The Soul Catcher - Alex Kava [126]
“Look at these two photos,” she said. “Do you see anything different from one to the other?”
He set the tripod aside and picked up the photos to study them. They looked almost exactly the same, same pose, same angle. There was a flash mark at the bottom of one print where the photo ended just above Ginny Brier’s hands, almost exactly where her wrists were. Tully wondered if perhaps it was some mark caused by the developing process, though he knew little about film or print processing.
“You mean this white mark at the bottom? This one has it, but the other doesn’t.”
“What do you think it is?”
“Not sure. Could just be a smudge from developing, couldn’t it?”
“Doesn’t it look more like the flash reflecting off of something?”
He looked again. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s hard to tell. A reflection off of what, though?”
“How about handcuffs?”
He stared at the photo again, then remembered. “She wasn’t wearing handcuffs when we found her.”
“Exactly,” she said, now excited as she grabbed two other photos and slapped them down. “Now look at these two.” They were close-ups of the Brier girl’s face, the dead eyes wide open, staring directly at her audience. They, too, looked the same.
“I’m not following, O’Dell.”
“One is from the roll of film Garrison kept for himself. The roll he used to sell shots to the Enquirer.”
“Okay. How can you tell? They look identical. Same angle, same distance. Seems like he was trying really hard to duplicate what he took for himself and what he took for us.”
“Both photos are the same angle, same distance, same shot, but taken at different times,” O’Dell said, slowing down her excitement, as if she was figuring out the puzzle as she spoke.
“What are you talking about?”
“The eyes,” she said. “Take a close look.”
As she pointed to the corners of the eyes in each photo Tully finally saw what she was talking about. In one photo there were small clumps of the whitish-yellow eggs in the corners of her eyes. Tully wasn’t an expert, but he knew blowflies usually arrived within minutes to a few hours after death and began laying their eggs immediately. Yet in the photo Garrison had kept for himself, the dead girl’s eyes were completely clear. There wasn’t even the hint of infestation.
“That’s impossible,” he said, looking to O’Dell. “This photo had to have been taken shortly after her death.”
“Exactly.”
Tully picked up the tripod again, now more certain than ever that its feet had caused the strange indentations found at the three crime scenes. “Which would mean he’s on the scene before the cops are. Just what the hell is Ben Garrison up to?”
“More important, how does he know about the murders before we do?”
“O’Dell, you’re back,” Cunningham interrupted. He carried a mug of coffee, sipping as he walked, as if he had no time or patience to do only one thing at a time.
“Any word if the agents arrived at the compound yet?” she asked him.
“Why don’t you sit down,” he told her, pointing to a chair.
Tully immediately felt his own muscles tense as he saw O’Dell’s back straighten.
“It’s another standoff, isn’t it?” she wanted to know.
“Not exactly.”
“Eve told me that Everett would never allow himself to be taken alive. He has them prepared for suicide drills. Just like those boys at the cabin.” Her voice seemed calm, but Tully could see her right hand twisting the hem of her windbreaker into her fist. “He’s refusing to give up, isn’t he?”
“Actually…” Cunningham pulled off his eyeglasses and rubbed his eyes. Tully knew their boss wasn’t the type to stall, but lately the man seemed a bit unpredictable. “Everett isn’t there. He’s gone. We think he might already be on his way to Ohio, maybe Colorado.”
O’Dell looked relieved until Cunningham put a hand on her shoulder and said, “That’s not all, Maggie. There were people still at the compound. Between the short time that the Hostage Rescue Team announced its presence and then actually gained access to the compound there must have been a panic. You’re right about the suicide drill. HRT’s not