Dark Justice(19)

“I don’t know. Some big machine.”

“Machine? What’s it doing?”

I shrugged. “Falling apart, maybe?”

Wade stood. “I’ll go get a laptop.”

Harcroft waited until Wade had closed the door behind him. “So this is the original. You gave a copy to those supposed FBI agents. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you keep a copy for yourself?”

I froze. Why had he thought to ask that? I locked eyes with the deputy, not wanting to admit the truth. Knowing I couldn’t lie again.

“Yes. On my laptop.”

“Why?”

I focused on the table. “I don’t know. Curiosity, I guess. And because I knew it was important. Morton must have struggled to get it into my pocket. So I figured I’d better back up the file. I knew I’d be giving the original to you.”

Deputy Harcroft gave me a long look. “When you get home, erase it. Now that you’ve put the original in our hands, we’ll worry about backing it up.”

“Okay.”

The man’s eyes lingered on my face, as if he wasn’t sure he believed I’d follow his orders.

“Did Morton Leringer say anything to you about the video, Mrs. Shire?”

Here it came. “No. But he did say some things. Nothing that made much sense.”

“Things you didn’t tell me about?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . my mother was upset. And I thought what he’d said was personal, perhaps something I could talk to him about later when we visited in the hospital. But then I found the flash drive. And two men showed up at my house. Now I think it all must be connected.”

The door opened. Wade strode in, carrying a small computer, already running. He set it on the table and stood beside Harcroft. “Let’s see what this is.” He pulled on a latex glove and plugged in the drive. Started the video.

I leaned over to see the monitor. We watched in silence. When it was done, Wade played it a second time, then hit pause as the video ended, keeping the picture of the machine on the screen.

The two men looked at each other.

I studied their faces. “What is that machine?”

Wade frowned at the frozen picture on the monitor. “A generator of some kind.”

“The last scene looked like a power plant.” Harcroft narrowed his eyes at the video.

Of course. The steel structures that seemed so familiar. The kind I’d seen from certain freeways in the Bay Area.

In the same second a realization rippled the expressions of both men. The air stilled. I watched them exchange silent, grim messages. Fear—of what?—rooted me to my chair. The moment stretched out, a taut rubber band.

The band snapped. A mask slid over their faces.

Harcroft turned to me. My throat felt tight, pressed in by the atmosphere of the room.

Wade pushed the computer to the side and sat down. Took off his glove. “The two men at your house. Did they seem to know about this video before you mentioned it?”

I blinked, trying to rip my mind from its questions of what had just occurred. Hugging my arms to my chest, I tried to think back. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I’ll tell you one thing—they knew what was said at the ambulance, just before Morton was put inside. They must have gotten that out of the paramedics.” I related how the men had repeated my mother’s words to Morton: “We won’t forget.”

“When the men asked me about it, I told them it was just Mom’s way of saying we’d remember Morton.”

“But it was something else?” Harcroft raised his eyebrows. “You said Leringer talked to you.”

“Yes.” I told them every word I could remember, focusing on Harcroft. Wade listened, silent, his expression unchanging. When I was done no one spoke for a moment. “Again, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Harcroft nodded. He sat back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at the wall. “Raleigh.” He looked to Wade. “North Carolina?”

“Maybe.”

“Was Morton from there?” I asked.

A beat passed, as if the men hadn’t heard me. Harcroft shrugged. “We’re still learning about him.”

Wade asked me about the scene of the accident. Had I seen anyone else nearby? Any cars? Had Leringer given any clues as to who stabbed him?

Not a word, I told them. “The things he did say seemed more important to him.”

Wade consulted his notes for a moment. “Do you know a man by the name of Nathan Eddington?”

I repeated the name. “No.”

“Never heard of him.”

“No. Who is he?”

“Did Morton Leringer say anything about him?”