Backfire
Page 3
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Roper said, “I had them filter out everything but Briggs’s voice and the man’s. Listen again.”
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“I found this envelope propped against the glass right outside. I brought it to you before it got trampled or tossed or whatever.” A low voice, not particularly deep, but clear as a bell. A nice voice, really, calm, unhurried. And young.
Briggs accepted the envelope, studied it for a second, and the man blended into the group of tourists behind him. They saw him walk out the Pennsylvania Avenue exit and disappear. Roper said, “All slow and easy, not a care in the world. And that’s it.” Roper turned off the video.
Dane Carver said, “You’ve figured out his size?”
Roper said, “He’s five-eight, weighs about one hundred thirty-five pounds. So what do you think?”
Ruth Warnecki Noble said, “I’d like to watch this a dozen more times, but first impression? He’s slight for a guy, but I’d say he’s male, twenty to twenty-five.”
Dane said, “Or a pretty average female. But I agree, the walk makes you think man. But who knows? He never took off his hoodie and sunglasses.”
Savich said, “We’ll get the DVD to Operations Technology at Quantico. They’ll enlarge, enhance, depixelate the face, do some reconstruction for us. The lab at Quantico can work on the audio recording.”
There was a knock on the conference room door. It was an audio tech, Chuck Manson, who swore every single week he would have his name changed, but he never did. Savich suspected it was because he really enjoyed the attention. “Ninety-eight percent chance it’s a man, and under thirty,” Manson said, and disappeared.
“Okay, if Chuck says it’s a guy, I’ll take his word for it,” Roper said. “I’ve asked for possible brands on the pants and hoodie, we’ll see.”
Lucy Carlyle said, “He has to look up when he speaks to Briggs, then his head goes down again. He knows he’s on camera. It’s a giveaway.”
Savich’s second-in-command, Ollie Hamish, said, “Denny, did you speak to the other security guard behind the Plexiglas? His name’s Brady, right?”
Roper nodded. “Brady remembers the guy, what with the envelope delivery, but neither Brady nor Briggs can tell us much that’s helpful.”
“I’d like to speak to both Briggs and Brady myself later,” Savich said as he stood.
Roper nodded. “I’ll send both of them up.”
Savich shook his head. “No, let me come down to the mezzanine to your turf.”
Cooper McKnight sat forward. “Unless this guy’s a loon, he’s got to be from one of our cases. We could start with the most recent gnarly one—Bundy’s daughter. Even though Comafield’s close relatives seemed normal as apple pie, who knows? Maybe there’s a nutso in there.”
Roper looked at Savich. “I’ll leave the video. Let me know when you want to speak to my people.” He paused in the conference room doorway, a big man, built like a thick, knotted rope, Savich had always thought, and added, “I don’t like this punk coming into our house like that. There are a lot of brains in this room, so take care of this for us.”
Sherlock read the note again. “For what you did you deserve this. Something you did specifically, Dillon, so it’s got to be a case you were personally involved with. There’s Lissy Smiley, for example—that was up close and personal. But it could take weeks to make sure there’s no one, absolutely no one, who would care enough about any of the dozens of perps we’ve brought down to do something this nuts.”
Dane Carver said, “I wonder what the threat is, exactly? For what you did you deserve this. What is this? Is he targeting someone specific?”
All eyes turned to Sherlock.
Sherlock splayed her hands in front of her. “It doesn’t have to be me. All right, all right, I’ll be really careful. We’ve got the guy on camera, we’ll get a good facial reconstruction. It’s our best lead.”
Savich saw everyone was looking at him now. He tried to keep his face blank, but it was hard. He realized he was clutching his pen too tightly. It was Sherlock, he simply knew the threat was directed at Sherlock. Who else? He wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He couldn’t stand himself. Get it together. He said, his voice sounding calm and in control, “If any of you come up with anything we haven’t mentioned, let me know. I’m going down to the security section, speak to Briggs and Brady. Sherlock, you and Dane start work on this.”
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“I found this envelope propped against the glass right outside. I brought it to you before it got trampled or tossed or whatever.” A low voice, not particularly deep, but clear as a bell. A nice voice, really, calm, unhurried. And young.
Briggs accepted the envelope, studied it for a second, and the man blended into the group of tourists behind him. They saw him walk out the Pennsylvania Avenue exit and disappear. Roper said, “All slow and easy, not a care in the world. And that’s it.” Roper turned off the video.
Dane Carver said, “You’ve figured out his size?”
Roper said, “He’s five-eight, weighs about one hundred thirty-five pounds. So what do you think?”
Ruth Warnecki Noble said, “I’d like to watch this a dozen more times, but first impression? He’s slight for a guy, but I’d say he’s male, twenty to twenty-five.”
Dane said, “Or a pretty average female. But I agree, the walk makes you think man. But who knows? He never took off his hoodie and sunglasses.”
Savich said, “We’ll get the DVD to Operations Technology at Quantico. They’ll enlarge, enhance, depixelate the face, do some reconstruction for us. The lab at Quantico can work on the audio recording.”
There was a knock on the conference room door. It was an audio tech, Chuck Manson, who swore every single week he would have his name changed, but he never did. Savich suspected it was because he really enjoyed the attention. “Ninety-eight percent chance it’s a man, and under thirty,” Manson said, and disappeared.
“Okay, if Chuck says it’s a guy, I’ll take his word for it,” Roper said. “I’ve asked for possible brands on the pants and hoodie, we’ll see.”
Lucy Carlyle said, “He has to look up when he speaks to Briggs, then his head goes down again. He knows he’s on camera. It’s a giveaway.”
Savich’s second-in-command, Ollie Hamish, said, “Denny, did you speak to the other security guard behind the Plexiglas? His name’s Brady, right?”
Roper nodded. “Brady remembers the guy, what with the envelope delivery, but neither Brady nor Briggs can tell us much that’s helpful.”
“I’d like to speak to both Briggs and Brady myself later,” Savich said as he stood.
Roper nodded. “I’ll send both of them up.”
Savich shook his head. “No, let me come down to the mezzanine to your turf.”
Cooper McKnight sat forward. “Unless this guy’s a loon, he’s got to be from one of our cases. We could start with the most recent gnarly one—Bundy’s daughter. Even though Comafield’s close relatives seemed normal as apple pie, who knows? Maybe there’s a nutso in there.”
Roper looked at Savich. “I’ll leave the video. Let me know when you want to speak to my people.” He paused in the conference room doorway, a big man, built like a thick, knotted rope, Savich had always thought, and added, “I don’t like this punk coming into our house like that. There are a lot of brains in this room, so take care of this for us.”
Sherlock read the note again. “For what you did you deserve this. Something you did specifically, Dillon, so it’s got to be a case you were personally involved with. There’s Lissy Smiley, for example—that was up close and personal. But it could take weeks to make sure there’s no one, absolutely no one, who would care enough about any of the dozens of perps we’ve brought down to do something this nuts.”
Dane Carver said, “I wonder what the threat is, exactly? For what you did you deserve this. What is this? Is he targeting someone specific?”
All eyes turned to Sherlock.
Sherlock splayed her hands in front of her. “It doesn’t have to be me. All right, all right, I’ll be really careful. We’ve got the guy on camera, we’ll get a good facial reconstruction. It’s our best lead.”
Savich saw everyone was looking at him now. He tried to keep his face blank, but it was hard. He realized he was clutching his pen too tightly. It was Sherlock, he simply knew the threat was directed at Sherlock. Who else? He wanted to say something, but nothing came out. He couldn’t stand himself. Get it together. He said, his voice sounding calm and in control, “If any of you come up with anything we haven’t mentioned, let me know. I’m going down to the security section, speak to Briggs and Brady. Sherlock, you and Dane start work on this.”
