April 18
Marriott Parkring
Alana was sitting in the Marriott lobby when I exited the elevator.
“Let’s go,” she said, and we were escorted out by armed police.
“What’s up?”
“We’ve opened another file on your computer. It looks like a snuff film, but we have also figured out that it’s not yours.”
“s**t,” was all I could say. Finding a video on my computer of someone – probably a female – being murdered was very disturbing.
We drove the same route through the city that I had taken with the cops a few nights ago, although this time it was with lights on and sirens blaring. The driver pulled into an empty space at the station and we hustled inside. All the while, I wondered whether this new discovery had shaken Alana’s trust in me. We hadn’t exchanged any words on the ride from the hotel
