sounds crazy, but I went over every message twice. It took me a while.’ She moved to the front of her desk and leaned back against its edge. ‘They’re all twelve seconds long.’
Cohen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Twelve seconds? All sixty of them?’
‘Precisely. Not a second more, not a second less. Even the last message with the noise and the creepy murmur – twelve seconds exactly.’
‘And that’s not a fault with the machine?’
‘Nope.’
‘Did anyone set the message recording time to only twelve seconds?’
Myers looked at Cohen inquisitively. ‘I didn’t even know you could do that.’
‘I’m not sure you can, but I’m just trying to cover all angles.’
‘Even if that’s possible, who’d set a message recording time to only twelve seconds?’
Cohen had to agree. ‘OK,’ he said as his stare returned to the voice recorder. ‘Now that’s officially messed up, and I’m officially intrigued. There’s gotta be a meaning to it. No fucking way the twelve seconds thing is a coincidence.’
‘No fucking way,’ Myers agreed. ‘Now we’re just going to have to find out what it means.’
Twenty-Six
‘What?’ Garcia asked, facing Hunter and moving towards the canvas. ‘What have you found?’
‘We need to get the Forensics guys in here, now.’ He paused and looked up at his partner. ‘Someone was hiding behind this canvas.’
Garcia crouched down next to Hunter.
‘Look at this.’ Hunter pointed to the floor just behind the canvas base. ‘Can you see the dust marks?’
Garcia squinted as he moved his face so close to the floor it looked like he was about to kiss it. Moments later he saw it.
Since it had been placed there, regular house dust had settled on the floor around the canvas edge. Garcia saw a long, dragging dust mark.
‘The canvas was moved forward,’ he finally admitted.
‘Enough for a person to get behind it,’ Hunter noted.
Garcia bit his bottom lip. ‘Laura could’ve moved it forward herself.’
‘She could’ve, but check this out.’ Hunter pointed to a spot further behind the canvas, closer to the wall.
Garcia squinted again. ‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’
Hunter reached for his pen flashlight. ‘Look again.’ He handed it to Garcia.
Garcia directed the light beam to the spot Hunter had indicated. This time it didn’t take him long to see it.
‘I’ll be damned.’
Just a few inches from the wall, he identified the faint outline of foot imprints left in the dust. Clear indications that someone had been standing there.
‘Look at it one more time,’ Hunter said. ‘See anything that strikes you as odd?’
Garcia returned his attention to the imprints. ‘Nope, but you obviously have, Robert. What am I missing?’
‘The amount of variation on the imprints.’
Garcia looked for a third time. ‘There’s barely any.’
‘Exactly. Isn’t that strange?’
It finally clicked. When standing in a confined space for even a small amount of time, it was natural for anyone to fidget and shift his or her weight from foot to foot, to try to move into a more comfortable position every time the old one becomes uncomfortable. That shifting should, in theory, leave behind several different onionskin imprints. There were none. And that could only mean two things – either the killer didn’t wait long, or – and the thing that really bothered Hunter – the killer was preternaturally patient and disciplined.
Hunter’s cell phone rang in his pocket.
‘Detective Hunter.’
‘Detective, it’s Pam from Operations,’ said the voice at the end of the line. ‘I’ve emailed you all the information we managed to get on Patrick Barlett. At the moment he’s out of town.’
‘Out of town?’
‘He’s been away at a conference in Dallas since Tuesday evening. He’s flying back tomorrow – mid-afternoon. Everything checked out.’
‘OK, thanks, Pam.’
Hunter disconnected and returned his attention to the space behind the large
Cohen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Twelve seconds? All sixty of them?’
‘Precisely. Not a second more, not a second less. Even the last message with the noise and the creepy murmur – twelve seconds exactly.’
‘And that’s not a fault with the machine?’
‘Nope.’
‘Did anyone set the message recording time to only twelve seconds?’
Myers looked at Cohen inquisitively. ‘I didn’t even know you could do that.’
‘I’m not sure you can, but I’m just trying to cover all angles.’
‘Even if that’s possible, who’d set a message recording time to only twelve seconds?’
Cohen had to agree. ‘OK,’ he said as his stare returned to the voice recorder. ‘Now that’s officially messed up, and I’m officially intrigued. There’s gotta be a meaning to it. No fucking way the twelve seconds thing is a coincidence.’
‘No fucking way,’ Myers agreed. ‘Now we’re just going to have to find out what it means.’
Twenty-Six
‘What?’ Garcia asked, facing Hunter and moving towards the canvas. ‘What have you found?’
‘We need to get the Forensics guys in here, now.’ He paused and looked up at his partner. ‘Someone was hiding behind this canvas.’
Garcia crouched down next to Hunter.
‘Look at this.’ Hunter pointed to the floor just behind the canvas base. ‘Can you see the dust marks?’
Garcia squinted as he moved his face so close to the floor it looked like he was about to kiss it. Moments later he saw it.
Since it had been placed there, regular house dust had settled on the floor around the canvas edge. Garcia saw a long, dragging dust mark.
‘The canvas was moved forward,’ he finally admitted.
‘Enough for a person to get behind it,’ Hunter noted.
Garcia bit his bottom lip. ‘Laura could’ve moved it forward herself.’
‘She could’ve, but check this out.’ Hunter pointed to a spot further behind the canvas, closer to the wall.
Garcia squinted again. ‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’
Hunter reached for his pen flashlight. ‘Look again.’ He handed it to Garcia.
Garcia directed the light beam to the spot Hunter had indicated. This time it didn’t take him long to see it.
‘I’ll be damned.’
Just a few inches from the wall, he identified the faint outline of foot imprints left in the dust. Clear indications that someone had been standing there.
‘Look at it one more time,’ Hunter said. ‘See anything that strikes you as odd?’
Garcia returned his attention to the imprints. ‘Nope, but you obviously have, Robert. What am I missing?’
‘The amount of variation on the imprints.’
Garcia looked for a third time. ‘There’s barely any.’
‘Exactly. Isn’t that strange?’
It finally clicked. When standing in a confined space for even a small amount of time, it was natural for anyone to fidget and shift his or her weight from foot to foot, to try to move into a more comfortable position every time the old one becomes uncomfortable. That shifting should, in theory, leave behind several different onionskin imprints. There were none. And that could only mean two things – either the killer didn’t wait long, or – and the thing that really bothered Hunter – the killer was preternaturally patient and disciplined.
Hunter’s cell phone rang in his pocket.
‘Detective Hunter.’
‘Detective, it’s Pam from Operations,’ said the voice at the end of the line. ‘I’ve emailed you all the information we managed to get on Patrick Barlett. At the moment he’s out of town.’
‘Out of town?’
‘He’s been away at a conference in Dallas since Tuesday evening. He’s flying back tomorrow – mid-afternoon. Everything checked out.’
‘OK, thanks, Pam.’
Hunter disconnected and returned his attention to the space behind the large
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