Page 17 of Identify
It’s a frustratingly slow process.
Which is exactly why the information that Daria can get is so much more beneficial. What takes us hours to requisition, if not longer, she can get in a matter of seconds. What we have access to doesn’t always include text messages, emails, voicemails; while Daria can get anything on a phone that is backed-up to the cloud. She can also get the number of devices that access his IP addresses, both at home and work. Meaning any phones in another name, laptops, tablets, virtual information assistants, gaming systems, and probably a shitload more stuff I’m not even thinking of. Virtual information assistants are relatively new to the playing field, which when hacked act as listening devices. We’re still learning about their capabilities and how to best use them to our advantage. Meanwhile, Daria’s been using them for a while.
I compile several printouts of Tremblay’s face and six other guys who look like him. They aren’t mug shots obviously, but if she positively IDs him; it gets us to the next step. It’s not uncommon for us to do a photo lineup as one of the first steps in gathering information to narrow down a suspect. Logically, it seems out of order, but until we have enough evidence to charge someone, we can’t move forward. Which makes sketch confirmed identity invaluable in situations such as this.
“Paula Nelson can’t come by until after four this afternoon, cool?” Reed is holding the phone receiver in one hand and has his finger of the other hand on the hold button.
“Yeah. Ask her about her shoes.”
“What about them?”
“They picked her up barefoot, but she didn’t go on the date that way, and it hasn’t come up in questioning. I want to know what happened to the shoes.”
“How did that not come up?”
I shrug.
He returns to his call and relays what I’ve asked.
* * *
We bring Paula into one of the smaller meeting rooms. “Would you like some water or coffee before we begin?” I ask her.
She shakes her head no, and Reed sets seven photos out in front of her, all with a corresponding number. Two is Tremblay; one, three, four, five, six, and seven are all other men who look similar.
She sets aside three and five immediately, choosing to focus on one, two, four, six, and seven. Which, to me, is good—anytime they can rule suspect photos out at once it’s a good thing. She pushes number two away, then pulls it back in without lifting her finger. As though she’s playing a card game where her turn isn’t complete unless her hand lifts from the table.
I’m hopeful she will pick the right one.
“It’s so hard, they look so much alike.”
“Take your time,” Reed tells her. “It’s more important for you to be accurate over quick.”
She nods and removes number one, leaving numbers two, four, six and seven. Reed stiffens behind her. I’m glad she can’t see him. I know he wouldn’t want to influence her choice, but his actions might do so unintentionally.
Weswitch rolesnow, Reed and I, as victims feel more comfortable with me next to them, on their side, when dealing more closely with the perpetrator. To them, the picture becomes the actual suspect. And so, while Reed stands behind her, I sit next to her at the small table. I liken it to when they hide behind me in times of danger, not thatthathappens often. I’m viewed as more of a shield for them, while Reed is more of a comfort. It makes us good partners.
Paula lets out a long sigh. “I want to say it’s a toss-up between these two,” she says of numbers two and six. “But I can’t be certain which one is him.” She ponders for a few added moments, picking the pictures up, then putting them down, re-arranging their placement on the table. She stills and closes her eyes for a moment. Making a choice once she opens them, after close to twenty minutes of careful considering.
“It’s number four.” She pulls four off the table and hands it to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Reed visibly sags in relief, while keeping his poker face.
“Are you certain this is the man?” I ask her.
“Yes. That is the man I went on the date with and who drugged me and took me to that house.”
I nod.
“Am I right?” she asks.
“There is no wrong or right here, Paula.” Reed steps back into her line of sight. “There is only what you saw and what you remember.”
“I get that, but am I remembering the right guy?”
“Are you certain about your choice?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Then you picked the right guy.”
