the facility in a broadcast truck. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m scheduled to go live from here top of the hour.”
“I’m going to share some information with you,” Barnhill said. “Some of it I need to go out on the air to the public as soon as possible. Most of it I need to stay in this office. For now.”
“That’s not something police normally say to reporters,” Maya said.
“No, I don’t suppose it is. But I want you to understand the situation fully.”
Her senses were on full tingle now. “I appreciate that.”
“First, some ground rules.”
“What kind of ground rules?”
“If you agree to keep a tight lid on everything I want you to hold back, then I won’t hold back anything,” Detective Barnhill said. “And when your competition from the other affiliates and the print outlets show up, I’ll remember all the trust you and I have established.”
“By observing the ground rules,” she said.
Barnhill touched a finger to his nose. “As long as you hold up your end of the deal, no other reporter gets any information from me that you didn’t get first. I’ll give you my word on that. Your thoughts?”
Maya thought that this man Barnhill from the sheriff’s detectives was already planning a press conference in his head, and he didn’t appear to be enjoying it. She glanced at Morton Clay in the corner. Benson’s attorney didn’t appear to be enjoying it either. She said, “I’d say that sounds doable.”
“Then we have an agreement.” Without further preamble, the detective walked over to the desk, where Maya saw two matching BlackBerry mobile phones sitting side by side on top of a plain manila file folder. “What I’m about to show you falls under the stuff-we-keep-in-this-office category.”
Maya nodded.
Barnhill picked up one of the phones. “This is Cheryl Benson’s PDA.” He picked up the other phone, so that he now held one in each hand. “This one belongsto her husband. Mr. Benson arrived here at the facility just over an hour ago. Shortly after that time, both phones received the same transmission, copied simultaneously.”
“What kind of transmission?”
Barnhill fiddled with one of the phones, then brought it over to Maya. “Remember,” he said. “Inside this office only.”
Maya took the device and looked at the screen. At first she couldn’t make sense of what she saw there. “Is that …” She looked closer. Her pulse spiked. “Is this Juliet Benson?”
“Her parents assure me it is.”
Maya drew in a breath.
“What you see there was sent from Juliet’s phone,” Barnhill told her. “Whoever sent it went through and picked
Mom
and
Dad
out of the girl’s contact list. That phone, hers, is now offline.”
“Holy shit.” Maya stared at the image in the palm of her hand: a digital photo, presumably taken with the camera on board Juliet Benson’s phone. The resolution wasn’t great, but the image was legible enough for Maya to recognize Wade Benson’s daughter, bound and gagged in the trunk of a car. “When did you say this came in?”
“Three fifty-seven this afternoon, according to the time stamp.”
Maya took another look at the image. It was difficult to absorb the details; her mind kept straining to run ahead of her.
I just talked to you
, she thought.
As if reading her mind, Barnhill said, “I understand that you also may have video images of Miss Bensonfrom earlier today. Her general appearance, what she was wearing, et cetera. Is that correct?”
Maya felt herself nodding. She couldn’t stop looking at the PDA screen. In the photo, Juliet Benson’s pretty dark hair clung to the grimy carpet of the trunk floor beneath her head in wet, matted tendrils. Her mouth had been stuffed with some kind of rag and tied with what appeared to be the belt of her own raincoat. Above the gag, her eyes swam with fear.
“Around her wrists,” Maya said, squinting. “Are those flex cuffs?”
“Possibly,” Barnhill
“Yes, that’s right. I’m scheduled to go live from here top of the hour.”
“I’m going to share some information with you,” Barnhill said. “Some of it I need to go out on the air to the public as soon as possible. Most of it I need to stay in this office. For now.”
“That’s not something police normally say to reporters,” Maya said.
“No, I don’t suppose it is. But I want you to understand the situation fully.”
Her senses were on full tingle now. “I appreciate that.”
“First, some ground rules.”
“What kind of ground rules?”
“If you agree to keep a tight lid on everything I want you to hold back, then I won’t hold back anything,” Detective Barnhill said. “And when your competition from the other affiliates and the print outlets show up, I’ll remember all the trust you and I have established.”
“By observing the ground rules,” she said.
Barnhill touched a finger to his nose. “As long as you hold up your end of the deal, no other reporter gets any information from me that you didn’t get first. I’ll give you my word on that. Your thoughts?”
Maya thought that this man Barnhill from the sheriff’s detectives was already planning a press conference in his head, and he didn’t appear to be enjoying it. She glanced at Morton Clay in the corner. Benson’s attorney didn’t appear to be enjoying it either. She said, “I’d say that sounds doable.”
“Then we have an agreement.” Without further preamble, the detective walked over to the desk, where Maya saw two matching BlackBerry mobile phones sitting side by side on top of a plain manila file folder. “What I’m about to show you falls under the stuff-we-keep-in-this-office category.”
Maya nodded.
Barnhill picked up one of the phones. “This is Cheryl Benson’s PDA.” He picked up the other phone, so that he now held one in each hand. “This one belongsto her husband. Mr. Benson arrived here at the facility just over an hour ago. Shortly after that time, both phones received the same transmission, copied simultaneously.”
“What kind of transmission?”
Barnhill fiddled with one of the phones, then brought it over to Maya. “Remember,” he said. “Inside this office only.”
Maya took the device and looked at the screen. At first she couldn’t make sense of what she saw there. “Is that …” She looked closer. Her pulse spiked. “Is this Juliet Benson?”
“Her parents assure me it is.”
Maya drew in a breath.
“What you see there was sent from Juliet’s phone,” Barnhill told her. “Whoever sent it went through and picked
Mom
and
Dad
out of the girl’s contact list. That phone, hers, is now offline.”
“Holy shit.” Maya stared at the image in the palm of her hand: a digital photo, presumably taken with the camera on board Juliet Benson’s phone. The resolution wasn’t great, but the image was legible enough for Maya to recognize Wade Benson’s daughter, bound and gagged in the trunk of a car. “When did you say this came in?”
“Three fifty-seven this afternoon, according to the time stamp.”
Maya took another look at the image. It was difficult to absorb the details; her mind kept straining to run ahead of her.
I just talked to you
, she thought.
As if reading her mind, Barnhill said, “I understand that you also may have video images of Miss Bensonfrom earlier today. Her general appearance, what she was wearing, et cetera. Is that correct?”
Maya felt herself nodding. She couldn’t stop looking at the PDA screen. In the photo, Juliet Benson’s pretty dark hair clung to the grimy carpet of the trunk floor beneath her head in wet, matted tendrils. Her mouth had been stuffed with some kind of rag and tied with what appeared to be the belt of her own raincoat. Above the gag, her eyes swam with fear.
“Around her wrists,” Maya said, squinting. “Are those flex cuffs?”
“Possibly,” Barnhill
Similar Books
