He shut down the effects and reached into his pocket to pet Chaos. "Hey, stinky." He looked up at me, then cocked his head toward the room. "Tricky, huh?”
"Yeah," I replied. "Very tricky. What about the board of Christmas lights?”
"That's what it is—Christmas lights. It's plugged in, but there's no separate control for the board or the plug. It doesn't have any switch or controls on it, either. As far as I can see, it's there just to be there— maybe it's a control unit. I don't know.”
"So some of this stuff is here for legit purposes.”
"A lot of it. It happens that you can also manipulate some of it, but the recording and monitoring equipment is on the level and there are good reasons to have the sound and light manipulation capability. Now, the modifications to the table I can't see any purpose for except demonstrating fake table movements and sliding objects around, but the rest are solid.”
"Then, except for the table, this stuff is mostly meant to create a conducive mood for belief, not to fake phenomena.”
"Yeah. And to record the phenomena and associated conditions with a high degree of reliability. It's a good arrangement and the distances are so short there'd be little chance for signal loss or interference with the antennas from outside the room. It's a decent old brick building without a lot of iron framing to interfere electrically, but built solid enough to block a lot of outside sound and vibration.”
I sat and thought about that for a moment, until we were interrupted by a knock on the observation room door.
We looked at each other before I opened the door to find a young black man standing in the hall with a large manila envelope in his hand.
I looked at him. "Hi. Can I help you? Dr. Tuckman told me we'd be undisturbed here.”
His face was as unrevealing as an ebony mask and his tone was dismissive. "I don't intend to disturb you. Tuck told me to deliver these— assuming you're Harper Blaine—and since he knew you'd be here, I thought I'd come over early.”
This was not helpful and neither was his lofty attitude. "Yes, I'm Harper. Do you work for Tuckman?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I do. I'm his graduate assistant on the poltergeist project. Terril Dornier. Terry." He didn't offer me his hand or a smile, just held out the envelope.
According to his dossier file, Terry Dornier had an undergraduate degree in psychology and was continuing on to a specialization in abnormal behaviors. His cold outward reserve bordered on disdain. I wondered if that was usual or if he just didn't like me for some reason.
"Hi, Terry. What have you brought?”
"Recordings of the séances and the recent monitoring and notes.”
Quinton stepped into the doorway. "Which codec did you use to encrypt the video?”
Dornier looked startled. "Nothing special. The school can't afford the licensing fees for proprietary software. It's all open source 'nix.”
Quinton grinned. "Great.”
"Terry," I interrupted. "Has anyone been in these rooms since the last session?”
Dornier gave me a flat look. "No. Frankie was going to check the room today, but Tuck told us to leave it be until you were done. He told everyone to stay out until three.”
It was hard to resist grinding my teeth at how thoughtless Tuck-man had been about securing the room. I couldn't be certain no one had nipped in to change anything before Quinton and I arrived—the security of the front desk being what it was. Damn Tuckman for complicating the investigation.
"Who's Frankie?" I asked.
"Denise Francisco," Dornier said, "the department secretary. She used to work for the project, but she quit. She volunteered to reset the room after the sessions since she helped set it up in the first place.”
"Why would she make extra work for herself?" I asked.
Dornier gave me a sideways stare and a frown. "What extra work? She does it all the time. I think she just likes to keep some kind of tabs on the place, feel like she's still involved." Then he closed up as suddenly as an anemone catching a fish. "You should ask her yourself.”
I held out my hand for the envelope. "Thanks, Terry, I'll do that.”
He handed over the envelope without enthusiasm and stared at me a moment before he turned away and headed down the stairs. I stayed in the doorway until he left.
Once we were alone in the booth again, Quinton looked at me with raised eyebrows. I shrugged. "No idea what that was about," I said.
"Are we done here? I don't think there's anything more I can tell you.”
"I wish I knew how long Dornier'd been out there and if he heard or saw anything.”
"Wouldn't matter how long he was in the hall, he couldn't see or hear anything from there and" — he pointed to a red light on the monitoring console—"there're indicators for the door and both windows that show if they're open or closed.”
"Why would they monitor that?" I asked.
"Control. To confirm the condition of the room at all times, make sure no one was sneaking in or out or throwing something through the window, I'd guess. There's a bit of a blind spot near the mirror and in that corner near the door.”
I nodded and looked down at the envelope full of discs. "What was all that business about codecs and 'nix?”
Quinton chuckled. "Just geek-speak. Basically, PNU is too cheap or too broke to use Microsoft or Apple or some other licensed computer system, so all the discs were encoded using free software systems. To be honest, I'm surprised they've sunk so much money into this room if they're running that close to the bone, but there's nothing wrong with the systems they're using—it's pro stuff, even if it's free or cheap.”
"So, am I going to need some kind of special machine to watch the rest of this video?”
He shook his head. "Nah, the video format is about as basic and universal as it gets. You just need a computer with a DVD drive or a decent DVD player. The files are in really basic formats—that's the easiest way to be sure your information's compatible with as many other systems as possible, and it sounds like the school is using whatever systems they can get. It isn't fancy, but it's reliable.”
"All right. Are you free later to look at some of these DVDs with me? I want to be sure I understand what I'm seeing.”
That earned a huge grin from Quinton. "I'm so free I float.”
I snorted at him, then caught a look at the clock in the hall. "Damn. It's later than I thought. The session's going to start in a little over an hour." Chaos stuck her head out of Quinton's pocket and tried to escape to the floor. I grabbed her as she made a leap for the lino. "Oh, no, bandit queen. No wild rampages for you.”
She thrashed around and slipped out of my hand, doing her punk-ferret pogo and chittering in annoyance.
Quinton scooped her up. "What's the matter, tube rat? Past your nap time?" He stuffed the ferret into his sweater. She wriggled about for a moment, then calmed down and poked her head out of his collar, resting her body in the sagging knit. She flipped open her head and yawned.
"Great, now I have to get her to come out of your clothes, then drive back to West Seattle to drop her off, and get back here before three," I groaned.
"I can keep her.”
I peered at him. "What?”
"No problem. I like ferrets. If you give me those treats—and if you trust me—she can hang out with me until you're done, then we can hook up and look at those DVDs.”