CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Weekends was hopping early on a Friday evening. Music blared, and people crowded the vestibule. Bree badged and elbowed her way past the crowd of waiting patrons to the hostess podium. “I need to see the manager.”
The young woman remained bent over her computer screen. A wall of glossy, dark hair blocked her face. “I’m sorry. We’re very busy. How many in your party?”
“None.” Bree lowered her badge in between the girl’s eyes and her screen.
“Oh.” She jerked upright. Her eyes, heavily lined in black, snapped open wide. Light glinted on a gold stud in the side of her nose. “I’ll get her.” She scurried toward the back of the restaurant.
Someone dropped a metal pan, the sound reverberating over the general chaos. Bree rubbed her temple. Her head still ached from her encounter at the motel. The cacophony of noises in the sports bar echoed in her brain like a jackhammer in a gymnasium. The crowd at the bar burst into cheers and hoots. Bree assumed their team had scored.
The manager hurried to the lobby a minute later. She was about thirty-five, in standard black pants and a black button-down blouse. A name tag read MANAGER in large letters, with TAMARA spelled out in smaller ones beneath her titles. Her brown hair was pulled back into a neat bun. She gestured Bree and Matt to follow her. They passed the restroom and entered an office the size of an elevator.
Tamara blew a hair off her face. “Would you please close the door?”
Matt did.
“Sorry about the cramped space, but the noise level on Friday nights is earsplitting.” Tamara had to turn sideways and sidle past her desk to get to her chair. “Is this about Grace? Her father called earlier. He seemed upset. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him: I didn’t come on until after Grace had left for the day. The assistant manager was on schedule this morning. But I know that Grace started her shift at ten and clocked out around two.”
Bree perched on the edge of a plastic chair. “We’d like the exterior security camera footage.”
“Of course.” Tamara swiveled her chair to face a desktop computer. She tapped on the keyboard until a grid of tiny windows appeared. “We have cameras on the front and rear doors, and two in the back parking lot.” She clicked away. “Here’s Grace standing just outside the back door a few minutes after two.” Tamara turned the screen to face them. The camera faced the rear of the restaurant. Grace huddled under the eave, leaning on the building, rubbing her biceps, a rain jacket zipped to her chin. At 2:10, she pushed off the wall and walked away from the building.
“That’s not very useful,” the manager said. “Let me look for another angle.”
She minimized the window and enlarged a different one. “This camera is mounted on the parking lot streetlamp.” The view showed half of the lot. Raindrops on the lens made the video slightly blurry. The rear corner of the building was visible in the periphery.
The manager rewound to 2:09 and let the video play. A man and child walked across the lot. They climbed into an SUV and drove away. Grace entered the screen at 2:11, just as the shadow of a vehicle appeared in the corner. The bumper and front one-third of a light-colored sedan inched into view, but the corner of the building concealed the rest of the vehicle. Glowing signs on the dashboard read UBER and LYFT.
Grace walked to the side of the vehicle. She stopped next to it and said something, presumably to the driver. She looked down at the phone in her hand, then took one step backward. Her hands rose and she shook her head. The shadow of the driver’s-side door moved across the pavement. A shape rushed toward Grace. She turned, tried to run, and stumbled to one knee. The figure grabbed her around the waist, hauled her off her feet, and swung her over one shoulder. Grace kicked and flailed, but he never wavered. He disappeared behind the building. A minute later, he returned to the driver’s side of the vehicle. The door closed. The vehicle backed out of sight.
No one spoke for two heartbeats.
“She was kidnapped.” Tamara stared at the screen. “In broad daylight. Right out back.”
Matt stroked his beard. “Looks like he pretended to be her Uber. Did he know she was calling one? Or did he get lucky?”
“If he was intentionally targeting Grace, how did he know where she was or that she would call for a ride?” Bree asked.
“Killian might know where she’d worked in the past,” Matt suggested. “Maybe he even had something of hers bugged. He could have been keeping tabs on her movements long before this.”
Bree scooted closer to the desk. “Can you rewind and advance frame by frame?”
“Yes.” Tamara worked her mouse.
Grace appeared. Tamara stopped the video, then clicked each frame one by one until the vehicle appeared.
“Stop.” Bree leaned closer.
Matt moved from his position leaning on the wall to crouch next to the desk. “Can’t see the license plate because of the angle of the vehicle.”
“Can you tell the make and model?” Bree asked.
“No,” Matt said. “All I see is a medium-size gray, silver, or tan sedan.”
“Killian drives a silver BMW 328i.” Bree gestured.
Matt pulled out his phone. “Here’s the same model.” He compared the images. “Can’t see the vehicle very well, but BMWs have distinctive headlights. I don’t think that’s a Beemer. Maybe Rory in forensics can make the video clearer.”
Bree had no doubt Rory would match the make and model of the car. “Doesn’t matter. If Killian wanted to snatch Grace, he would borrow a vehicle, not use his own.” She pointed to the computer. “Keep going.”
Tamara clicked through more frames. She stopped when the figure rushed Grace. “I assume you want to see her attacker?”
“Yes,” Bree said.
He slowly came into view.
Bree watched the slow-motion progression of frames.
Tamara moved forward and back through the video until she stopped. “I think this is the clearest image.”
The attacker was in profile to the camera. His face was in shadow, but his clothing was clear. He wore jeans, black athletic shoes, and a black baseball cap with the brim pulled low. The hood of his jacket was also pulled over his head. His shoulders were broad, and he was quick on his feet, like an athlete.
“Definitely male,” Bree said. “But can’t see his face at all. Can you zoom in on his hands?”
Tamara enlarged the area.
“He’s white,” Bree said. “No visible tattoos.”
“The wide-angle lens creates some distortion at the edges of the video, making it hard to determine his size,” Matt said. “He towers over Grace, but she’s petite, so that doesn’t mean he’s unusually tall.”
“Not a small man, though,” Bree said. “He just tossed her over his shoulder like it was easy.”
The serial killer had carried dead bodies to the clearing and had hoisted one into a tree at Bree’s house. She shared a look with Matt. He was thinking the same. The serial killer had taken Grace.
Bree turned back to Tamara. “I need a copy of those videos.”
“Already on it.” Tamara inserted a thumb drive into the computer. “I’ve copied it. I can also send it via email.”
Bree handed her a business card with her email. Underneath the official sheriff’s department phone number, she wrote her personal cell number. “I want you to call or text if you learn anything else.”
“I will.” Tamara traded the thumb drive for the card. Then she opened an email portal, started a new message, and attached the video clips. She pressed “Send.”
“We’d like to see the employees’ exit,” Bree said.
“Of course.” Tamara led them through the kitchen to a metal door. A row of jackets on hooks lined the wall. Tamara grabbed one and pushed open the door. They all stepped out onto the concrete walkway behind the building. Tamara slid into her coat and flipped up the hood. Drizzle dampened Bree’s face.
She recognized the spot where Grace had waited. They retraced her steps toward the side of the building. On the other side of the narrow street, a dumpster sat in a U-shaped screen of white PVC fencing. “You can drive all the way around the building, but the kidnapper chose to back up.”
Matt jerked his chin toward the camera mounted on the nearest light pole in the center of the lot. “He probably saw the camera.”
Bree scanned the area, replaying the video in her mind. “He could have been here before, or even scouted the premises earlier today.”
“Bree!” Matt pointed to the ground.
Bree followed his direction with her gaze. Near the curb, a cell phone lay on the dirty asphalt. The screen was cracked. She took a picture of the phone, then tugged on a glove and picked it up. Bree tapped the screen. “Passcode protected.” They’d take it to Rory. He’d be able to access the data.
She slid the phone into an evidence bag.
Tamara huddled and shifted her weight between her feet. “I hope you find her. This is horrible. I can’t believe she was kidnapped right behind the building. How can I keep my employees safe?”
“Make sure everyone has an escort to their car. I’ll need the names and contact numbers for employees who were here at two o’clock this afternoon.” Bree would have a deputy speak to each one of them.
“I can email you a list.” Tamara whipped out her phone. “I need five minutes in my office.”
Bree’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. The ME was calling. “Excuse me.”
She stepped away to answer the call. “Sheriff Taggert.”
“I stayed late to finish the autopsy. You want an emailed preliminary or do you want to come here?”
Bree needed to talk to Rory, and forensics was in the same municipal complex. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”