Read Online Search: A Novel of Forbidden History by Judith Reeves-Stevens, Garfield Reeves-Stevens - Free Book Online
Authors: Judith Reeves-Stevens, Garfield Reeves-Stevens
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predigital age, served more than two hundred supermarkets, drugstores, and camera and gift shops in Los Angeles. After all that time, there was no way to determine where the original roll of film had come from, or who had submitted it for processing.
However, OSI had forwarded the image to the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency. By measuring the angle of shadows in the photo and the terrain elevations in the landscape, and, for all Lyle knew or cared, doing something that involved chicken bones and chanting at midnight, the image analysts had determined the exact place and date the photo had been taken: twenty-one years ago near Big Bear Lake, California, on July 2, at 14:24 hours, local time.
Alice Weir had spent that July Fourth weekend at a local lodge. David, listed on the hotel registry as “and son,” had been five. Nothing indicated that the date had any special significance to either, except for its proximity to the holiday weekend.
Lyle had had Roz make him a copy of the photo for his own office crime board. He was still trying to understand why the suspect had hung on to this specific image. Maybe it would explain a kid brazen enough to steal from the U.S. military for a traitorous billionaire who believed in wild government conspiracies straight from the tabloids.
The only additional personal effects in Weir’s work cubicle had been the non-work-related reading material on his bookshelf—mostly assorted car and motorcycle magazines, continually changing—and, like all his co-workers, the kid had his own coffee mug. White ceramic, with a drawing Roz identified as an X-Man named James Howlett, now called Logan and known as Wolverine. Apparently Wolverine was one of the most popular superheroes these days, had a bad temper, and wanted to know where he had come from.
“Don’t we all,” Lyle had said.
The end result of their search of the office cubicle was that Weir remained a complete cipher. That was informative in itself. In Lyle’s business, people who were ciphers were usually that way for one specific reason: They were deliberately hiding something.
“Last file,” Roz announced.
Colonel Kowinski looked over Roz’s shoulder. “Those are the files he was working with Friday night. He stayed late.”
“We know.” Lyle had been in the car that followed Weir to the Hay-Adams Hotel. He’d heard every word spoken in the bar, and in Ironwood’s suite.
Kowinski peered more closely at the screen. “Yes, that’s everything. Even his nonhuman data’s there.”
“His what data?” Lyle ignored the instant interest on his junior agent’s face.
“Nonhuman. He was doing comparison testing for a quality control program. At least, that’s what he said he was doing.”
“Define ‘nonhuman.’ ”
Roz’s grin widened. Lyle shook his head at her.
The colonel paused before answering, as if she sensed there was more to his question than just an investigator’s curiosity. There was, but he wasn’t telling. It was one thing for Ironwood to gab on about evidence of nonhuman DNA in Weir’s stolen files, but for a rational army colonel to say the same—that was worrisome.
“Neandertal DNA.”
Lyle remembered the kid telling Ironwood that he had downloaded that genetic information. “As in caveman?”
“We all lived in caves once upon a time.”
Lyle thought about Weir’s basement apartment, also thoroughly searched, also devoid of personal details. “Some still do.”
Roz hit the keyboard. “Heads up, boss. Here’re the files he copied to his magic keychain.”
This time, Lyle took a closer look at the screen data. These files were the evidence that would give him the leverage to have Weir choose between going to federal prison or becoming an informant against Holden Stennis Ironwood.
A drawer slid open on a piece of equipment under the desk. Roz removed a silver disk, signed and dated it with a marker, then put the disk into an evidence bag. “That’s
However, OSI had forwarded the image to the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency. By measuring the angle of shadows in the photo and the terrain elevations in the landscape, and, for all Lyle knew or cared, doing something that involved chicken bones and chanting at midnight, the image analysts had determined the exact place and date the photo had been taken: twenty-one years ago near Big Bear Lake, California, on July 2, at 14:24 hours, local time.
Alice Weir had spent that July Fourth weekend at a local lodge. David, listed on the hotel registry as “and son,” had been five. Nothing indicated that the date had any special significance to either, except for its proximity to the holiday weekend.
Lyle had had Roz make him a copy of the photo for his own office crime board. He was still trying to understand why the suspect had hung on to this specific image. Maybe it would explain a kid brazen enough to steal from the U.S. military for a traitorous billionaire who believed in wild government conspiracies straight from the tabloids.
The only additional personal effects in Weir’s work cubicle had been the non-work-related reading material on his bookshelf—mostly assorted car and motorcycle magazines, continually changing—and, like all his co-workers, the kid had his own coffee mug. White ceramic, with a drawing Roz identified as an X-Man named James Howlett, now called Logan and known as Wolverine. Apparently Wolverine was one of the most popular superheroes these days, had a bad temper, and wanted to know where he had come from.
“Don’t we all,” Lyle had said.
The end result of their search of the office cubicle was that Weir remained a complete cipher. That was informative in itself. In Lyle’s business, people who were ciphers were usually that way for one specific reason: They were deliberately hiding something.
“Last file,” Roz announced.
Colonel Kowinski looked over Roz’s shoulder. “Those are the files he was working with Friday night. He stayed late.”
“We know.” Lyle had been in the car that followed Weir to the Hay-Adams Hotel. He’d heard every word spoken in the bar, and in Ironwood’s suite.
Kowinski peered more closely at the screen. “Yes, that’s everything. Even his nonhuman data’s there.”
“His what data?” Lyle ignored the instant interest on his junior agent’s face.
“Nonhuman. He was doing comparison testing for a quality control program. At least, that’s what he said he was doing.”
“Define ‘nonhuman.’ ”
Roz’s grin widened. Lyle shook his head at her.
The colonel paused before answering, as if she sensed there was more to his question than just an investigator’s curiosity. There was, but he wasn’t telling. It was one thing for Ironwood to gab on about evidence of nonhuman DNA in Weir’s stolen files, but for a rational army colonel to say the same—that was worrisome.
“Neandertal DNA.”
Lyle remembered the kid telling Ironwood that he had downloaded that genetic information. “As in caveman?”
“We all lived in caves once upon a time.”
Lyle thought about Weir’s basement apartment, also thoroughly searched, also devoid of personal details. “Some still do.”
Roz hit the keyboard. “Heads up, boss. Here’re the files he copied to his magic keychain.”
This time, Lyle took a closer look at the screen data. These files were the evidence that would give him the leverage to have Weir choose between going to federal prison or becoming an informant against Holden Stennis Ironwood.
A drawer slid open on a piece of equipment under the desk. Roz removed a silver disk, signed and dated it with a marker, then put the disk into an evidence bag. “That’s
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