David Baldacci - Zero Day

“Army calls it a CSED, or Crime Scene Exploitation Device. It’s a camera with a bar coder, digital screen, labeler, and printer all rolled into one. It’s got a flip-out USB so I can down-and upload from my laptop. My digital recorder has the same capability. And it has an electronic transcriber so it’ll automatically type out what I’ve recorded by voice. I’m not great on the keyboard.”

“That is beyond cool,” said Monroe.

“Don’t get too excited, Lan,” said Cole. “Doubt there’s money in the budget for us to get one of those.”

Puller glanced at Cole. “Tell me about the dog that was here.”

“Collie. Got a colleague taking care of it. Friendly thing.”

“Okay, but any of the neighbors report hearing any barking?”

“Dog can’t bark,” replied Cole. “Probably the only reason they let it live.”

“A dog that can’t bark?”

“Well, it hasn’t once barked for us. Might’ve had an operation done. That can sometimes screw up the bark. At least according to a vet friend of mine that I asked.”

Looking down at the lined-up bodies, Cole said, “You said they were interrogated but didn’t really explain what you meant. They obviously weren’t being interrogated after they were killed. So why line them up on the couch after they were dead?”

“I think the person wanted to see them being interrogated. And they also wanted to see on the video that they were dead.”

“So they were broadcasting the video out to someone else?”

“That’s how I read it.”

Cole slowly nodded. “So if we can get our hands on the video, there might be some clues. One of the killers might have stepped in front of the camera, for example. Or maybe it might have caught a reflection of one or more of them.”

“That’s true. But odds are if we find the video, we’ll find the killers too. That’s not something they’ll leave lying around.”

“Well, let’s hope that happens.”

“We need to get the bodies to a refrigerated environment soon and then have the posts done,” said Puller as he stared down at the decomposing bodies. “At some point courtroom evidence starts falling apart. How’s it coming with your doctor friend?”

“Should know something definitive later today.”

Puller knelt down next to Matt Reynolds. “Shotgun to the face. Less than three feet away, minimal pellet dispersal, wadding in the wounds. If the muzzle was choke-bored it could muddy that analysis.” He indicated the wadding. “Lan, have you taken a sample yet to verify gauge?”

“Yeah. Haven’t done the test yet, but I hope once I compare the diameter with sample wads it’ll give us an answer.”

Puller turned to the wife’s body. “I measured the distance between pellets, and that together with no central wound or wadding means she was probably shot from farther away than ten feet.”

“But down in the basement,” said Cole, who knelt next to him.

“Presumably. But serology results will confirm it,” said Puller.

“Why the basement?” asked Cole.

“Quieter,” said Puller. “But you still have problems.”

“Like what?”

“Shotgun blast even in a basement in the middle of the night might attract attention. And you have to control the other captives. They hear the shot, they panic, start screaming, trying to get away, knowing they’ll probably be next.”

Monroe snapped his fingers, unlocked a metal evidence box he’d previously brought into the house, and pulled out some sealed, labeled evidence bags.

“I was wondering why I found these things in those places. But what you just said may explain it.”

Puller took up the bags one by one. “Tell me what you’ve got here.”

“That bit of gray fuzz came from the girl’s left ear. The white thread I found inside the boy’s mouth. Found a similar one hung up on the mom’s left molar.”

Cole looked at them over Puller’s shoulder.

Puller said, “The white thread in the mouth? Gag?”

“And the thing in the ear?” asked Cole.

Monroe said, “I’m thinking it’s a piece of an ear bud. Like from headphones to an iPod or MP3 player.”

Puller said, “They were blasting music into their ears when they were shooting people. So they couldn’t hear it.”

“That’s pretty hardcore,” added Monroe.

Puller said, “But that doesn’t explain the shotgun use. Maybe they couldn’t hear it, but some of the neighbors might have.”

Cole rose and went over to the window and looked out. She whirled back around.

“You said blasted.”

Puller handed the bags back to Monroe and turned to her. “Yeah. So?”

“Trent Exploration. They might’ve blasted on Sunday night. And this neighborhood is only a couple miles away from where they’re doing it.”

Puller was staring at Cole. “Okay, but would the blast be loud enough to cover a fired shotgun from being heard in another house?”

“From a basement, I’d say so. If you’re close enough to them, some of those explosions can lift you right out of your bed.”

“You say they might’ve blasted. You don’t know for certain?”

“No, I live pretty far from here. But the sound of a blast reaching this neighborhood had to come from a Trent operation. It’s the only one nearby.”

Monroe said slowly, “Wait a minute. I was out late that night with my girlfriend. About two miles from here but in another direction. I remember hearing it.”

Puller said quickly, “Do you recall the time of the explosion?”

He thought for a few moments. “Between midnight and one, I’d say.”

“That mirrors the timeline established by the body deterioration,” said Puller. “But having a tighter time window helps us in one respect.”

“Alibis, or lack thereof,” noted Cole, and he nodded in agreement.

Puller said, “But then we have to wonder why they shotgunned the parents and not the kids. Or why not blunt force to all of them and you don’t have to worry about the sound of a gun?”

Neither Cole nor Monroe had a ready answer to those queries.

Puller looked at the tech. “You get elimination prints from the victims and the wife’s parents?”

“Yeah. That’s where I was early this morning before I went to scrub the car.”

“You didn’t tell them what had happened, though?” Cole said quickly.

“Well, the mom’s had a stroke. I just printed her while she was unconscious, so I couldn’t tell her anything. The dad goes in and out. I made it a game so he wouldn’t catch on.”

“Dementia?” said Puller, and Cole nodded.

“Does he have lucid moments?”

She said, “I think so, sometimes. You think he might be helpful?”

Puller shrugged. “Well, if somebody local killed these folks he might know something. Here’re the possibilities as I see them. One, they were killed because of Colonel Reynolds’s employment with DIA. Two, something connected to the mom. Three, something connected to the kids. Four, something connected to the wife’s parents. Or five, something we don’t see as yet.”

“Could be a random burglary,” noted Monroe.

Puller shook his head. “They left a late-model Lexus, a laptop computer, and the wife’s wedding ring. No other valuables known to be missing. And random burglars seldom take the time to interrogate their victims.”

Cole added, “The wife’s parents probably don’t have an enemy in the world. And the wife and kids were just here for the summer. I doubt they had time to make any enemies. That leaves Colonel Reynolds.”

“Maybe. Still have to check it all out.” Puller rose. “Any other prints here that didn’t match the eliminated ones from the first responders?”