He turns around and feigns a eureka moment, flashing his white teeth in the dark.

“The time came from my phone.” He throws a snarky dart, and it won’t find its mark with me.

“Is that okay? Or should I trust my watch instead?” he asks, and I won’t engage.

“The time I have written down for when I got the call is nineteen-oh-six-hundred hours.” He says it as if I won’t know what that is.

I jot it down. “Twenty-three-twenty Zulu time. Twenty minutes past seven EDST.” Then I ask, “How was the call classified when it was broadcast? What was said exactly? Because it would seem the media isn’t aware of anything yet.”

“It came in as a ten-seventeen.” He waits for me to ask him what that is, but I know the police ten-codes probably as well as he does.

I’ve been hearing them my entire career, and a 10-17 is common. It literally means “meet complainant.”

“I’m assuming it was about the twin sisters,” I interpolate, and Barclay stares at me as I think, What a dick.

He says nothing went out over the air that might alert reporters monitoring Boston-area law enforcement radio frequencies. This continues to argue against Marino’s suspicious phone call being from anyone legitimately involved in the case. It would seem Barclay absolutely didn’t contact Interpol’s National Central Bureau in Washington, D.C. I have a feeling that Marino’s right. The inexperienced investigator probably wouldn’t think of it and might not even know what the NCB is. Not every cop does.

Marino certainly didn’t initiate the contact, and of course I didn’t. It couldn’t have been anyone at my office. We didn’t know about the death at the time the alleged NCB investigator called Marino’s cell phone. What’s becoming more apparent is that the person responsible is someone up to no good, to understate the problem.

“I happened to be on Memorial Drive and got here in maybe three minutes max,” Barclay then answers what I didn’t ask about why he was the first responder or paid attention to a low-priority call.

Meeting a complainant suggests someone wants to talk to a police officer, usually to report a concern or upset of one sort or another. A general request like that could be about anything. Much of the time it’s about nothing, and it surprises me that a detective would pay much attention to such a call unless it was specifically directed at him. But Barclay is new to the Major Case Squad. Maybe he’s overly eager. Maybe he was bored.

“And the two girls who found her?” I ask, and I’m watching Marino talk to them out of earshot. “Are they students? Because they look too young for college.”