Page 119 of I’ll Be Watching You

“That tells us nothing,” I snapped.

“Well, later that day I asked Peter if he wanted me to get rid of the security tapes too. Peter was, like, shocked, he hadn’t even thought there was a video recording. It gets written over every month. He asked what would happen if I deleted the tapes. I told him I wouldn’t delete them because that would be obvious, but I could copy an old file over the real file. And then he asked if I could make a copy first, then copy over it. So I did. Peter said that if Carter—that’s what he called him—got snippity, he’d hold it over him.”

“Please tell me you have a copy,” I said.

“Sure, it’s on a disk in my office.”

“At the VA?”

“It’s labeled ‘backup March 2023.’ ”

The month Klein was murdered.

This might be it. The evidence we needed to get my father out of prison.

But I also needed Tim Miller alive to testify. He had told so many lies to me, to Stockman, to himself. But if that disk existed, it would prove an unauthorized stranger entered the facility during the time Klein was killed. At least, it would be reasonable doubt. Dad could rescind his confession. Have a trial. Maybe be let out of prison while he waited for the justice system to work.

Hope. I had hope, and it all rested on this stupid, stoned tech guy.

“Carter is a common name,” I said. “Description?”

“Um, I only saw him in person once.”

“And you were blind at the time? Describe him!” I was going to lose it. If Tim was justified in being scared, that put us all in danger, and I did not want to die protecting this asshole.

Cal said in an even voice, “How tall was he?”

“Average. Maybe my height?”

That made him five-ten, take or leave.

“White? Black? Brown?” Cal asked.

“White guy. Um, brown hair. Couldn’t really tell his eyes—I didn’t, like, talk to him, you know? Just saw him in Peter’s office that one time. He’s in shape. Muscles like he works out, but not big weight-lifting muscles. Just good shape.”

“Do you know how many average brown-haired white guys work out at a gym and live in Phoenix?” I snapped.

Cal said, “Distinguishing marks? A scar? Tattoo?”

“Not that I noticed.” He bit his lip.

“Explain how and when you saw him,” Cal said with surprising calm.

“Um, I also have a copy of the disk on my computer? I mean, he’s on it, I’m sure. I only looked at it once.”

I wanted to hit him on the backside of the head like Cal had already done. “So it’s not on a disk in your office?”

“It is,” he assured me, “but I have a copy on my computer because, you know, just in case.”

Maybe not completely stupid.

I looked around and saw a laptop on the small table between the kitchen and living room. I grabbed it, opened it.

“Password,” I demanded.

“Can I do it?” he said. “I’m faster, and I promise, I just want to live.”

I glanced at Cal and he nodded.