The Optogram

by Noelle Jeffreys

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” he said. “Remember to lock the door on the way out.”

  January nodded with her eyes wide as she combed her thick lashes with a mascara wand.

  Dothan shoved his phone and laptop into his backpack. With a quick descent into the parking lot, he leaned against the side of the building and, after initiating a burner number app, called the detective. His heart pounded as it rang and a low, harsh voice answered.

  “Detective Barclay.”

  Dothan froze.

  “Hello?” asked the gruff voice. “Anyone there?”

  “I…this is George. George Franklin. I wrote to you.”

  “George? Oh, yeah, you’re the guy who says he can solve

  Sibella Gale’s murder case.”

  “No…I mean, yes, I have information, but whether it’ll solve anything depends on a lot of stuff. Can we meet?”

  “How about you tell me what you’ve got before we decide on that?”

  “Look, I’m sure what I have could be important to your case, but I won’t discuss it on the phone. Either meet me or don’t.”

  Barclay was silent for a moment.

  “Where?”

  “You name it,” said Dothan, “but it has to be in the afternoon.”

  “Bailey’s Sports Grill? Near Broadway? Say three o’clock today.”

  “Today?” Dothan jumped at the thud of a closing door. “Okay, today. How will I know you?”

  “I’ll be the one in the Hawaiian shirt.”

  January’s heels produced a series of tinny thumps on the metal treads. “Where are you?”

  “I have to go.” Dothan ended the call and stuffed his phone in his bag. He walked up behind January and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Boo.”

  With a laugh, she turned. “I didn’t realize we were playing hide ‘n seek.” She raised herself on her tiptoes and kissed him. “You know how much I like games.”

  After a pleasant five-minute stroll, Dothan entered the glass-fronted cafe and placed their orders. As he returned to sit beside January, a brisk breeze offered a hint of the oncoming autumn. He leaned back in the wrought-iron chair and inhaled. The clear air was a treat after months of imprisonment in the mildew-ridden basement at Dunlevy. Just a few more weeks, though, and that place would become another bad memory.

  He opened a web browser as January returned with their orders of coffee and a box of pastries. Dothan watched as she seated herself and opened her laptop. Each sensual movement produced shimmers of reflected sunlight from her skin, and, as she blew the steam away from the styrofoam cup, he shivered.

  January lifted her eyes and smirked. “It’s not nice to stare, Mr. Knox.”

  “I can’t help it. Why don’t you stop being so beautiful? It would be so much easier on humanity.”

  She rested her chin on her hand and ran her foot along his leg. “We need to work, remember? Limited time for play and all that?”

  “Did I say that? I must have been smoking something.”

  “Now, about Sibella.” January grinned.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Dothan opened a text app containing notes copied from Detective Barclay’s interview with January to use as a blueprint for their investigation. “Was there anything strange happening before she disappeared?”

  She leaned back in her chair. “No, nothing. She would go to work, to the gym, had a few dates, and worked on her social media. That was pretty much it.”

  “What about the guys she dated? You’ve told me about Lucas Gilmore, but you’ve not gone into detail about any of the others.”

  “The men came and went. I knew very little about them.”

  “So, who were you dating at the time?”

  She shook her head. “Our focus is Sibella, remember?”

  “I’m asking only on the premise they could be involved.”

  “It’s not possible. The guys I dated never met her.”

  “I thought you were joined at the hip.”

  “Not with the men in our lives. We always agreed to keep whoever we dated separate from the other. It makes life simpler.”

  “But you knew about Lucas Gilmore.”

  She nodded. “There were also a couple lunches and coffees at work with co-workers.”

  “Who were they?”

  “I don’t know their names. They were just casual things. But, since you brought him up, why don’t we concentrate on Lucas?”

  “Why? They only went out a few times, and you told me there were no hard feelings when it was over. To be honest, I still can’t figure out why she ever dated him. I saw a picture of Gilmore, and that dude was butt-ugly.”

  “Even if he didn’t kill her, I’m certain Lucas knows something about whoever did.”

  “What about your boss? Why don’t you suspect him?”

  “Joseph?” January shook her head and chuckled. “Nobody would ever think he had anything going with Sibella. He’s a mouse with a jealous wife, and Sibby didn’t go out with married men.”

  Dothan smoothed his beard. Althea Harrington said her husband was a cheating monster who beat the living shit out of her, and you told Barclay he was cruel to Sibella. Something is weird.

  “But you said…” He clamped his jaw.

  Shut. Up.

  January’s eyes widened. “I said what?”

  “Nothing, I thought you mentioned something about him earlier, but maybe I got that wrong.”

  “Joseph never saw Sibella unless it was to pass her in the office. If he had so much as spoken to her, though, his wife would have chopped off his balls.”

  Dothan typed in a few asterisks next to the written question. “He has a lot of information on her, though, doesn’t he?”

  “Just what HR had in their files. Joseph made it clear I was Sibella’s manager. Unless there was misconduct, everything about her job was my responsibility.” She gave him a quizzical glance. “Why are you asking me all these questions about him? Have you found something?”

  “No, I just find it strange that he has no interaction with the department,” said Dothan. “Nilesh has his fat little fingers in everything.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out about him, but he’s very private and almost never at the office.”

  “No, let’s stick with Sibella. If we break down her activities and the people she was with during the week before she disappeared, we might dig up a few more names.”

  “It could take a while to go through her calendars, but we can hunt through them later today.”

  “Let’s go through your calendar for that week as well.”

  “Why?”

  “So we can keep a solid timeline of everyone who knew her.”

  Her dark eyes flashed with anger. “Am I a suspect to you?”

  “Where did you get that idea?” He clasped her hand. “You’re the closest person to Sibella and I thought there might be something in your notes for that time.”

  She stared at him with an icy expression.

  Crap.

  January snatched her hand away from his. “I can tell you every second of where I was and what I did. That time was so painful, it’s laser-etched into my memory, but if you want to confirm my appointments, I’ll give you my datebook.”

  Fuck. That stupid detective’s list is making me paranoid.

  “No, I don’t need it. I’m sorry.”

  January sighed as she stacked their paper plates and plastic cutlery. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. You’re trying to research a serious crime and I was there. Of course you have to question my movements.”

  He reached across the table and kissed her. “I could never doubt your friendship and loyalty to Sibella. If I go all Sherlock Holmes on you again, then you can spank some sense back into me.”

  January laughed and placed her laptop in his
bag. “I’ve got some errands to run, so why don’t we continue working on this later in the afternoon?”

  “Oh, crap!” Dothan mock-slapped his forehead. “I forgot I have a study-date with my lab partner today at three, and I can’t cancel. I shouldn’t be too long.”

  “That’s fine. I remember summer labs and getting ready for the new term. You go on and we’ll deal with this when you get back.”

  ***

  Dothan arrived ten minutes ahead of the appointed time to meet with Barclay, grateful the destination had been easy to spot. He had seen the blue neon sign flashing “Bailey’s Sports Grill” above the bright yellow painted brick from almost a block away.

  As he crossed the street toward the bar, four men appeared at the entrance. Covered in tattoos and long, untidy beards, they shouted greetings and slapped each other on the shoulders. A fifth man came out with a large tray of beers and they howled with delight.

  He stepped around the raucous men and pulled on the heavy iron handle. A couple laughed as they pushed past him, knocking him against the door frame. He rubbed his arm and walked into the dim lighting of the bar, deafened by the blaring rock music pouring from an enormous set of speakers.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness as he tried to avoid the crowds of rowdy patrons huddled together around stools lining the long, wooden bar. As they screamed their appreciation of a football game in progress within the wall-mounted TVs, Dothan scanned the booths to seat himself before Detective Barclay arrived.

  He walked to the back of the bar, hoping for a quieter environment, when he noticed a round-faced man with a full beard wearing a holstered gun over a bright yellow and red Hawaiian shirt. His heart pounded in nervous frustration. The detective had arrived before him.

  Dothan dodged servers and groups having loud conversations over the thundering music. He arrived at the lacquered, rough-hewn table where the man sat drinking a pint of dark beer.

  “Detective Barclay?”

  The man lifted his gaze to him. “Yeah. Are you George Franklin?”

  Dothan nodded and slid into the booth across from the detective.

  Barclay drained his beer. “Can I get you something?”

  He wanted a drink, but thought better of it and shook his head. “No. I’m good.”

  A disingenuous grin crossed Barclay’s face. “How was your trip here?”

  “Fine. It was fine.” Dothan tried to keep his expression neutral.

  “So, what is it you do…George?”

  Dothan winced at the pause. “I’m a student, but I also do software development.”

  “Who don’t in Seattle, besides cops and politicians?” The detective beckoned to a skinny blonde waitress. “Sure I can’t get you anything?”

  It seemed to Dothan the detective was sizing him up, trying to decide if he was a fraud. A drink would calm him. He just needed to take it slow.

  “Okay, whiskey, on the rocks.”

  The young woman wrote the order, glancing at Dothan and blushing as she explained his choices. She handed him a napkin, bending forward just enough to give him a glimpse of cleavage. He smiled and turned the paper square face down to hide a phone number displayed in large black letters as the detective watched, wide-eyed.

  Barclay whistled as the woman departed. “Damn, man. How d’you do that? She wasn’t too bad either.”

  “She was okay.”

  “Right, let’s get to why we’re here. What is it you have on Sibella Gale?”

  Dothan unlocked the image file on his phone containing the optograms and turned the first toward Barclay. “I have this.”

  The detective pulled the black case closer. “An orange table?”

  “No. This image is from Sibella Gale’s post-mortem retinal scan.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you found this in the autopsy docs?” The detective shook his head. “I’ve been through those things a dozen times and I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Dothan lifted his hand. “Let me explain. A few months ago I wrote a piece of computer software to enhance poor quality digital images taken from post-mortem retinal scans to super high-resolution.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it interested me.”

  “I see. So you have a thing for autopsies?”

  “What? No. It’s more an interest in digital forensics. I had already used artificial intelligence to identify fingerprints, and I expanded that to retinal scans.”

  Barclay leaned back, staring at Dothan. “Why not pay for living models?”

  “At the time, I only had access to this image and a few more. I’m just a student. New scans cost more money than I could scrape together.”

  “You have others?”

  Dothan nodded.

  “So, how did you get access to these scans?”

  The waitress brought their drinks. “I brought you a double,” she whispered to Dothan. “No extra charge.”

  He smiled and tried to stay calm until the girl moved to the next booth. “Look, Detective Barclay, how or why I have Sibella Gale’s scan is unimportant. The fact is, I have it. If you want to hear my story, then let me tell it. Otherwise, I can leave and we can pretend I was never here.”

  “All I want to know is, did you steal them? If, and it’s a big if, your discovery is legitimate, then I want to be sure there’s no use of illegal documents.”

  “I didn’t steal anything to create this software.”

  At least, he thought, there’s no proof I did.

  The detective grasped his beer and drank, leaving foam on his mustache. He wiped his upper lip and leaned back with his arms crossed. “Go on.”

  “After the software was ready for testing, I processed a batch of the post-mortem scans, but the routine stopped on Sibella Gale’s record. When I viewed the file, I found my code had worked so well, I could see every detail of the retina, and there was this table.”

  Barclay stared at the image again. “How do you know it’s not just a digital manipulation?”

  Dothan shook his head. “I tested it against an original image with the same results.” He brought up the remaining three scans and handed his phone to the detective. “Then I tried another batch, and this happened.”

  The detective stared at the images. “Let me get this straight. You think these are all the last images viewed in life and recorded on the retinas of the dead?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “A few pictures proves nothing other than you might be a decent graphic artist.”

  “I know from that image Sibella Gale died somewhere other than the Nooksack River.”

  Barclay stared at him.

  “Look, you’re right,” said Dothan. “I don’t have absolute evidence this is the last moment of her life, but what if we work together to prove it was? If we find that table, there might be forensic evidence all over it and you have her killer. The worst-case scenario is you get a lead on where she was when she died. What do you have to lose? From everything I’ve seen in the papers, you’ve got nothing better at the moment.”

  The detective stared at Dothan and rubbed his beard. “I’m interested in how you knew I was part of this investigation. That wasn’t in the papers.”

  Oh shit. It wasn’t?

  Dothan cleared his throat and finished his whiskey. The smooth blend was doing its job. A warm tingle rushed through his body, relaxing him. “I found her social media profiles and saw some chatter about the investigation. Someone mentioned you, but I have no idea who or when it was. After I developed my software, I remembered your name and figured I’d see if you wanted to work with me.”

  “Just what do you get out of this? I don’t believe for a second you’re here to help me solve a dead girl’s murder without wanting something in return.”

  “If the table leads you to Sibella
’s murderer, not only does that bastard end up behind bars, I get proof my code could be the next big thing in criminal forensics.”

  His head throbbed to the beat of the music.

  Barclay remained silent, his eyes fixed on Dothan.

  The asshole isn’t believing any of this. He thinks I’ve stolen the scans, and he’s trying to figure out how to arrest me.

  Dothan trembled as he drained the watered-down drops of whiskey from his glass. He needed another whiskey. Where was that stick insect when he wanted her?

  He scowled at the detective as he enlarged Sibella’s scan. “Have a hard look at this thing.” Dothan held the phone toward Barclay. “That inlay and the lines running through the carved feathers may be actual gold, and those things on the lion paws look like genuine gemstones. Whoever bought this is rich, I’m sure of that much. If anyone around here sold that table, there’s got to be a record and a buzz about it in the antique dealers.”

  Barclay gave him a slow nod. “If I agree, you know I can’t take your suspicions or suppositions into the division. We’d have to hunt for it on our own time.”

  Dothan breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m fine with that. All I want is to prove the worth of my code.”

  “I’d like a copy of the software.”

  “No. I’m the only person who can run the routine. If you need information or another enhanced image, just let me know and I’ll send it.”

  “Why don’t I stop by your place and you can show me how it works then?”

  “Tell you what. If I can get the interface together, I’ll bring my laptop and show you the next time we meet, but I don’t want it to be at my place.”

  Barclay smirked as the waitress brought them another round of drinks.

  “You were looking a little dry,” she said.

  “You’re an angel of mercy.” Dothan winked and pocketed her number.

  She giggled and cleared away their glasses.

  “Son,” said Barclay, watching her walk away, “whatever you got, I wish you’d bottle it.” He pulled out his phone. “Let’s start with antique stores.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was pointless trying to sleep with an anxious, chattering brain. Dothan tried counting livestock and working impossible mathematical equations, but just as he drifted off to sleep, his dreams, dreadful and much too real, jolted him awake.