All the Dark Places(24)



Chase shakes his head.

My phone chimes. A text has come in from Lauren. “We need to get back,” I say, “so finish your soup.”

“What’s the rush?” He lifts his bowl, glances around to see if anyone is looking, and slurps it down.

“Lauren said they might have something, and the chief wants to update everyone. She said to hurry along.”

*

You can feel the electricity snap through the station as we walk in. People look up from their desks at me with anticipation. Bob’s standing in his office doorway, a file folder in his hand and his cell phone tucked between his neck and jowls, where it nearly disappears. He catches my eye and motions us toward the conference room. Everyone working the case, which is half the department in one way or another, crams inside the small space.

Bob stands at the front, the whiteboard with its photos and red and blue lists and lines behind him. He pulls down a projection screen and nods to a young cop sitting with a laptop balanced on his knees.

“Connors just got surveillance footage from the Bradley neighborhood. Hit the lights, Chase.” The room plunges into darkness, and the cop with the laptop starts clicking keys. “So far, this is the only pertinent video we’ve been able to secure. It was taken by a neighbor’s home-security system the night of the incident.”

“Which neighbor?” I ask, pulling out my notebook.

Bob glances at his notes on the table in front of him. “Two doors down from the Bradley residence.” He draws a deep breath. “Okay, people, I want you to take a good look. Then we’ll send the clip to everyone who needs a copy for further review.” He nods to the kid with the laptop.

A grainy shot of the sidewalk and street comes into view in front of a wintery yard. There’s a date and time stamp that counts off at the bottom of the screen. Excellent. One fifteen a.m. Nothing. One sixteen. One seventeen. And then there’s a dim image. We all lean forward. A figure, tall, wearing dark clothing, a hat pulled low. Looks like a man, but that’s not for sure. The video quality is too poor to really make out his features, and the light from a nearby lamppost doesn’t help much. He walks quickly in long, smooth strides. His gaze is straight ahead, moving toward the Bradley residence. There’s something that looks like a backpack slung over his shoulder.

The chief signals the kid working the computer, and he freezes the frame with the figure dead center.

Bob blows out a breath. “This, people, could be our killer. It fits the ME’s timeline. And why would anyone be walking down that street at one a.m.? There are no other people on the tape.”

“Do we see him later? On his way back?” I ask.

“No. This is it. He might’ve crossed the road or taken another way back out. We just don’t know.”

“Could’ve just been a guy walking home from a bar,” I say, always the devil’s advocate.

“Maybe. But there’s not any businesses out that way that would be open that time of night. No bars or restaurants close by.”

“What about the gas station on the corner?” I ask.

“We’ve looked at their video and didn’t spot anyone who matched up with this guy.”

“We have a vehicle anywhere that might be his?”

“No. This is all we’ve got so far.”

Still, this is something. This could very well be our man. “Can the lab enhance it?” I ask.

“Hopefully,” Bob says. “I’m sending it over.”





CHAPTER 15


Molly


LAKEN AND CAL SIT AT MY KITCHEN TABLE AND, UNLIKE ME, LOOK every inch in control of their lives. They are both strong and athletic. Laken, despite resembling a runway model, was a state tennis champion when she was in high school and then played on her college team. She and Cal ski, sail, skate, you name it. I sometimes envy their fortitude. I was on my high school swim team but didn’t collect many medals.

Laken has a loud, funny laugh, and it feels good, but strange, to hear her. It occurs to me that I haven’t heard anybody laugh since Saturday night. We’ve all gone along on tiptoe, whispering and sobbing quietly into wads of tissues.

Her boys run around the house, making laps from living room to foyer to dining room to kitchen. Laken grabs Liam (or is it Logan?) by the collar, and he skids to a stop.

“Enough! You guys take your dinner in the other room and watch TV, okay?” She removes slices of pepperoni pizza from one of two boxes on the table and lays them on paper plates.

“I’ll get the boys settled,” Cal says, going to the fridge, filling two glasses with milk.

They troop into the other room, and the TV comes on. Channels switch until landing on some loud kids’ program. Laken blows out an irritated breath. “Sorry, Molly. The sitter was busy tonight.”

“They’re fine.” They are too. A distraction.

Laken fills a paper plate with salad and adds a slice of veggie pizza next to it. I do the same and pour us each a glass of red. Cal returns and gets another beer from the fridge and joins us at the table.

“Have the cops found anything, Molly?” he asks.

“Not that they’ve told me.”

Cal heaves a breath and takes a long sip of his beer.

“They think it was a robbery maybe?”

I shake my head. “Who knows? Jay didn’t talk to you about anything, did he? Anything bothering him?”

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