After a few minutes, something caught Dan’s eye, or so he thought. Uncertain, he played the tape forward, then played it backward a second time, then a third and a fourth time. He was considering the door across the hall from Leah Battles’s office, trying to determine if it had changed positions. That is, the door seemed to have partially closed—only about a foot—though no one had touched it, at least no one on the videotape. Dan rewound the tape and played it forward yet again. The janitor left the building at 11:17 p.m. with the rolling garbage can. Dan watched the office door. Just before the janitor’s return at 11:26 p.m., the door was slightly more closed than it had been when the janitor had exited. Dan played the tape back again to be certain, confirmed what he’d seen, then let the tape run. The janitor took the cleaning supplies into the bathroom. Dan noted that the door again seemed to move, this time slightly more open, and again without anyone being present, at least not on the tape.
He took out his legal pad and made three entries—the position of the door at 11:17 when the janitor left the building, the position of the door at 11:26 when the janitor reentered the building, and the position of the door when the janitor left the building for the night.
Either the Navy had a ghost, or someone had edited the tape.
CHAPTER 42
Tracy awoke, startled at the man standing over her bed, and screamed. Sherlock too sat up and barked.
Dan winced, feeling guilty. He stood at the edge of the mattress holding her laptop and looking down at her with a goofy grin, apologizing for having wakened her but not looking sincere.
After a few moments to catch her breath and regain her bearings, Tracy said, “Well, that would just about scare the crap out of Stephen King.”
As Dan continued to apologize, Tracy looked across the room to the clock on the dresser. Noon. She had three hours until her shift started again. She could use three days. She felt groggy and sleep deprived.
“I have something to show you,” Dan said.
“You better. I set the alarm for one o’clock. You owe me an hour of sleep.”
Dan sat on the edge of the bed and played the tape on her laptop, going through the sections he’d noted on his pad, and pointing out what he’d noticed about the door to the office across the hall from Leah Battles.
“Somebody edited the contents of the disc,” she said, recounting what she’d seen, but also asking Dan for confirmation.
“Sure seems like it.”
She got out of bed and began to put on clothes. “This changes things. Really changes things. How could they do it?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
Tracy thought of Mike Melton. “I know someone who will.”
At just after 3:00 p.m., the start of her shift, Tracy walked into the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab on Airport Way carrying the envelope with the computer disc. Detectives called Mike Melton “Grizzly Adams,” but Tracy called him “Oz,” as in The Wizard of Oz, only Melton wasn’t a sham hiding behind a curtain. He was the real deal.
Melton’s office smelled like vinegar from the wilting, unfinished salad in the bowl on his desk. He looked up as Tracy entered his office, considering her over reading glasses resting on the tip of his nose. He set down a document he’d been reviewing and sat back. “You look like you’ve seen better days.”
“Thanks,” Tracy said, sounding hurt. “I really needed that.”
Melton leaned forward. “I didn’t mean anything by it; you just look tired.”
Tracy chuckled. “You have a wife and six daughters, and you still haven’t figured out when a woman is playing you?”
Melton laughed, rich and full. “And I doubt I ever will.” He had the sleeves of his plaid shirt rolled up meaty forearms, like Paul Bunyan about to swing an ax and fell a tree.
Tracy pointed to the salad. “You going soft on me or is another one of your daughters getting married and you need to fit into your tux?”
“I fit for the first three, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to squeeze into it again, no matter how many salads I eat.” He picked up the bowl. “This is my wife telling me, ‘You better fit into that monkey suit, given what it cost us.’”
“Have you seen Del?” Tracy asked.
“He and Faz came in a few days ago. He looks good. Maybe we’ll rub off on Fazzio.”
“I doubt it.”
Melton pointed to the manila envelope in her hand. “Is that it?”
She’d called him from home, told him what Dan thought he’d detected, and asked him to take a look. She handed him the envelope, along with the yellow legal paper with Dan’s scribbles designating the times he’d noticed the changes in the office door’s position.
Melton pulled the disc from the envelope and inserted it into his computer. He looked down his nose through his reading glasses at the computer screen. Tracy walked behind him and peered over his shoulder as he typed in a command to pull up the video and started through it.
He watched for a few seconds and said, “Superficially, it looks legit.” He pointed. “Date and time stamp in the lower-right portion of the screen.”
“That’s the office door,” Tracy said, pointing over his shoulder to the office across the hall from Leah Battles’s office.
Melton spoke while continuing to view the screen. “And you need me to tell you if you’re crazy, the naval base is haunted, or the tape’s been edited.”
“Correct.”
“Is this a copy?”
“The tape? Yes,” she said, recalling her conversation with Rebecca Stanley.
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Be better if we had the original.”
“I’m working on it. Tell me why.”
“Whoa.” Melton had come to the first door movement. He hit “Stop,” rewound the tape, then hit “Play.” “There it is. Definitely moved.” He sat back, continuing to watch.
“Why would you need the original?” Tracy asked.
Melton looked down at Dan’s log of times on his desk as his fingers clicked more keys. “It’s nearly impossible to monkey with an original tape.” He looked up at her over his shoulder. “So I’m told. I’m not a computer guy. I was born too early, but I know it’s difficult from what I’ve been told. If somebody wanted to monkey with the video it’s easier, as I understand it, if they make a copy. They can then use certain software programs to remove the date and time stamp, edit the video, and replace the date and time stamp so it looks continuous. There it is again,” he said. “Definitely a ghost.” He again hit “Stop,” rewound the tape, and replayed it. This time he pointed with his finger. “Did you see this?”
“The door movement?”
“Not the door. Take a look at the crack between the door and the jamb. Watch the shadow.”
Tracy leaned closer—her chin over Melton’s shoulder. She could smell his cologne. The crack between the door and the jamb darkened. “Somebody’s behind the door.”
“Sure looks like there could be. Something’s creating the shadow. Look. Now it’s gone again.”
“Why couldn’t somebody edit the original?”
“Again, as I understand it, these security videos are watermarked by the manufacturer with a code to prevent someone from tampering with them. It could be like 000111000111. If this was edited, we’ll know because the watermark will have been broken.”
Tracy straightened. “How long will it take?”
Melton hit “Stop” and ejected the disc from the computer. Tracy picked up the paper with Dan’s log and walked back to the other side of his desk.
“I have a guy in the lab who does a lot of this,” Melton said. “It will be right up his alley.”
“Does he need the log?” Tracy asked.
“Shouldn’t.” Melton considered his watch. “Not sure if he’s still here, but if he is, it shouldn’t be too long to determine whether the tape’s been edited, depending on what he has going on. Let me get him working on it. I’ll call later and let you know.”