Mike Omer - In the Darkness

Foster sighed. “The lieutenant has some wild theories, but to his credit, he took it seriously, as did the chief. We talked to everyone, did an extensive search in the vicinity. And then, in the evening, a local kid named Ronnie Cronin sent us the link to this video.” He gestured at the monitor, his face weary. “I watched this thing several times. It keeps me awake at night.”

Zoe could sympathize. Even with the image frozen, the frame blurry, caught in the midst of motion, it was unpleasant. The wide, panicky gaze; the gaping mouth, paused midscream; the claustrophobic space the young woman was in. “This local kid,” she said. “How did he find the link to the video?”

“Got it by email. He has a YouTube channel where he talks about . . .” Foster rolled his eyes. “I have no idea about what, frankly. I watched several of his videos, and I couldn’t understand half of what he was talking about. Anyway, he said someone sent this to him and a bunch of other people. He forwarded the email to me. The email is from a temporary mail address and just has the video link. It was sent to ten different email addresses. Eight of them, including Cronin, are popular YouTubers from San Angelo and nearby towns. The other two are local reporters. I talked to a few of them, and they all said more or less the same—they watched a few seconds, decided the video was a distasteful prank, and stopped watching.”

“Did you check Cronin?” Zoe asked.

“He was doing an all-night live broadcast of himself playing a video game with a bunch of friends. We checked it out, and it’s rock solid.”

“Any other leads?” Tatum asked.

“The mother gave us a handful of contacts, mostly friends of Medina. Then I went to the prison and talked to the father. He seemed very worried and told me there was no way this was gang related. We had a lot of ground to cover, and time was ticking.”

Foster adopted the glazed look of a man looking back into the past, regretting his decisions. “I should have insisted right then that we involve you people. But I thought we’d uncover something fast. Then someone talked to Blacky. And since then . . . well, we’re still looking. But the case is going in the wrong directions. And now, if the girl was left buried, there’s a good chance she’s dead.”

“You want us to find her,” Zoe said, the realization sinking. “That’s why you involved the bureau in the first place.”

“Of course. You guys have ways to trace the video, right? Find out who posted it. Our cyber unit got nowhere with it, but the feds should be able to do it easily.”

Zoe gritted her teeth in frustration. She didn’t have Foster’s faith in their cyber capabilities. But even worse, Foster’s call for help had gotten to the wrong place. All the detective needed was someone from the FBI field office in San Antonio to take a look. Instead, his request had somehow been routed to the BAU, wasting valuable time, ending up with the wrong people showing up. Had anyone in the bureau even made a serious attempt to locate the video’s source?

Foster’s eyes shifted between them. “So can you talk to your analysts? Do some FBI magic?”

Zoe shook her head. “That’s not what we—”

“We’ll do whatever we can,” Tatum said.

As far as Tatum was concerned, the entire bureau had only one tech analyst—Sarah Lee from the LA field office. He was vaguely aware of other people sporting the title “analyst” walking around, and it made certain sense. After all, Sarah couldn’t do everything, and other people had to be hired to pick up her slack. But if he needed anything at all, he called Sarah. If he had a question about explosives, he called Sarah. Tricky tool marks in a crime scene—Sarah was the first one he dialed. Couldn’t figure out how to fix his internet router at home after Marvin broke it? A quick phone call to Sarah.

Sitting in the empty cubicle across from Foster’s, he dialed her private number, not bothering to go through her office number.

“Tatum?” She sounded half-delighted, half-aghast to answer his phone call.

“Sarah!” He grinned at the sound of her voice. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. It’s nice to talk to you. How are the things in the BAU?”

“Still learning the ropes,” Tatum said, dutifully taking part in the small talk ceremony. “How’s Grace?” Grace was Sarah’s dog, and Tatum had been regaled with stories about her more times than he could count.

“She’s good. She ate cat poop yesterday.”

“Awesome. Listen, Sarah, I need a favor.”

“Tatum. You can’t keep calling me for favors.”

“It’s a real emergency.”

“Don’t they have people in Quantico to help you?”

“They’re all idiots. And whenever I ask one to help me, they want me to fill out paperwork.”

“Be still my beating heart,” she remarked dryly. “Paperwork? What is the bureau coming to?”

“Form 212B this, Form 42A that—”

“Those are not real form numbers. Did you ever fill out any lab form?”

“I don’t need to, because you are above all that.”

“I’m not above it—you just can’t seem to do it.”

“It’s like I’m James Bond and you are Q, full of technological wonders.”

“I bet even James Bond filled out some request forms every now and then.”

“You are like an oracle who has all the answers.”

“Okay, okay, stop that. What do you need?”

He filled her in on the details, simultaneously emailing her the video link from his laptop. He heard her tapping on her keyboard, and after a minute he heard the faint screaming of Nicole Medina coming from her side of the phone. Sarah’s breath hitched.

“What do you need from me?” she asked. The screaming stopped as she either muted or paused the video.

“I need to trace that video.”

“I can do some digging, but it’ll take time, and I’m not very optimistic.” There was some furious typing going on. “I’ll also try and figure out who the domain name belongs to—maybe I can find it through there.”

Tatum drummed on the desk. “Is there any other way you can get the location of the video? Maybe use aerial photos to search for it?”

Sarah snorted. “And look for what? Cacti, pebbles, and sand somewhere in Texas? I doubt that would narrow it down.”

“Then maybe you could—”

“Maybe you could let me do my job in peace. You’re just as irritating as you were when you were working here. Hovering over my shoulder with your endless suggestions.”

There was some tapping in the background as he waited on the line.

“I just skipped ahead a bit,” Sarah said. “What’s his deal with the president?”

“This isn’t about the president. He’s just using the live feed of CNN to—”

“The CNN feed is live?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll call you once I have something, okay?” She sounded suddenly excited.

“Thanks, Sarah. I really appreciate it. You’re my—”

“I’m your oracle, your Q, your technical wizard—I know. I’ll call you.” She hung up.

Amused, he turned to Foster and Zoe, who were sitting in Foster’s cubicle going over the case’s timeline again.

“I want to talk to Nicole Medina’s mother,” Zoe told him. “And I want to see the place where she supposedly disappeared.”

Tatum followed Foster’s car—a battered silver Chevy—to Nicole Medina’s home. Foster had offered to give them a ride, but Tatum preferred to drive and get a bit of a feel for San Angelo on the way.

The ride would have been relaxing as well if it hadn’t been Zoe’s turn to choose the music. She inflicted Taylor Swift’s Red upon him and pointed out that she was skipping some of the songs because she wanted him to hear the best ones. As far as he was concerned, this didn’t improve the experience.