Page 193 of Chameleon Killer

Exactly what he'd spent hours telling me people did. By the time the four minutes ended, my hands had gone cold.

Ruiz stopped playback. Nobody spoke. I stared at the frozen image of myself.

“If you didn't know it was fake,” I said slowly, “would you believe it?”

Ruiz hesitated. “Yes.”

Brewster said nothing.

Flint answered in the same breath. “No.”

I looked at him.

He met my gaze.

“No?”

“No.”

“Why?”

His eyes moved toward the screen. “Because that's not how you listen.”

The answer confused me. “What?”

“When you're genuinely interested, you tilt your head.”

I frowned.

“You do,” he said. “A little to the right. Usually before you interrupt.”

Ruiz glanced back at the frozen frame.

Flint continued. “You lean forward when you're challenging somebody. Back when you're giving them room to hang themselves. You look at the ceiling when you're irritated but trying not to say something insulting.”

I stared at him.

He knew all that?

His mouth tightened. “That video gets some of it right.”

“Some?”

“Enough.” His gaze shifted back to mine. “But not all of it.”

Something expanded painfully beneath my ribs.

Brewster said, “Behavior isn't evidence of fabrication.”

Flint turned toward him. “No.” His tone went flat. “It's how I knew to look.”

Brewster's face hardened.

That strange friction between them that had nothing to do with jurisdiction or evidence returned.

Ruiz broke the tension.

“We can establish the audio was manipulated. Video's harder. Some of the frames appear authentic.”