Cingle hit something called fine tune. Then she looked at Matt. He smiled at her.
"Don't you see?"
"See what?"
"It's gray. That much I could tell on the camera phone. But now look. There are raindrops on the window."
"So?"
"So this picture was sent to me yesterday. You see any rain yesterday? Or the day before?"
"But wait, isn't Olivia supposed to be in Boston?"
"Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't. But there hasn't been rain in Boston either. There hasn't been rain anywhere in the Northeast."
Cingle sat back. "So what does it mean?"
"Hold up, check something else first," Matt said. "Bring up the camera phone video and play it slowly."
Cingle minimized the photograph of Charles Talley. She started clicking icons again. Matt felt the rush. His leg started shaking. His head began to clear.
The video started playing. Matt tried to watch the woman with the platinum-blonde wig. Later, maybe he'd go through it step-by-step, confirm that it was indeed Olivia. He remained fairly certain that it was. But that wasn't the issue right now.
He waited until the woman started moving, waited for the flash of light.
"Hit pause."
Cingle was quick. She hit it with the light still there.
"Look," he said.
Cingle nodded. "Well, I'll be damned."
The sun was bursting through the window.
"The photograph and the video weren't taken at the same time," she said.
"Exactly."
"So what happened? They downloaded the first picture onto Olivia's phone or maybe took a picture of a picture?"
"Something like that."
"I still don't get it."
"I'm not sure I do either. But… start the tape rolling again. Slow motion."
Cingle did as he asked.
"Stop." He looked at it. "Blow up the guy's left hand."
It was a shot from the palm side of the hand. Again it was blurry when she first blew it up. She used the software enhancer. The hand came more into focus.
"Just skin," Matt said.
"So?"
"No ring or wedding band. Let's switch back to our photograph of Charles Talley."
This one was easier. The photograph had a better resolution. The figure of Charles Talley was larger. His hand was up, palm wide open, almost as if stopping traffic.
The backside of a ring was clearly visible.
"My God," Cingle said. "It's a setup."
Matt nodded.
"I mean, I don't know what's going on in this video, but they wanted you to think this Charles Talley guy was having an affair with Olivia. Do you have any idea why?"
"None. Did you find anything more on Talley?"
"Let me check my e-mail. Something should be in by now."
While Cingle started up her online service, Matt took out his cell phone. He once again hit the speed dial for Olivia. The small warmth was back in his chest. He smiled. Yes, there were problems- Olivia was still in a hotel room with a strange man- and, okay, maybe he was still just a touch high from the remnants of vodka, but there was hope now. The curtain of doom seemed to be parting.
This time, Olivia's recorded voice sounded melodic to him. He waited for the beep and said, "I know you didn't do anything wrong. Please call me." He looked over at Cingle. She was pretending not to listen. "I love you," he finished.
"Aw, how sweet," Cingle said.
A male voice from her computer shouted: "You've got mail."
"Anything?" Matt asked.
"Give me a second." She started scanning the e-mails. "Not much yet, but, okay, it's something. Talley has three assault convictions, arrested twice more but the cases were dropped. He was suspected- man, this guy is creepy- of beating his landlord to death. Talley last served time at a state prison called- get this- Lovelock."
"That name rings a bell. Where is it?"
"Doesn't say. Hold on, let me do a quick search." Cingle started typing, hit return. "Jesus."
"What?"
She looked up at him. "It's in Lovelock, Nevada."
Nevada. Matt felt the floor drop away. Cingle's cell phone chirped. She lifted it into view, read the LCD screen.
"Give me a second, okay?"
Matt might have nodded. He felt numb.
Nevada.
And then another stray thought- another wild, possible connection to Nevada- came to him: During his freshman year of college, hadn't he gone with some friends to Nevada?
Las Vegas, to be more specific.
It was there, on that trip so many years ago, that he first met the love of his life…
He shook his head. Uh uh, no way. Nevada is a big state.
Cingle hung up the phone and started typing on her computer.
"What?" he said.
Her eyes were still on the monitor. "Charles Talley."
"What about him?"
"We know where he is."
"Where?"
She hit the return button and squinted. "According to Mapquest, less than four miles from where you're now standing." She took off her reading glasses and looked up at him. "Talley has been staying at the Howard Johnson's by Newark Airport."
Chapter 25
"YOU SURE?" Matt asked.
Cingle nodded. "Talley's been there at least two nights. Room 515."
Matt tried to put some of the pieces together. Nothing fit. "Do you have the phone number?"
"The Howard Johnson's? I can look it up online."
"Do that."
"You're going to just call him?"
"Yes."
"And say what?"
"Nothing yet. I just want to see if it's the same voice."
"The same voice as what?"
"The guy who called me whispering about what he was about to do to Olivia. I just want to know if it was Charles Talley."
"And if it was?"
"Hey, you think I have a long-term plan here?" Matt said. "I'm barely winging it."
"Use my phone. The caller ID is blocked."
Matt picked up the receiver. Cingle read off the number. The operator answered on the third ring. "Howard Johnson's, Newark Airport."
"Room 515, please."
"One moment."
With the first ring his heart began to pick up its pace. The third ring was cut off midway. Then he heard a voice say, "Yeah."
Matt calmly replaced the receiver.
Cingle looked up at him. "Well?"
"It's him," Matt said. "It's the same guy."
She frowned, crossed her arms. "So now what?"
"We could study the video and picture more," Matt said.
"Right."
"But I don't know what that would tell us. Suppose I'm wrong. Suppose it was Talley in both the video and the picture. Then we need to talk to him. Suppose it was two different men…"
"We still need to talk to him," Cingle said.
"Yes. I don't see where we have any choice. I have to go over there."
"We have to go over there."
"I'd rather go alone."
"And I'd rather shower with Hugh Jackman," Cingle said, standing. She took out her hair tie, tightened the ponytail, put the tie back in. "I'm coming."
Further argument would just delay the inevitable. "Okay, but you stay in the car. Man-to-man, alone, maybe I can get something out of him."
"Fine, whatever." Cingle was already on her way to the door. "I'll drive."
The ride took five minutes.
The Howard Johnson's could have been located near an uglier stretch of freeway, but not without a dumping permit. Or maybe they already had one. On one side of Frontage Road was the New Jersey Turnpike Exit 14 toll plaza. On the other side was the parking lot for Continental Airlines employees. Take Frontage Road a few hundred more feet, and you were at the Northern State Prison, conveniently located- more convenient than the Howard Johnson's even- to Newark Airport. Perfect for the quick getaway.
Cingle pulled up to the lobby entrance.
"You sure you want to go alone?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Give me your cell phone first," she said.
"Why?"
"I have this friend- a financial bigwig on Park Avenue. He taught me this trick. You put on your cell phone. You call mine. You leave it on and connected. I put the mute feature on my phone. Now it's like a one-way intercom. I can hear what you say and do. If there's any trouble, just shout."