Tim Ryan climbed from his FBI-issued van and started toward the beige-brick building that holds roomfuls of forensic evidence from across the state: blood samples, human skeletal fragments, markings from tools used in crimes, ballistics results.
He swiped his security card and passed through several doors. Then he walked through long corridors before stepping inside the forensic computer lab.
On a table in front of him sat a DVD. It had two simple words scrawled across it in black.
“God, please get me through this,” the FBI agent prayed silently.