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It had taken a half hour of pleading and persuasion on Amanda’s part to get the ICU staff to agree to her request. But when she explained what she was desperate to accomplish, they’d finally agreed.
A professional videographer and his assistant showed up just before 7:00 p.m. Amanda thanked her friends profusely for the huge favor. Her instructions were brief—record a five-minute video right outside the PICU window where Justin was sleeping in his crib. They’d have to work overnight to have everything ready and posted on YouTube by morning.
It wouldn’t be easy. But it could be done. And they’d do it.
The video went smoothly. The entire event—from arrival to departure—took seventeen minutes.
Its repercussions would last far longer.
* * *
Bleary-eyed and weary, the Forensic Instincts team trudged into the main conference room and reconvened around the expansive mahogany table just after midnight.
As they entered, the wall of floor-to-ceiling video screens began to glow. A long green line slid across each panel, pulsating from left to right as it appeared.
“Hello, team,” Yoda welcomed them. The green line bent into the contour of his voice pattern. “Room temperature is currently at sixty-eight point three degrees. Due to the body heat generated by five hum
ans and one canine, the room temperature will rise to exactly seventy degrees in eight minutes and thirteen seconds. Shall I maintain seventy degrees?” Yoda paused, awaiting further instructions.
“That’s fine, Yoda,” Casey replied. “We’re just fine.”
“Fine?” Ryan muttered reflexively. “How much sleep have you had in the past few days?”
“If you’re addressing me, I don’t sleep, Ryan,” Yoda responded. “You programmed me not to require it. Lumen, Equitas and Intueri were designed to ensure my uninterrupted service.”
Yoda was referring to the three servers that made up the server farm in FI’s secure data center, located downstairs in Ryan’s lair. Ryan himself had named his custom-built servers, giving them the Latin names for light, justice, and intuition.
“I am available twenty-four hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year,” Yoda continued. “And three hundred sixty-six days every four years, plus or minus an occasional leap second as needed—except, of course, for the century year twenty-one hundred, per the leap year algorithm.”
“Gee, Ryan, and here you claimed you were Superman.” Claire’s tone was dry, but her lips were twitching. “Yoda is clearly superior, needs no sleep and is a lot easier to get along with.”
“Thank you, Claire,” Yoda said politely.
“Oh, shut up, both of you.” Ryan looked as if he’d like to short-circuit his creation. “Yoda, chill. We’ll let you know if we need you.”
“Very well, Ryan.” Yoda fell silent, and the glowing line receded.
“Now that you’ve finished having it out with Yoda, can we discuss our respective evenings?” Casey inquired. “And that doesn’t include your lack of sleep, Ryan. Suck it up.”
Ryan knew that tone of voice. Casey wasn’t in the mood for bullshit.
He nodded. “Sorry. Although I want to go on record as saying that everything Yoda knows, I taught him.” Being Ryan, he couldn’t resist adding that, along with darting Claire a sideways look. “In any case, do you want me to report my findings first?”
“Actually, I think Marc and I should go first. That’ll provide a good baseline for Lyle Fenton. Then, yes, I want to hear what your facial recognition software showed.”
Casey and Marc went on to detail the meeting with Lyle Fenton and their take on it.
“Got it,” Ryan said, summing it up for the team. “A dirtbag and a scumbag.”
“Is there a difference?” Claire asked, amused.
“Yeah. A scumbag’s a slimier dirtbag.”
“Ah. Thanks for enlightening me.”
“No problem.” Ryan pursed his lips. “As far as Fenton getting all weird when you brought Mercer into the conversation, I can explain that one—although I think we already know the answer.”
“Go on,” Casey urged him.
