So far, we’d learned that the creepy post-modern bar in the woods was listed as being owned by something called J. Enterprises, out of San Francisco. J. Enterprises, sadly, was a dummy corporation, and everyone was having a hell of a time figuring out how to connect a name with that dummy corporation. Once we’d gotten that disheartening news, Blaze pulled Juarez and me aside. “A package was left on the front steps at the police station,” she said, her eyes steady on me. “Deputy Holloway just discovered it. It’s a tape.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “What kind of tape?” “It’s from Barnel,” she said. “In it, he makes very vague references to whatever he has in store at midnight. He also has messages from those he’s holding hostage.” “Diggs is on the tape?” I asked. “He is,” Blaze confirmed. “I need you to take a look—we think he may have put some coded information in there for you.” I nodded blindly. She led me to the little A/V cubicle I’d been at before, and set me up with the digital tape.
