Joker nodded and finished his whisky. He pushed the empty glass across the bar and Shorty refilled it. “There is one thing, though, Damien. You’re going to have to cut back on your intake while yer working, okay?”
Joker grinned and raised his glass to the diminutive barman. “Sure, Shorty. Whatever you say.”
Kelly Armstrong flashed her FBI credentials at the young woman behind the reception desk. The name on the badge pinned above the woman’s right breast said Tracey.
“Are you Tracey Harrison?” asked Kelly.
“Yes, miss,” said Tracey eagerly. “You’re the lady from the FBI I spoke to yesterday?”
“That’s right. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Sure. Just let me get someone to cover for me.” She disappeared through a door and returned a few moments later with a middle-aged man whom Kelly took an instant dislike to. He looked her up and down with an expression she’d seen a thousand times before and knew that he was wondering how someone with her looks could be working for the FBI.
“You’re a Fed?” he asked, his gaze hovering around her breasts.
“Special Agent Armstrong,” she said, holding out the ID.
“Never seen a Fed like you before,” he said, looking at her legs.
“I’m sure,” she said, tartly. “I’d like a few moments with Miss Harrison, please.”
“It’s nothing I can help with?” he said. “I’m her superior.”
Kelly wanted to laugh in his face because superior was the last description that came to mind: he had a flabby body, pale, flaccid skin and greasy, slicked-back hair and he reminded her of the Italian baker who was always trying to pat her on the butt when she was six years old. Before she could reply, Tracey spoke up. “It’s about the cars I rented, Wally.”
Wally could barely conceal his disappointment. “Maybe I should sit in on it,” he said.
“That won’t be necessary,” said Kelly. “Can we speak in private, Miss Harrison?”
As Kelly followed Tracey out of the reception area she had to walk by Wally and for an awful moment she flashed back to the sweet aroma of freshly-baked loaves and cakes and the floury smell of the Italian’s thick forearms as he twiddled the ends of his moustache and waited for her mother to look the other way before trying to touch her. Kelly looked at Wally, her eyes blazing, and he took an involuntary half-step backwards. Kelly smiled. “Thank you, Wally,” she said. “We won’t be long.”
The office was light and airy with a window which overlooked the car park. The two women sat down and Kelly opened her briefcase and took out a notebook. “The forensic people were here this morning?” she asked.
“That’s right,” said Tracey. “They’ve left it a mess, too. Will they come back and clean it? Everything is covered in that white powder they use for fingerprints.”
“I think you should leave it as it is for a while,” said Kelly, “we might need it for evidence.”
“Yeah, that’s what the men said, but they couldn’t tell me how long it would be.”
“I’m sorry,” said Kelly. “But I can tell you that we really appreciate your help.” She took out a big white envelope and slid out the computer-enhanced photographs which Cole Howard had given her. “Can you look at these for me, see if you recognise anyone?”
Tracey went through the pictures one at a time. She looked up, frowning. “They seem a little out of focus,” she said. “Can’t you make them any clearer?”
Kelly laughed. “Tracey, you wouldn’t believe how much time and trouble we’ve gone to in order to get to this stage,” she said. “I’m afraid that’s the best we can do.”
Tracey handed back the pictures of the woman. “It certainly wasn’t her, it was two guys I saw.” Then she passed over the photographs of the bigger man. “He’s too big, they were normal build, and younger.” She studied the three photographs left which were all of the man who had been standing next to the woman. “Yeah, this could be one of them. His hair was more red than this, though.”
“That could be because of the enhancement process,” said Kelly. “What about the shape of his face, his build?”
“I think so, yes,” said Tracey. “I mean, I can’t say for certain, but I’m reasonably sure.”
“Was this the one with the accent?”
“That’s right. Justin Davies.”
“Scottish, you said. Or Australian.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that since you called. I’m really not sure what sort of accent it was, you know? They all sound the same.”
Kelly nodded. “I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “You know the accent is different, but you’re not sure how.”
“That’s right, absolutely,” agreed Tracey.
“I thought of a way that might help,” said Kelly, taking a tape-recorder out of her briefcase. “I’ve brought along some recordings of different accents, and I’d like you to listen to them.”
Bonnie Kim was waiting for Howard in the reception area of the FBI’s Washington research centre and she took him along to her laboratory where her husband was hard at work on one of her computers.
“Cole, good to see you again,” said Andy, pumping the FBI agent’s arm in a hearty handshake.
“I didn’t realise you were working here,” said Howard, sitting down on one of the stools in front of the workbench.
“We thought it best,” explained Bonnie. “In view of what the video shows, we felt it should stay on FBI property.”
“My professor said he was quite happy for me to work here for a while,” added Andy.
“Did you tell him what you were working on?” asked Howard.
“Only that the FBI had an application for my computer modelling. I told him that it was classified at the moment but that I should be able to get a paper out of it in the not-too-distant future.”
“Good,” said Howard. “How’s it going?”
Andy pushed his spectacles up his nose. “I’ve almost finished the sniping model,” he said. Bonnie stood behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“He hasn’t left the lab in two days,” she said.
Andy smiled and shrugged. “The hardest part was the measurements,” he said. “That laser measuring device you got from the Highways Department was a godsend.” His hands moved across the keyboard. For the first time Howard noticed how small and delicate they were. The computer monitor cleared and three yellow dots appeared, each about the size of a dime. “These are the snipers,” Andy explained. “To get the complete image on the screen I’m using a scale of about three hundred feet per inch.” He punched more keys and four blue circles appeared in a row on the far right of the screen. “These are the targets,” he said. “For the purposes of the model I’m assuming it’s the figure second from the right which is the assigned target. They’re so close together that over the distances we’re looking at it won’t make much difference which of them it is. Okay?”
“Sounds fine to me, Andy.” Howard watched as thin white lines joined the yellow circles to the blue circles. “Again, I’m making another assumption here and that’s that the bullets go straight from the rifles to the target. You probably know that that’s not actually the case and that they follow a parabolic path, but for what we’re doing that doesn’t make any difference. There you have it.” Andy sat back from the screen while Howard looked at the geometrical shape formed by the seven circles and three lines. Andy smiled and flicked his unkempt hair from his eyes. “It doesn’t look much different from what I did for you on my micro at home, does it?” he said.
“That’s just what I was thinking,” said Howard.
“You’ve got to remember that it’s not the shapes and colours that are important — it’s the distances and the angles. What you’re seeing here is an accurate representation of what went down in the desert.”
It sounded to Howard as if the mathematician was trying to justify all the hard work he’d put into the project, so he smiled reassuringly. “I understand, Andy. So where do we go from here?”