The Night Is Deep (A Liam Dempsey Thriller Book 2) by Joe Hart Page A

Caucasian with a Midwestern speed and cadence to his sentences. I would go so far as to say he’s well educated by the way he structured his sentences. The sound that can be heard behind the kidnapper’s voice three-quarters through the video could be the bass of a stereo or possibly a train passing nearby.”
    Perring waited. “Is that it?”
    “Yes ma’am.”
    “Anyone else have anything to add?” A burly, mustached man at the far end of the table raised a hand. “Mills?”
    “There’s a possibility that there’s more than one kidnapper. By the way the camera turned it looked like either someone else had moved it for the person speaking or he had it on a remote pan.”
    “Good,” Perring said, scanning the group again. “Let’s have the recording analyzed, see if there’s any way of telling what type of camera he’s using. If we find that out, we can do a check of local shops that sell them. It’s thin but right now it’s all we have to go on unless we can pull an IP address from the burn site.”
    Liam dropped his gaze to Heller’s computer screen where the video was playing again. The portion where the beating noise came in the background passed, and something caught his attention. He stepped forward so fast that everyone glanced in his direction.
    “Rewind that,” Liam said, pointing at Heller’s screen. The man did so without question. “Now turn up the sound as loud as it will go.” Valerie’s gagged cries came from the speakers as the kidnapper talked over her. The bass thumping started and Liam pushed a finger against the screen. “There. Something fell from the ceiling while that sound was going on.”
    Heller leaned in, squinting as he replayed the video. Several other officers rose from their seats and closed in around them. “You’re right,” Heller said. “It looks like a little bit of dust fell from the ceiling.”
    Liam looped the sound in his mind, letting it become a rhythm. Dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk. He closed his eyes. The first tinges of memory grew on the outskirts of his consciousness, a glint of sunshine off of a car’s rear window being the first image that came to him. Heat, roasting within his clothes. A sense of impatience, his fingers drumming against a steering wheel.
    All at once the memory surfaced clearly like a fish leaping into the air.
    He opened his eyes.
    “It’s a jackhammer,” Liam said, looking around the group.
    “Can’t be, it’s too slow for that,” Sanders said.
    “Not a handheld one, the kind that mounts on a payloader or a backhoe.” Liam watched several officers frown, then begin to nod.
    “I think he’s right,” the task force member who had spoken first said, looking at Perring. “There was some construction going on down the street from my house earlier this summer and they were using one of those to break up the pavement. Sounds exactly the same now that he mentioned it.”
    Perring looked at Liam. “Okay. I want a report of all construction activity utilizing this type of equipment within the city limits in my hand in the next ten minutes. This is definitely worth a look, people.” The tap of keyboards rose in the room. Several cell phones appeared and in a matter of seconds officers were scribbling down notes. Perring approached Liam and gestured toward the kitchen. When they were in the next room she pulled out her diminished pack of gum and unwrapped another piece.
    “Nice ear,” she said.
    “I heard that sound enough when I was on duty in Minneapolis. There always seemed to be construction going on somewhere.”
    “If you’re right that’s going to narrow down a search for us real quick. Owen will have a decision to make.”
    “What decision?” Owen asked, stepping into the kitchen. His drink was only half gone but Liam wondered if perhaps he wasn’t still on his first anymore.
    “Mr. Dempsey here may have identified the sound in the background of the video,” Perring said. “We think it might be