Chapter 7: Greg Paulson
They found Greg Paulson at a motel thirty miles from the city.
Detective Reyes called Marcus at 4:47 in the afternoon.
"We have him," she said.
"He checked in two days ago.
We don't know yet if he ran deliberately or if it's coincidence."
"Is it coincidence?"
A pause.
"He had a laptop with him.
Our tech team is on it now."
Marcus closed his eyes.
"Mr.
Cole, I want you to come in.
Not for questioning — I want you here when we know what's on that laptop.
You deserve to hear it directly."
He arranged for Patricia Odom to stay with Lily.
Lily was calm.
She had eaten dinner and was watching a nature program about penguins with the kind of focused attention children use when the world around them is too large to look at directly.
He kissed the top of her head.
"I'll be back before you're asleep," he said.
"Okay, Dad." She didn't look away from the penguins.
"Dad?"
"Yeah."
"Is Uncle Danny in trouble?"
He crouched beside her chair.
"Yes," he said.
"He is."
She nodded slowly, like she had already known and had only needed someone to confirm it.
"Good," she said.
He drove to the station.
Reyes met him in the hallway outside the tech room.
Her expression told him before she spoke.
"The laptop had a dedicated folder," she said.
"Organized by date.
Sixty-three files."
Marcus put his hand against the wall.
"All Lily?"
"Yes.
Videos received from the hidden phone, plus several that appear to have been filmed separately — through a window, we believe, from outside your home.
Mr.
Paulson appears to have filmed through the side window of your living room on at least four occasions."
"He was outside my house."
"Yes."
"Filming through my window."
"Yes."
Marcus stood there for a moment.
"I shook his hand," he said.
"I offered him a beer.
I thought he was Sandra's friend."
"I know."
"Where is he now?"
"Interview room two.
His attorney arrived twenty minutes ago."
"I want to see him."
"Mr.
Cole—"
"I'm not going to touch him.
I just want him to see my face.
I want him to know I'm here."
Reyes looked at him for a long moment.
"Two-way glass," she said finally.
"You can observe.
He won't see you."
She led him to a narrow room beside interview two.
Through the glass, Marcus could see a man in his forties — ordinary-looking, the kind of face you forgot immediately — sitting beside a suited attorney, hands loose on the table.
Reyes went in.
"Mr.
Paulson," she said, setting a folder on the table.
"The laptop your attorney has advised you not to discuss — we've completed an initial review.
I'd like to give you an opportunity to speak before we proceed with formal charges."
Paulson looked at his attorney.
The attorney shook his head.
"My client has nothing to say at this time," the attorney said.
"That's your right." Reyes opened the folder.
"I'll tell you what we have, then.
Sixty-three files.
Organized.
Dated.
Some filmed on a device separate from the phone that transmitted the others." She slid a single printed page across the table.
"This is a list of the dates those exterior recordings were made.
I'd like you to look at it."
Paulson looked at his attorney again.
The attorney said nothing this time.
Paulson looked at the page.
Something moved across his face.
Not guilt.
Something more calculated than guilt.
"I want a deal," he said.
His attorney grabbed his arm.
Paulson shook him off.
"I want a deal," he said again, louder.
"Because what I know about Sandra Cole and what she was planning to do with those videos — that's worth more than anything you have on that laptop."
Through the glass, Marcus went cold.
What Sandra was planning to do.
May you like
Past tense.
Planning.
