“I have to call James. Even if he can’t find the information, he’ll kill us if we don’t let him know what’s going on.”
Declan’s mouth flattened. “I don’t want him involved.” He looked away. “If it goes bad–and someone finds out he’s pulled records—his career with the prosecutor’s office will be over.”
“He’s your brother. Besides, I’m not sure he’ll be there much longer.”
Wes kept his eyes on the pictures, the tension between the brothers palpable.
“He’s a boy scout. What are you going to do if he tells you no?”
Luke let out a harsh laugh. “He might be a boy scout, but underneath it all, he’s a Bloom, and he’s your brother. He won’t say no.”
Luke stepped out of the room to make the call. Wes lifted the photo, showing Declan behind the wheel of a vintage Porsche going through a toll booth. Systematically, he traced the lines of the photo with his eyes and then repeated the process with the one depicting the dead woman.
“Here.” Declan shoved a tumbler at him, and the scent of whiskey filled his nose. Declan tumbled onto the sofa facing him, propping one foot on the coffee table and resting his glass on a bent knee. “She’s not as tough as she looks.”
“She’s not as fragile as you all seem to think.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed. “You told her about working for me? About your arrest?”
Wes met his eyes. “Yes.”
“Huh.” Declan took a swig, and then looked to make sure they were still alone. “It’s a cliché, I know, the big brother threats.” He leaned forward, his foot hitting the ground with a thud, and braced his elbows on his knees. “But believe me when I say, if you break my sister’s heart, I will ruin you and everyone you care about.”
Wes didn’t flinch. Normally he hated bullies, but in this case, not only did he know Declan was doing it for the love of his sister, but also that he meant it. “And I’ll deserve it. Luke beat you to the threat, by the way.”
Declan assessed him for another minute and then leaned back with another grunt. Considering the amount of liquor the man had put away, Wes was a little surprised he hadn’t slumped over.
Wes held up the photo of the car after the accident. “I think this one is real.”
“Bullshit!” Declan spat.
“But this one is a fake. A decent one, not a great one. If you know what to look for, there are a few obvious signs.”
“Show me.”
Wes handed him the first photograph. “Look at your head.”
Declan’s eyes went to the photo, his mouth pinched in an angry line. “Okay?”
“The shadow is wrong.”
Declan squinted. “What shadow?”
Wes took the photo from him and pointed to the section he meant. “When the car traveled under the lights of the tollbooth, a shadow is cast from the driver onto the woman.” Declan still looked blank. “The shadow that should be cast from the driver’s head onto the passenger doesn’t line up with the head in the photo. See how the other shadows line up with what is casting them. There is a gap where the top shadow begins. If I were to guess, they have replaced the head of the driver with yours, but whoever manipulated it didn’t account for the height difference between you and the actual driver in the original picture.”
“But that’s my head. How did they put it on that body?”
Wes shrugged. “It’s actually pretty simple if you’ve got photo manipulation software. Photoshop, for example. All they needed to do was select the area where the original driver’s head was and remove the layer. Then, they replace that section with your head taken from another photo. The other mistake they made was they tried to line it up too precisely. Because you must be taller than the driver, they left out your neck. That’s why it looks like your chin is on your chest, but they weren’t experienced, and that’s why the shadows don’t line up.”
Declan took the photo back and held it close to examine.
“There are some other discrepancies, too.” Wes continued. “The line where your head meets the seat is wavy. I think whoever it was took out too much the first time and tried to re-layer the plaid pattern of the headrest. See how the lines don’t match?”
Declan met Wes’s eyes with an intense concentration. “If necessary, could we prove it wasn’t me in the photo?”
“If the original is on that USB, I could run an Error Level Analysis on it. That will show right away where all the spots of manipulation are and when it was done.”
Declan handed him the USB. “Do it. And I want to know who the actual face is.”
