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“So Driscoll somehow obtained this video,” Kit said, “then superimposed his face on the killer’s and dubbed the audio?”
Ryland nodded. “That’d be my guess.”
“Can you see what’s underneath his face?” Navarro asked. “The real face?”
Ryland’s expression was both grim and full of regret. “No. We’d have to have the original, and this clearly isn’t it.”
Onscreen, the man with Driscoll’s face had hefted Jaelyn over his shoulder, her blond hair trailing down his back.
There were a few seconds of empty living room, then the video ended.
Kit pinched the bridge of her nose. “Driscoll used to be an IT person for a big firm in town before his temper got him fired. Could he have had the kind of expertise to do this?”
“Sure.” Ryland grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen from his desk drawer. “It’s easy for anyone familiar with photo editing to do. Time consuming, but not difficult. This is an excellent execution, though. Excepting the shadows, the head looks right on the body.”
“How did Driscoll get this video?” Kit asked. “Did he plant the cameras? Did he steal them from the killer? Did the killer record his kills for kicks? Did Driscoll do any of the murders or did he just claim this guy’s kills?”
“Good questions,” Navarro said wearily. “Let’s find out. Unfortunately, we’re going to have to watch the rest of the videos. Maybe some of them are originals.”
Ryland squared his shoulders. “Okay.”
Kit exhaled. It was going to be a very long night.
SDPD, San Diego, California
Wednesday, April 20, 8:45 a.m.
Kit looked up from her computer screen blearily as Connor Robinson sank into the chair beside her. He looked like shit. Just like everyone else looked after watching Colton Driscoll’s videos for nearly five hours.
“You okay?” she asked. She’d called Connor and Howard in to help sort through the video evidence and they’d divided the task with the CSU techs.
“Not really. This is some seriously sick shit.”
So far, they’d witnessed the rape and murder of seven teenage girls, all appearing to have been killed within the last five years. Cecilia Sheppard was the most recent, having gone missing eight months before. They’d identified Jaelyn Watts, of course, and Naomi Beckham as well. There were three victims between Jaelyn and Naomi, all tentatively identified using their photos in the missing-person reports.
The oldest video—so far—showed the assault and murder of Rochelle Hamilton, who’d gone missing five years ago. Miranda Crisp and Ricki Emerson, who’d disappeared seven and ten years before respectively, were not in any of the videos, nor were the two Jane Does discovered thirteen and fifteen years before. This led them to believe that Driscoll had begun recording the murders five years ago. Or, if the killer had made the recordings, Driscoll hadn’t gained access until five years ago.
Of the new victims they’d discovered this night, none had drama club included in their missing-person reports, but they’d follow up with the families to find out. There were no bodies for these victims, though, and that meant that the families still wouldn’t have complete closure.
“I know,” Kit said, trying to shove the images she’d viewed into a box in her mind, but it was hard. They’d all been so young. So hopeful. Until they’d accepted a drink from their killer.
It broke her heart.
“I had to stop,” Connor said raggedly. “I’ll watch more later. Driscoll was one sick SOB.”
“Yeah.” Kit rubbed her sore eyes. She’d cried a lot, and she hadn’t been the only one. Connor had cried, too, which had softened the edges of his frat boy persona. “Where’s Howard?”
“He went home for a little while. Said he needed to recharge, but he’d be back soon to finish watching.”
Because although they’d reviewed seven of the hard drives, they still had the contents of eight hard drives to view. Half of the thirty they’d found were duplicates, and that had been a relief. Having to watch the suffering of seven victims had been devastating. Watching thirty... Kit didn’t want to think about it.
Colton hadn’t only spliced his own face onto the killer’s body. In the other videos on the hard drives they’d searched so far, he’d replaced the victims’ faces with those of his favorite celebrities.
He’d been able to watch himself doing unspeakable things to the famous people he’d bragged about knowing during his sessions with Sam Reeves.
Sam. He’d be wondering about what they’d found. Kit owed him an update. She’d find time today to tell him.
“Do you want to head home for some sleep?” Kit asked Connor.
