Page 123 of Evil Bones

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I had.

“Go back,” I said, twirling a finger.

Koster rewound and hit play.

“Freeze there!” I snapped when the purple-and-black flash reappeared.

He hit pause.

“I think that’s a pocket,” I said, squinting hard. “Holding some sort of paper.”

Koster didn’t agree or disagree.

“Can you zoom in?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Koster enlarged the area to the point of pixelation, adjusted and readjusted, finally landed at a setting that provided reasonably clean detail.

I’d guessed correctly. A folded document peeked from the side pocket of a jacket or shirt. A jacket or shirt worn by the person filming inside my home.

The anger flamed hotter.

Focus, Brennan.

I squinted at the front-facing portion of the document. Saw print and tried to make out the words. Got nowhere.

“Can you read that?” I asked, thinking Koster’s vision was probably better than mine.

“Not a chance,” he said.

“Would it help to rotate the image?” I suggested, hoping proper positioning might improve legibility.

It didn’t.

“How about I try a little more cleanup?” he asked.

“Please.”

Koster performed more of his cyber magic, expanding and sharpening the print. Another million keystrokes, and the boldest letters topping the document grudgingly crystalized.

…network of tunnels running beneath Charlotte’s streets…

“Looks like a photocopy,” he said.

“It does.”

“What the hell does it mean?” Koster asked.

I provided a quick explanation. He’d heard of the tunnels, but always thought the stories were myth.

“Want hard copy?” he asked.

“Please.”

Koster printed the screenshot.

I took the page, thanked him, and left.

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