Tyler’s voice slid into something darker. “Detective Robertson and Officer Jackson. Always sneaking around, always keeping it quiet. Maybe they’re just screwing around. But what if it’s more than that?”
The screen shifted to poorly framed footage of Detective Robertson meeting with men Laurel didn’t recognize. One man had greasy black hair and a twitchy, nervous stance. Another older, heavyset man had sharp eyes that scanned his surroundings before he handed the detective a tightly wrapped package.
“Detective Robertson meets these guys all over town, and every time, there’s something exchanged. Packages. Envelopes. Information.” Tyler’s voice rose. “Not once does he report it.”
Tyler cut between images quickly, slamming together proof of the affair with clips of the detective accepting packages and passing envelopes to the unknown men. Laurel’s eyes narrowed as she tracked the pattern Tyler had clumsily mapped.
“Whatever they’re into,” Tyler continued, his voice crackling, “it’s bigger than an affair. This is corruption. Dirty money. Information leaks. And I’m going to prove it.”
Laurel glanced at Walter. “We need to identify those people.”
Walter grunted. “And figure out what’s in those packages.” His voice had gone rough, his attention locked on the screen. “I told Tyler’s dad’s secretary that I’d like to attend a funeral if there is one, and she said that she’d get back to me. I’m not counting on it.”
“I’m sorry, Walter.” Laurel returned her attention to the screen.
Walter scrolled through more of the scattered recordings.
Tyler’s voice came through again, frenzied but deliberate. “It’s not just Robertson and Jackson having their dirty little fling. They’re part of something bigger. So much bigger. I almost have the evidence. There’s an attack coming, my friends.”
Walter paused the recording, his hand steady on the remote. “An attack.”
Laurel didn’t like guesswork. “That’s what Sandra was talking about.”
“Yep.” Walter shut off the video, the sudden silence thick and heavy. “Remember that he was dramatic.”
Laurel scribbled a quick note. “I know.”
“But he also was pretty good at his job,” Walter muttered. “What attack was he talking about?”
“I don’t know.” Laurel’s pen hovered over her notepad. “But Tyler thought he was onto something, and if he was right, it might’ve gotten him killed. Also, I’d have to guess Detective Robertson and Officer Jackson weren’t exactly happy with him.”
“It’s odd they didn’t mention this,” Walter said. “Robertson and Jackson. Tyler was tracking them, harassing them. How in the world did they not notice? They’re both cops.”
“I agree,” Laurel said, reaching for the remote for the wide-screen plasma on the far wall. “Let’s look at the last few of Tyler’s posted podcasts.” She hit play.
The footage rolled, Tyler rattling off about crop dustings in farming areas close to Everett. His excitement bled through his words as he described strange patterns appearing in the fields after the planes passed over. “Aliens, folks. They’re here, and they’re blending in.” Tyler’s grin was wide, eyes gleaming. “They’re posing as policemen. Enforcers of the law. And one of them is none other than Seattle Councilman Eric Swelter.”
Walter snorted. “If anybody’s an alien, it’s that jackass.”
Laurel tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it. She’d dealt with Swelter in a previous case, and the termjackasstruly did fit. “I always figured if we were visited by other life forms, they’d be a lot smarter than us since they could get here somehow.”
“Good point.” Walter’s eyes narrowed. “Swelter’s too dumb to be from a planet smart enough to create a warp drive that would get here.”
Laurel’s eyebrows lifted. “Warp drive, huh?”
“Well, sure. Isn’t that how they’d get here?”
“Actually,” Laurel said, leaning forward, “if they did come here, it’s more likely they’d have found a way to manipulate space itself by using quantum drive, or something along those lines. It wouldn’t be about speed. It would be about bending space, making two points touch for just a moment. Like folding paper so the ends meet. It would require incredible amounts of negative energy or something even more advanced—possibly by manipulating dark matter. Theoretically, it’s possible.”
Walter grunted. “That’s not warp drive.”
“Exactly.” Laurel’s focus remained on the screen.
Walter moved to the next podcast. Tyler’s voice continued with its erratic rhythm, but his topic had shifted.
“This one’s all about the conspiracy,” Tyler said, his tone dropping into something almost gleeful. “Big oil, folks. Gas prices are just one piece of it. They control the supply, they control the demand, and they control the narrative. And nobody is asking the right questions.”
Walter shook his head. “He’s losing it.”
