“This dude’s seen Avatar six times,” said Raley.
Nikki read on. “ ‘Unfortunately, the owner of this ribbon had rewound and reused the ribbon at the end of each spool, causing overstrikes which have obliterated most of the retrievable text.’ ”
“Cassidy was cheap,” offered Rook. “That’s already in my article.”
“Is any of this ribbon readable?” asked Ochoa.
“Hang on.” Nikki scan-read the rest of the e-mail and summarized. “He says he flagged those images that at least had some promise for us to examine. He’s sending the ribbon to get X-rayed to see if more can be read on it. That takes time, but he’ll let us know. . . . He’s happy to . . .”
“Happy to what?” said Ochoa.
“Live in his parents’ basement,” suggested Rook.
But Raley read the last line over Nikki’s shoulder. “ ‘I am happy to have the privilege of doing any favor I can for the famous Detective Nikki Heat.’ ”
Nikki caught Rook’s grimace but moved on. “Let’s split these up and start screening them.”
Raley and Ochoa each took a block of screen captures, about fifteen apiece, and brought them up on their desk monitors. This was one area where Jameson Rook’s knowledge of the victim would clearly be useful, so Nikki entrusted him with a series of files to examine, too, at the desk he had claimed. The remaining prospects she kept for her own perusal.
The work was tedious and time-consuming. Each image had to be opened separately and looked over carefully for any words or, hopefully, sentences to make sense out of the blur. Raley commented that it was like staring at one of those matrix posters they used to have in malls, where, if you squinted the right way, you might see a seagull or a puppy. Ochoa said it was more like looking for the weeping Virgin on the trunk of a tree or Joaquin Phoenix on a piece of burned toast.
Nikki didn’t mind their banter. It made the arduous task merely grueling. As her eyes strained and squinted at her own screen, she reminded them of her tenets of good investigation. Rule #1: The time line is your friend. Rule #2: Some of the best detective work is desk work.
“Right about now, I’ve got a third rule,” called Ochoa from his desk. “Take the early retirement.”
“Got something,” said Rook. All three detectives gathered behind his chair, glad for the excuse to get away from their own desks and monitors, even if it was for nothing. “It’s some decipherable words, anyway. Five words.”
Nikki leaned around Rook to bring herself closer to his screen. Her breast grazed his shoulder, an accident. She felt her face flush but soon got pulled from that distraction by the image on his computer.
stab me n th back
“OK, this is frame 0430. ‘Stab me in the back.’ ” Nikki could feel a small release of adrenaline. “Bring up 0429 and 0431.”
Raley said, “I think I’ve got 0429,” and hurried back to his desk while Rook brought up 0431, which was garbled and unreadable. They had all gathered behind Raley already by the time he said, “Come look.”
His screen, displaying the frame before “stab me in the back,” had a name typed on it. And every one of them knew it.
Heat and Rook stood against the back wall of the Chelsea rehearsal hall watching Soleil Gray with six male dancers run through choreography for her new music video. “Not that I don’t enjoy my backstage access,” said Rook, “but if we know Tex is the killer, why are we bothering with her?”
“We know Cassidy was writing about Soleil because of the typewriter ribbons. And the Texan stole them, right?”
“So you think Soleil and Tex are connected?”