Stryker glanced at the screen. “We got hits.”
Together, they watched a video from four months ago. A flashy blonde wearing oversized sunglasses entered the visitation room. After a hug and a kiss on each cheek, she sat across from Spinetti. Her light blonde hair was styled in a fashionable updo and her pant suit screamed big bucks.
“Check out that wedding band,” Emerson said. “Those diamonds are gigantic.”
“Could be his wife, girlfriend, mistress.”
Spinetti and the woman talked for twelve minutes, but they spoke in hushed tones, so the audio couldn’t capture their conversation. Even though the woman kept her sunglasses on, Stryker paused the video, captured her image, then transferred it to IDware. While that search ran, the video jumped ahead two months, when Spinetti had a second visitor.
A young man walked in and Emerson gasped. “No way. That’s Casey Quinn.”
“It sure as hell is,” Stryker replied.
The blond man with the beard and mustache hugged the old man before sitting across from him. The two spoke, also in quiet murmurs, for twenty-three minutes.
“Did you see how much Casey smiled?” Emerson asked.
“Yeah.” Stryker toggled to the check-in camera and zoomed in. “I can’t make out his name.”
Emerson leaned close. “It looks like scribble. I’m not piecing this together at all. Casey knows Spinetti. Casey’s been sneaking into The Dungeon. Have I gotten this all wrong? Is he stalking you?”
Stryker started up the video again. “Is there another camera in that room?” she asked. “I want to catch Spinetti’s face when Casey walks in.”
While Stryker went hunting for access to a different camera, Emerson started pacing, back and forth, her hands buried in her hair. “Think,” she whispered. “What is their connection?”
After several minutes, Stryker was able to hack into a different camera in the visitation room. “Got it.”
When Casey entered the room, the old man lit up, his smile uncontainable. During his conversation with Casey, he stayed engaged. Never once, did he appear disinterested.
“It’s either someone important to him or they’re discussing Spinetti’s business,” Stryker said before jumping back to the video of the woman signing in at check-in.
He zoomed in. “Back it up and stop just when she finishes signing in,” Emerson said.
After Stryker did, she stared at it for a long minute. “That looks like first initial C, last name Barm…Barrhum…Barram.”
“Oh, Jesus, it’s Barnham,” Stryker said. “Is she related to Lyle Barnham?”
Emerson gaped at him. “So, my hunch that Lyle and Casey are the same person might not be so insane. But, why are they visiting Spinetti in prison? What’s their connection to him?”
Stryker opened a new browser window and pulled up a website. “I’m going to run a basic background check on Spinetti. If they’re close relatives, they’ll show up on the report.”
While waiting, he swiveled toward her and pulled her close. “How’s my baby doing?”
She squeezed in between his legs and kissed him. “Your baby is losing her mind.” She rested her forehead against his. “What are we missing?”
“Answers,” Stryker replied. “But we’ll get them. And then, you know what we’re gonna do?”
“Sleep for a week.”
He smiled. “Vacation. Sun, sand, you and me.”
“That sounds perfect.”
Bing!
Together, they read the report. “Spinetti had four wives,” Stryker read out loud. “Two he divorced, two died. He has one daughter, Carla Spinetti Barnham.”
“Lyle is Spinetti’s grandson,” Emerson said. “This is blowing my mind.”