Page 57 of Ground Truth

Gaspar confirmed the systems were still running. Faces flashed rapidly on the screen as the images were checked and discarded by the software.

Eventually, if Greta and her husband were still alive, the software would find images of them anywhere in the world where cameras existed.

Question was, how long would it take? And would the images be useful once they were located?

One thing at a time. It was the best he could do given how little they knew at this point.

Drake and Flint had held off discussing the case until Gaspar returned with the steaming pot and topped off their coffee. He’d grabbed a box of guava cookies from the kitchen. Sugar and caffeine kept them all going for now.

“I looked at the flash drive’s contents. The one Detective Myer gave you,” Gaspar said after he settled into his seat again. “Nothing especially helpful that you don’t already know.”

“Did they have any suspects in the Ella Belle murder?” Drake asked. “Or was the burglar just a lucky shot, too?”

Gaspar shook his head. “They found trace evidence at the scene, but all of it was eventually identified. Most belonged to Dr. and Mrs. Reed. Everything else was tied to friends or family.”

“So nothing from the killer, then,” Drake said with a grimace.

“What about Phillip Reed? His behavior after his first wife died doesn’t pass the smell test,” Flint said. “Entirely too methodical and cold-blooded for an honestly grieving husband.”

“Agreed. He finds his wife bleeding on the stairs. Sees the shooter but lets him run out. Doesn’t try to chase him or stop him the way loving husbands do,” Gaspar said. “Rides in the ambulance and the paramedics say he was detached and professional all the way. Not one tear. No angst of any kind. Delivering medical care to her like she was someone he didn’t even know.”

“I’ve seen guys like that in combat, though,” Drake said. “They power through, hanging tough, doing the job they’re trained to do. Doesn’t mean they’re not impacted by it all.”

“True enough.” Flint replied. “But taken together, the transplant operations, the lack of displayed emotions, getting remarried so soon afterward, then disappearing in that boating incident. Dr. Reed is justoff.”

Gaspar said, “He could be a cold-blooded sociopath. There’re plenty of those around.”

“Regardless of his psychological makeup, he’s our most logical suspect. Statistically, the man closest to his female victim is the most likely killer. We’ll go with Dr. Reed for now, keeping an open mind if we find a better option,” Flint replied.

“Suits me.” Drake yawned and shook his head to wake up. The coffee was no longer doing the job. He was wrung out.

Flint stood and stretched and nearly lost his balance. He shifted his feet to avoid falling sideways and then plopped backward onto the lounge chair.

“You guys need a bed for the night? We’ve got an empty guest room. Twin beds,” Gaspar offered. They could probably sleep right here on the patio, but the forecast called for overnight rain.

“We hate to put you out,” Drake said, like a man who wanted to accept the offered hospitality. “What will Maria say?”

“Maria loves guests,” Gaspar replied, moving toward the kitchen. “No reason to go to a hotel. You’d just have to come back here in the morning. This way.”

Once they were settled in the guest room, Gaspar returned to his office with another cup of creamy sweet coffee and a couple of cookies. He sent a few quick emails and wrote a short report to Scarlett about a different case.

He’d finished his coffee and pushed his chair back, intending to go for a refill. Which was when he noticed that one of his systems was still running, but the other one had stopped flashing images across the screen.

The facial recognition software got a hit.

Gaspar examined several images displayed on the screen.

Sometimes the software returned false positives. More often than not, actually.

The reference photo was static in the top left corner. He’d used a formal head shot of Phillip Stephen Reed posted as his public biography on several medical websites before he disappeared.

He could have used passport photos, but he’d had better luck in the past using less formal images if they were clear enough.

The faces showing now on Gaspar’s screen were multiple views of another man the software had matched to the reference photo.

Gaspar sat at the keyboard and isolated the images for a closer look.

“Is that Phillip Reed?” Flint said as he approached to stand behind Gaspar, peering at the screen.

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