Free Zero Day by David Baldacci Page A

narrow shoulders and the bulk of his weight carried in his gut, hips, and butt. Hislegs were thick and short. His head was shaven and he wore wire-rimmed glasses that had slid halfway down his nose.
    Cole said, “Lan, meet CID special agent John Puller.”
    Monroe smiled and looked up at Puller, who was nearly a foot taller than he was. He put out his hand. They shook.
    “Nice to meet you, Special Agent Puller.”
    “Just make it Puller.” He glanced at the bags. “Your equipment?”
    “Yep.”
    Cole said, “Did you do Larry’s car?”
    Monroe nodded. “The prelim didn’t turn up anything. There was no blood in the vehicle. I had it towed back to the station. I’ll do a more thorough scrub there.”
    Puller said, “Sergeant Cole said you’d taken pictures. Can I see them?”
    “That’s a big ten-four, good buddy.”
    Monroe dug into one of his bags while Puller glanced over at Cole with hiked eyebrows. She shrugged and attempted a smile.
    Monroe got his camera out, powered it up, and showed the range of pictures on the flip-out viewfinder.
    “Thirty-five mil SLR?” said Puller.
    “Yep. That’s what they had us use at school. Now, I did three shots of everything, one in relation to nearby objects, one with ruler, and one close-up without.”
    “Good. What aperture setting did you use?”
    Cole shot Puller a hard glance. He ignored it.
    Monroe remained oblivious to these exchanges. He said, “F/16 with everything three feet or more away, f/28 for the close-ups.”
    Puller nodded approvingly. “What were your angles of photography?”
    “I did everything from eye level.”
    “Did you do a three-sixty overlap?”
    Monroe suddenly looked uncertain and shook his head. “Uh, no.”
    Puller glanced at Cole and found her still staring intently at him, hands on hips, lips pursed. For a moment he thought she might go for her Cobra again.
    Puller said, “No problem. Just Army overkill. Look, I need an experienced hand to help me with that, Lan. And you obviously know your way around a camera.”
    “No prob,” said Monroe, his good spirits restored. “Glad to do it.” He pointed at the tripod and other equipment Puller had taken from his rucksack. “Is that a flash extension?” he asked.
    Puller nodded. “We’ll use it to photograph fingerprints, tire marks, and any tool marks. We’ll use the synch cord to engage the flash.”
    “How far away do you Army guys hold it?” asked Monroe eagerly.
    “Ideally three feet. And at a forty-five-degree angle. Two shots from all four directions.”
    “What’s the big deal with the extension thing?” asked Cole.
    Puller replied, “Prevents hot spots of light. Causes overexposure to the top of the photos.”
    “Cool,” said Monroe.
    Puller pointed to the four members of the Reynolds family. “Since they haven’t been moved, we need to photograph them properly. All four sides, including the rear. Five shots of the face, all wounds, and other marks. With and without rulers, livor mortis patterns, and all gunshot powder and stippling. You got a video camera?”
    Monroe nodded.
    Puller said, “You video everything but you don’t rely on that for fine detail. Defense attorney will blow you out of the water with that.”
    Cole said, “And did that happen to you?”
    “It happens to everybody,” said Puller.
    Puller was about to set up his tripod to start taking pictures of the bodies when he looked down at the carpet and stopped. He knelt and took a closer look at the medium-pile carpeting.
    “What do you see there?” he asked.
    Monroe and Cole came over. The tech dropped to his knees and studied the spot. “Not sure,” he said. “An impression of something.”
    “
Impressions
, actually. Three of them, circular, but in a triangular pattern.” Puller hefted the tripod and set it down a few feet from the others. Then he picked it back up. “What do you see?”
    Monroe looked at the spot. So did Cole. They both started and looked back over at the