Savich said, “We’ll get the DVD to Operations Technology at Quantico. They’ll enlarge, enhance, depixelate the face, do some reconstruction for us. The lab at Quantico can work on the audio recording.”

There was a knock on the conference room door. It was an audio tech, Chuck Manson, who swore every single week he would have his name changed, but he never did. Savich suspected it was because he really enjoyed the attention. “Ninety-eight percent chance it’s a man, and under thirty,” Manson said, and disappeared.

“Okay, if Chuck says it’s a guy, I’ll take his word for it,” Roper said. “I’ve asked for possible brands on the pants and hoodie, we’ll see.”

Lucy Carlyle said, “He has to look up when he speaks to Briggs, then his head goes down again. He knows he’s on camera. It’s a giveaway.”

Savich’s second-in-command, Ollie Hamish, said, “Denny, did you speak to the other security guard behind the Plexiglas? His name’s Brady, right?”

Roper nodded. “Brady remembers the guy, what with the envelope delivery, but neither Brady nor Briggs can tell us much that’s helpful.”

“I’d like to speak to both Briggs and Brady myself later,” Savich said as he stood.

Roper nodded. “I’ll send both of them up.”

Savich shook his head. “No, let me come down to the mezzanine to your turf.”

Cooper McKnight sat forward. “Unless this guy’s a loon, he’s got to be from one of our cases. We could start with the most recent gnarly one-Bundy’s daughter. Even though Comafield’s close relatives seemed normal as apple pie, who knows? Maybe there’s a nutso in there.”

Roper looked at Savich. “I’ll leave the video. Let me know when you want to speak to my people.” He paused in the conference room doorway, a big man, built like a thick, knotted rope, Savich had always thought, and added, “I don’t like this punk coming into our house like that. There are a lot of brains in this room, so take care of this for us.”