Big Easy Temptation (The Perfect Gentlemen #3)(103)
“Shit. So we’ve got a pro after us,” Dax said under his breath. “After me.”
She knew that expression. It was his “protective man” look, and she wasn’t letting it go any further. “Don’t you dare even think about leaving me behind. My uncle already tried to talk me into protective custody. I’m not doing it. I might have a uterus but it doesn’t mean I’m not damn good at my job. If you don’t want me with you, I’ll investigate on my own, but I have a stake in this and I’m the only one here with anything close to real jurisdiction.”
“I have presidential authority,” Dax pointed out.
“You captain a boat for your commander in chief. You don’t investigate murder and mafia. I’m the law enforcement officer. Let me do my job, Dax.”
He held up a hand, obviously giving in. “I will, since you have a stake in this.”
He was deliberately misunderstanding her. “Like I said, I’m NCIS and this crime involved a Naval officer.”
Dax sighed. “Of course. I didn’t expect you to give a shit about anything else.”
She was being stubborn. “These bastards fucked me over and fucked over my friends, and I’m not going to stand by and allow it to happen.”
“Then come with me and we’ll show you what we have,” Dax promised.
Connor stepped aside. “I’m actually going to go look into something else. You didn’t happen to get the police report on the shooting yesterday, did you?”
She nearly growled her frustration. “No, my uncle told me the only way he would give it to me is if I came in. We all know where that would lead.”
“I have some friends. I’ll see what I can do.” Connor left the room, striding down the hall.
“By friends he means hackers,” Lara offered with a smile. “Come on. Freddy is using the same techniques he used to bust that new Sasquatch video that came out. He’s up on all the latest ways to forge a video.”
Freddy looked up from his laptop. “There are lots of software programs that can change the appearance of frames or sequences. Hollywood has some great special effects, and now any kid with a tablet can use most of them, but I don’t think they used software to fix the problems with this. They went low tech, which is actually surprisingly effective.”
“What do you mean?”
“Watch the video of the admiral supposedly entering the hotel room with Amber Taylor. He never turns his head,” Freddy pointed out.
“Yes, so there’s no positive identification except the desk clerk who checked him in.” It had always nagged at her. This video had been shown all over the news. It was much less damning than the photographs, yet this was the evidence they’d released. Had they known the still photos of the two of them supposedly in bed wouldn’t stand up to real scrutiny? If they’d sent those pictures to the press, they would have been analyzed to death and someone probably would have found out the issue with time and place.
“Eyewitness testimony can be faulty,” Freddy said as he typed, and a new screen came up. “Sometimes the mind simply can’t remember all the details. And . . . then other times people are just assholes who can be bought. I would bet that’s the case with this guy, Anson King.”
“Where is he now?” Dax asked.
“Conveniently died of cancer about six months after your father.” Freddy sent him an acidic scowl. “I’m sure his family got a windfall for his assistance. He was a perfect choice. Because of the media circus and high-profile attention, the statutory rape trial against your father would likely have taken longer than King’s six months. The guy could have signed an affidavit, or been questioned by the police or attorneys, but he didn’t. Either would have been admissible in court. But even if the judge had elected to throw out King’s eyewitness account because he couldn’t be cross-examined, everyone on the jury would still have heard his version of events. Unless the judge was dirty. Who knows? I’ll give it to these Russians. They are very thorough.”
“They are,” Dax agreed with a sigh.
“But I’m smarter.” Freddy never took his eyes off the keyboard. “And I understand little concepts like math.”
“He also wrapped his sleeping bag in tinfoil,” Lara said, patting his head like she would a Labrador retriever.
“It keeps the aliens from getting into my dreams. They do that, you know. Especially to creative people.”
If Holland didn’t get them back on task, Freddy might give them a lecture on ancient aliens and the dream world. “How does math help us here?”
“Look, I want this tape to be wrong, too. But my mother told me she was certain this was my father. She said she recognized the uniform jacket.” Dax pointed to the screen. “See. It’s hard to tell, but if you look closely there’s a patch on the left shoulder. Dad tore it walking through a construction zone while getting a tour of a new facility. Is there any way he’s drugged in this video? They did it once. They could do it again.”
“Absolutely not.” Freddy touched the keyboard and suddenly a bunch of lines and numbers appeared. “How tall was your father?”
“Six foot two. A couple of inches shorter than me.”
“Yes, that’s what I put him at, too,” Freddy replied. “I pulled up photographs of him from the Internet. This particular software can mathematically examine a photograph.”