed to himself. “I’m Derek Egner, director of—”
“I don’t care,” she said, cutting him off. “Don’t call empaths mind-rapers.”
A nasty expression twisted his face. “I can call them whatever I—oooh.” He snapped his fingers. “Now I know why you look familiar. I’ve seen your face on the news. You’re that hot detective, the one with the brother who’s a mind—”
She grabbed him by the front of his Stone Solutions polo and lifted him bodily out of the computer chair. “Don’t call empaths mind-rapers,” she said again, just as flatly.
He squealed. “How the hell are you this strong—”
“I don’t have time or patience for you to waste,Derek.” Their eyes were level as she gripped the collar of his shirt. “So how about you don’t call my brother that again?”
He nodded resentfully.
“Good,” she said. “Why are you messing on your phone instead of recovering the security footage?”
He squirmed like a worm on a hook. “I uh, I had some time while the, uh, the hard drive was defragging—”
“Nice try,” she said. “But that’s bullshit.”
He grimaced. “Fine. The footage fixed itself.”
“Fixeditself?”
“I restarted the system, and when it rebooted, the security feed was intact.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone you’d recovered footage relevant to a murder investigation because...”
He winced. “Agent Grayson had already left with that mind—ah, left with the empath.” She waited. He winced again. “And the sucker who runs this place let me have free drinks.”
“Christ,” she muttered. She let go of Egner’s shirt and he stumbled onto his feet. “Show me,” she said, as he steadied himself on the wall.
He ducked his head and scrambled over to his chair. She stood behind his shoulders as he clattered away at the keys for a moment, then the screen promptly filled with security footage of the alley next to the warehouse.
“There are no cameras in the VIP room itself,” Egner said. “This is the best we got, the private entrance in the alley.”
He pressed something on the keyboard and the footage began to play at enhanced speed. “Mr. Stone and the senator show up around ten in his Maybach,” he said, pointing as on-screen, a fancy car pulled into the alley and Cedrick Stone and Senator Hathaway got out of the back seat. Hathaway was already unsteady on her feet, leaning heavily on Stone’s arm as they climbed the stairs up to where Diesel was holding open the door.
Egner zoomed the footage forward even faster, slowing when a BMW i8 drove into the alley. “Jason Owens shows up not long after that. He parks in the alley and goes into the room. The bouncer disappears. A town car pulls up two minutes later and Stone gets in and leaves. Owens and Hathaway are in there until last call, then they get in his i8 and drive away.”
She watched the footage for a minute as all that played out, then bent and looked more closely at the screen. “Back it up to when Owens arrives.”
He gave her a look but did as asked. She watched as Diesel opened the door for Owens, who went in. Diesel jumped down the stairs and disappeared from the footage. “We’ve got security footage of the VIP room’s inside door too. The bouncer goes in the club and spends most of his time keeping an eye on it. Owens and Hathaway never went into the main club,” Egner said, as on-screen Stone came out the alley door. “Meanwhile Stone takes off right after Owens arrived. Looks like he and Owens didn’t even take the time to talk to each other.”
“To you. To me it looks like someone spliced this footage.”
“What?” He leaned forward, staring at the screen. “I don’t—”
“The puddles.” She pointed to the pockmarked streets of the alley, at the very edge of the screen. “The rain had just started up when Owens arrives and this pothole is still mostly empty. When Stone comes out, the time stamp reads two minutes later but the pothole is full.”
She tapped the screen. “Someone took out a chunk of footage and put in this doctored version for you to find. So maybe Stone was in there with Owens longer than it appears—or maybe someone else showed up too.” Jamey cleared her throat. “You might have seen that if you hadn’t been dicking around on your phone.”
Egner paled. “Oh no.” He began pulling up files, his hands unsteady on the keyboard. He glanced at her, then back to the screen. “Please don’t tell Agent Grayson.Please.”
But deep beneath the music, out on the street, she heard the rumble of a big engine and upgraded exhaust. She straightened. “You might get to tell him yourself,” she said, and left the sweating Egner frantically typing, closing the door behind her as she went to meet Grayson and Reece.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Privacy concerns, sanctity of the mind, blah blah blah. My smart watch knows my heart rate but will it listen to me? Tell me it understands my problems? Give me the empaths any day.
