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“Take us through the rest of your evening,” I said.
“We hugged goodbye. She tried for a kiss, but I shut her down. She smiled, tears on her cheeks. And then she was gone. I took the leftover kung pao and drove home.”
GPS data from the Audi and from his phone showed him back at his Georgetown rental at a little before eleven. The rest of the evening and until eight thirty the next morning, after he learned of the Kane killings, the Audi never moved.
Tull’s phone was also largely stationary from eleven p.m. to eight thirty a.m.
Sampson leaned over and tapped the computer screen, said, “Except for this hour and twenty minutes, from two ten to three thirty. When the Kanes were killed.”
“Wait, what?” Tull said, agitated and coming around behind the computer tech. “Show me moving. I defy you to show me moving anywhere.”
“Not moving,” the tech said. “Just not generating data between your phone, the cell tower, and the satellite. It was dead.”
“You could have turned your electronics off,” I said. “It’s a stretch to make it from Georgetown to the Kanes and back in that time frame, but doable.”
“Except I didn’t do anything but sleep,” the writer protested. “There must be a record of my phone turning off, right? Show me where it turns off and on.”
The computer tech typed on his laptop. He looked at us. “You got me there. The phone was on the entire time, just not transmitting or receiving data.”
“Is that possible in this day and age?” Mahoney said.
“If the cell tower or the satellite went down, sure, it could look like this.”
“Perfect,” Tull said. “Call Verizon. That’s my carrier.”
“We will,” Sampson said. “Count on it.”
“In the meantime, am I in or out of this investigation?” the writer asked me, John, and Ned.
“As far as the FBI is concerned, you are out,” Mahoney said.
Tull looked like he wanted to argue but said, “Fine, I’m out for the time being. Am I free to go home and get some work done? You’ve got my phone and car signals. They’re not electronic ankle bracelets, but then again, I’m not going anywhere.”
Ned glanced at me and Sampson. I said, “We do know where to find him.”
“Thank you, Dr. Cross,” he said sourly. “Appreciate the support.” He plucked his phone and car keys off the tech’s bench, saying, “It would be easier if we cooperated, you know. I’ve written three books and worked with multiple police agencies, and this is the most static I have ever encountered.”
I said, “We tend to keep people at arm’s length until letting them in is warranted.”
Tull paused at the rear of the van. “Suit yourself. I’ll write the book one way or another.”
With that, he jumped down and was gone. A few moments later, we heard the RS 7 fire up with a low-throated rumble and roar off.
Mahoney looked at me and Sampson. “What do you think? Is he our guy?”
I said, “I’m leaning that way, but let me call the folks at Paladin.”
“Why?” John asked.
“In the data dumps from around every prior Family Man crime scene, the analysts at Paladin found localized blackouts of all digital information.”
Mahoney said, “But Tull’s blackout was not around the crime scene.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m interested in seeing if it happened other times around Tull’s place in the past month or so.”
“Preferably close to the times of death.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And if anyone can figure that out, it’s Ryan Malcomb and his team at Paladin.”
