Page 30 of Hacker Betrayed

The person who wanted to ruin my life seemed to know about things close to me. The change to my records and the evidence I knew wasn’t there before the cops showed up proved that. I wondered if the person was on the police force. My brother had found no links in the organization to who would come after me, and neither had Donovan. Brock thought it was someone from one of my prior cases, but now I wondered if the person was an officer. They could plant the prints. The probability that I’d pissed someone at the station off was high. And although I watched my surroundings for suspicious cars, not once did I think about the officer’s car parked behind Tabitha’s apartment. I figured he lived in the complex. Now I wondered if he was the eyewitness.

Ft. Lauderdale had close to three hundred sworn police officers. Pinning the murder back on the police wouldn’t go well for Paxton. “Can I see where you found the prints?”

Higgins handed me a folder and walked over to Paxton’s desk and slid the photos across the surface. I couldn’t help but let my mind wander back to when he had me across that same desk. Annoyed, I redirected my focus back to the photos. My head was not in the game, which was precisely the reason I thought we should never sleep together. He clouded my judgment and made it hard for me to concentrate. And yet I wasn’t sure I could walk away.

Paxton stood beside me, his body pressed against mine.

“Later,” he whispered in my ear. The damn man could read my thoughts.

I concentrated on the three photos. The crime scene tech took a picture of the prints on a kitchen table. The palm and along the fingers were dark, but the fingers were light. “Why would he place his hand on the table but keep his fingers up?” I wanted to point out it wasn’t her table either, but I would keep that a secret in case Paxton needed to officially fight the charge.

“Does it matter?” The young officer stomped over to the desk and poked his finger at the image. “They are his prints. I could get an eight-point match.”

The lowest number most courts would even allow was eight. Some judges frowned upon that low a number. “To me, it looks like someone planted his prints after they lifted them.” I held up Paxton’s hand. “He has long fingers. When he holds a cup or glass, his fingertips might not press down hard or at all. I bet someone took his prints from a cup, which could happen at a restaurant. Why only one set of prints in the entire apartment?”

“He could have missed cleaning up this set,” Fredricks continued to talk. “You sure are fighting hard for the man who might have killed your sister. Look here.”

A video played on the officer’s phone. Paxton was at a Bona’s in downtown Ft. Lauderdale. In the video my sister sat across from him. The person who took the video sat a few tables away. Paxton’s voice came from the speaker. He was asking her when she wanted to come over.

Paxton plucked the phone out of the officer's hands and paced back and forth. “How is this possible? I’ve never gone to Bona’s. If the media got a hold of this video, my father would kill me. My adoptive father’s archenemy owns this restaurant. I’m probably on the ‘do not allow inside’ list. I tried going to an art show three months back, but hadn’t realized Walter Edward owned the gallery. Security stopped me before I so much as stepped inside. Did you check the cameras at the restaurant?”

The officer pointed to the phone. “Why do I need more evidence when I have the video in your hand?”

My knowledge of computers only included what I picked up at work. Some of the shit they talked about went straight over my head. Brock paid me for my fighting skills. I did remember we had a prior case where someone multiplied a video with new technology, though.

“Wait, let me see that again.” I held out my hand and waited for him to place the device in my palm. I didn’t have time to send the video to Brock, but I recalled a couple of his tips. In the third loop of the video, I caught the change in the right eye. “This is a deepfake. This past year a new app dropped to make creating these easier. Soon the technology will be untraceable, and nobody will know it’s a fake with one glance. The one I saw a few months back was easier to pick out the minor glitch. Whoever created this is a hacker, or knows one. But I can guarantee this is not Dr. Paxton.”

“You’re telling me someone stole his prints and placed them at your sister's crime scene, then created a deepfake? I’ve watched the video at least twenty times, and it looks real.” The officer paused. “You believe this, Detective?”

“Well, I was the one who told you none of the evidence seemed right. You went to the Deputy Chief and dragged me out here instead of a call. I’m getting too old for this shit.” Higgins gestured toward the phone.

The officer’s face turned deep red. “I should have known you were on the Ellisons’ payroll! I am going to take him down to the station, and if the tech guys can see any glitches, we can release him.”

I slipped my phone out of my pocket and tapped on Brock’s number.

Me: Police are at Paxton’s practice. They’re blaming him for Tabitha’s murder.

My phone vibrated as I slipped it back in my pocket.

“Watch the eyes. The way he tilted his head forward, the software will have a harder time with the eyes. At the three-minute mark, his eyes go crazy, just for a quick flash.”

“Holy shit, how did we miss that?” Higgins said under his breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” The officer yanked his phone back. “Where were you the day of the murder? Around six o’clock.”

“I don’t remember.”

My head whipped to the side. Paxton’s jaw ticked. Fuck, he was at the club, and no way he would give up his alibi or the damn club. Except the murder was way earlier in the day. Like the cop knew to ask what he was doing at six in the evening.

“So, you have nobody who can account for you?” The officer rested his hand on the butt of his gun.

“You’re correct. Not sure why I would need anyone to vouch for me. The video is fake, and I never even met Tabitha.”

The only damming evidence was the fingerprints. “We can come down to the station tomorrow, but we have somewhere to be,” I offered.

Higgins’s phone beeped, and he glanced at the screen. “That’s my boss. He wants us to bring Paxton down to the station.”

Shit. “Okay, we will follow you.”

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