The Secret Friend by Chris Mooney

I’m sure you’re on them.’
    ‘I have no doubt.’
    ‘Then it’s only a matter of time before they find out who you are.’
    ‘Yes, I realize that,’ Fletcher said, standing. ‘I’m going to create a diversion.’
    ‘With what?’
    ‘The truth,’ Fletcher said.
    Hale’s Newton office building was conveniently located off the Mass Pike. The parking lot, cleared of snow, contained a single patrol car. The front door, made of glass, was shattered. Darby saw a brick lying on the lobby floor.
    The place was trashed. Computer monitors were smashed against the floor, desk drawers overturned, contents spilled everywhere. Plants had been thrown against the white walls, some of which were spray-painted with bright neon swastikas and the phrases ‘Jews Go Home’ and ‘White Power’.
    The patrolman, short with thick shoulders and a doughy face, stifled a yawn. ‘Assholes came in here and, as you can see, tossed the place to shit,’ he told Bryson. ‘The little bastards were pretty smart. They cut the wires for the alarm.’
    ‘Why do you think kids did this?’
    ‘Every time we get one of these hate-crime things, teenagers are always behind it. Probably one of those Aryan Brotherhood groups from Southie. They came here last year, broke into a synagogue and spray-painted the same lovely phrases all over the walls. It’s an initiation thing.’
    ‘And now they’re ransacking office buildings?’
    ‘Hey, I’m just throwing out ideas. You’re the detective, so why I don’t let you go and detect?’
    ‘Who called it in?’
    ‘One of the plough guys,’ the patrolman said. ‘The two of ’em got here this morning at around nine. When they made their way around to the front, they saw the door, took a quick peek inside, called it in and here we are.’
    Bryson nodded, looking at a security camera mounted against the ceiling.
    ‘You can forget that,’ the patrolman said. ‘The tapes were removed from the recorders.’
    ‘Show me.’
    The door to the security room had been pried open. Given the marks, Darby suspected something like a crowbar was used.
    Like the lobby, the small room had been ransacked – recorders, computer monitors and cheaply made pressboard bookcases were smashed against the floor covered in hundreds of DVDs stored inside clear jewel cases. Some of the DVDs were smashed into pieces. Darby noticed pieces of equipment that transferred VHS tape to DVD.
    Bryson picked up one of the cases. It was neatly labelled with the building’s name, month and year of the recording.
    ‘How much you want to bet the recording we need is missing?’ Bryson asked.
    ‘That’s a sucker’s bet,’ Darby said. ‘Still, we should get people here to catalogue the DVDs and see what’s missing.’
    ‘I’ll make the call. We’re going to have to process this. I’ll call Ops, get some people here.’
    ‘I’m going to get back to the lab. I’d also like to look at Chen’s place.’
    ‘She’s renting in Natick. They have a key. I’ll let them know you’ll be calling.’
    ‘I’d like to view last night’s security tape.’
    ‘I already made you a copy. I put it in the overnight drop-off.’ Bryson sighed as he tossed the DVD case onto the floor. ‘I’ll have patrol drive you into town.’

25
    The lab’s overnight drop-off box contained only one item: a sealed padded mailer. Darby saw her name written across the front. She opened the mailer on her way to the conference room.
    The VHS security tape showed, in grainy colour, Emma Hale’s parking garage. Sitting on the edge of the table, Darby watched a man with short black hair, pale skin and a black wool coat walk quickly across the garage to the delivery elevator. He pressed the button and waited, his back facing the camera. The man’s hair colour and clothing matched the intruder she had met last night – Malcolm Fletcher.
    When the elevator doors opened, Fletcher stepped inside and moved to the right, out of the camera’s view. The doors