“Not close enough, it looks like,” Riley said.

Culligan looked appropriately abashed. “She was supposed to call me if she ran into any trouble.”

“We’ll need a copy of that video,” Cruz said.

Culligan pulled out the flash drive and slid it across the table. At the same moment Barrett pulled a document from his briefcase. “Affidavits establishing authenticity and chain of custody,” he said.

Riley looked askance as Cruz took the documents. “You really wrapped this up with a bow for us, didn’t you?”

“We want justice for Lucy. We’ll do whatever we can to accomplish that.”

“We’ll need to see the rest of your surveillance from last night, too,” Cruz said. “Where Lambert went after that, what she did, where Carter-Jones went. Movements of both of them from eight thirty-six until they stepped on the elevator.”

Barrett looked to Culligan, who nodded. “Like I said, the system is motion-activated and only in the public spaces, so it won’t be continuous. But we’ll pull it together.”

Barrett nodded and got to his feet, a signal that the meeting was adjourned. But Cruz was giving him a skeptical look. “She’d have to be an idiot,” he said. “To pick that moment to commit murder. Stuck in an elevator with no escape route.”

“Or a genius,” Barrett said, “if she sells you guys on suicide.”

“Genius enough to sabotage the elevator, too?”

He shrugged. “Talk to the elevator company. Their engineers tell me the power went out because a breaker tripped. That happens. But the emergency backup system failed, too. That shouldn’t have happened. It was a software malfunction, they tell me. And Shay’s a software whiz.”

“C’mon,” Cruz scoffed. “She hacked the system?”

“Maybe. She wrote a software program for her old law firm that they’re still using today. She’s a smart girl, Detectives. You shouldn’t put anything past her.”

Chapter 10

January 2, 2014

It wasn’t simply a job that I was desperate for. I was desperate to work. I wanted to release the parking brake on my career, put my brain back in gear, and stomp my foot all the way to the floor. That was Mrs. Casco’s analogy. Your brain is a high-performance engine, she used to say. You need to open it up and let it roar. For the past few years it had been more like a hand-pushed lawnmower. My biggest workday dilemmas had been paper or plastic or cash or card. So now I couldn’t wait to hit the gas and see how fast and far I could go.

But I had to wait. When I reported for duty bright and early January 2, the CDMI reception area was dark and the desk unattended. Behind the glass wall of the aviary, the doves perched with their beaks tucked to their breasts and their eyes closed. I hovered uncertainly beside the all-white mannequin. After ten minutes the elevator chimed, and when two men in suits strode off, I stepped out with a bright “Hello?” One mumbled “Morning” and walked on. The other nodded and walked on.