Chapter 35
As I walk across the street, I spot the camera at the corner of the house near the front porch. I’m hoping their system, if operational, stretches all the way for a full street view.
A hedge of lilac bushes on the side of the house lost its blooms months ago and is dropping pale, yellowing leaves.
Off on the edge of the lawn is a crab apple tree that has spread its crimson berries over the ground, some of them broken and picked upon by birds.
The air smells crisp, like fresh laundry.
Mr. Johnston answers the door along with a big black-and-tan Bernese mountain dog who barks gruffly. Mr. Johnston calls him Osso and shushes him. Osso obeys, sniffs my hands.
When Mr. Johnston asks how he can help, I tell him that I’m the sister of his neighbor across the street and am wondering if they had their surveillance system on during the night because my sister’s car was vandalized.
“The Morris kid up the road is a sophomore in high school, and I hear he’s been pranking his neighbor lately. Guess he tapped into their Wi-Fi and activated their printer and typed a bunch of creepy stuff as if he was a ghost.”
“Clever.” I smile. “Do you mind if we check your video footage?”
He looks over my shoulder, trying to see what’s been done to Jess’s car. In his early sixties, he has slicked-back hair and an Errol Flynn mustache. Khaki pants and a crisp white shirt suggest he’s soon off to work.
“You can’t see it from here,” I tell him. “It’s marker on the windshield.” I scratch Osso behind one ear. He nuzzles his head into my leg. This dog’s affection is the best thing that’s happened to me in days.
“Well,” he says, “don’t think my cameras pick up your sister’s house. Why doesn’t she park in her garage?”
“She’s been using it for storage. Anyway, I was thinking the camera out front might catch a bit of the street.”
He studies me a moment too long. I tuck a stray strand of hair back under the side of the hat. I’m grateful for Osso, as loving him up gives me an excuse to look down. And away.
Finally, he says, “Well, that’s a worry.”
You think you’ve got worries, I want to say, but refrain. “So yeah, I was wondering if your setup recorded any activity in the middle of the night.”
“This neighborhood doesn’t see much of that kind of thing. Though there was a garage break-in last summer, which is the reason I got the security system.”
“Smart,” I say. “Is it okay if I have a look at it?”
“Let me go grab my phone. Want to come in?”
“No,” I say. “I’m good out here.”
When Mr. Johnston returns, he begins scrolling, both of us standing on his porch.
I’m standing at his side, breathing in his Old Spice and squinting at his phone’s screen.
Boring flashes of a still, quiet street streak by.
At 2:20 a.m. there’s a flash of motion and he slows down.
He pushes the time bar slightly back. My pulse races.
I wait patiently, but God I want to grab his phone and do the driving.
“Yes, yes,” he says. “Around two forty.”
“Can I see?” I hold out my hand. It takes effort not to grab it from him.
“Let me get it to the exact spot again.” He fiddles with the rewind again. “Here, 2:38, to be exact.”
A dark vehicle with its lights off slides down the block, passing Mr. Johnston’s house but not stopping.
I can’t make out the license plate, but I can see that the car is an SUV because one of the streetlamps provides a touch of illumination.
Right near the end of the clip, it’s slowing down, creeps almost to a stop, and most likely halts beyond the camera’s view.
“Looks like it’s pulling over, about to stop,” I say. “Probably didn’t want to be directly across from my sister’s. What are your neighbors’ names?”
“The Harmses.”
“Do they use a camera system, too?”
Mr. Johnston smiles. “They certainly do. Ol’ Artie always needs to one-up me with everything.
I bought a Trager last year, and he got one a week later.
When I installed my cameras, I could’ve set my watch to him.
He did the same within days. Only thing Art hasn’t been able to keep up with is the fact that I have a hot new girlfriend and he’s stuck with Louise. ” Mr. Johnston chuckles.
I smile politely, surprised he’s trashed his neighbor’s wife like that, but thank him, give him my email address, and ask him to send the video to me.
Art Harms is the opposite of Mr. Johnston in about every way. He’s round, sweaty, and reeks of nicotine.
He’s wearing a T-shirt that was once white but has turned the color of tobacco.
When he answered his door, a woman’s voice—Louise’s, I presume—called from deeper inside the house, asking who it was, saying something about the UPS guy leaving treats for Malley.
Mr. Harms now picks up a yapping chihuahua into his arms. Malley, I surmise, seasoned detective that I am.
I wonder if Mr. Johnston got Osso first, and Arty could only talk Louise into a lapdog.
At first, Mr. Harms is leery about my request, but when I tell him that his neighbor happily assisted, he thinks on it for a moment. “Wait here,” he says.
I stand in the entryway. Harms doesn’t seem to mind that the door is wide open. When he returns without Malley, he’s got his smartphone and a pair of readers. Louise appears behind him and she’s holding the dog. I say hello and do my best to keep my face averted.
“Not quite sure how this thing works,” Art says, peering through his glasses at his phone.
“To be honest, I’m not sure we even need the damn thing.
All it does is notify us every time a deer or a mountain lion traipses through in the night.
I had to turn the notification ding off so we could get some sleep, which kind of defeats the purpose. ”
“May I?” I hold out my hand. “I’m pretty good with these.”
The screen shines with grease and grime, and I already want to wash my hands.
I pull up the Ring app and find the images from the front camera.
Bright sunlight shines across the front yard, taking in the entire lawn and the curb at the very edge of the frame.
My heart sinks, because even though the curb is visible, the camera is poorly aimed.
It’s not going to pick up much other than possibly tires and the vandal’s shoes.
I scroll until I get to 2:38 a.m. The front and back tire of the left side of the SUV come to a halt by the Harmses’ curb.
I watch intently. All is still. No feet emerge from the vehicle.
After about a minute, the door swings open.
Ankles and shoes only. Dark tennis shoes.
They head to the back of the car, which would be the direction to Jess’s.
Art pesters me if I see anything, and I tell him there is a car and that I need to wait to see if I can catch the license plate when it drives off.
I can already see, though, that I won’t be able to.
The best I can hope for is another view of the guy’s shoes.
Also, with better technology, the FBI wizards should be able to identify the make and year of the vehicle by its wheel wells.
I’m patiently waiting for the night stalker to return when Louise says, “Now wait a minute.”
Out of the corners of my eyes, I can see that Louise is examining my profile.
“Now hold on,” she says, louder. “Excuse me?”
“Yes?” I say, still staring at the screen.
“I know you,” she says. “We know you.”
“Well, yeah,” I say. “I’ve been in the neighborhood before.”
“Oh, so we’ve met?”
“No, I don’t think we have, but I come around a lot to visit family. I’m sure you’ve probably seen me around.”
“I see.”
I’m pleased to have dodged that one, but within seconds, Louise says, “Wait, no.” She’s a dog with a bone, and I’m the bone. “It’s more than that. You’re that girl. The one in the sketch. You’re her, aren’t you? Artie, isn’t it? It’s her, right?”
Art tilts his head down to look over his readers to study me, too, but I keep my face lowered because while they’ve been figuring out who I am, the black tennis shoes have come back across the screen. The door opens and one foot goes into the car.
Louise is closing in on me, studying me like a bug pinned to a science fair exhibit. She smells like cheap perfume and a different but no less pungent flavor of sweat. I can feel her breath on my cheek. But I don’t budge. I’m intent on the screen.
Right before the other shoe follows, and I assume he’s going to shut the door and drive off, a small object—maybe the marker he used—drops to the sidewalk.
“You are the one, aren’t you?” Louise breathes excitedly onto my face. “That’s how I know you. Girl, you’re all over the news these days. You’re a national phenomenon!”
“Look, please.” I back away from her, farther out to the edge of the covered entryway.
A richly appreciated cool wind has picked up and sweeps the Harmses’ aromas clear of me but threatens to blow my cap off.
I hold it down with one hand and stare at the screen in the other as an arm with a sweatshirt sleeve pushed up to its elbow reaches down and grabs the object.
I take my hand off my cap to rewind the footage and pause on the image.
It takes me a few tries and I can feel my cap about to lift off my head, so against my fervent desire I step back into the doorway of Art and Louise’s house, away from the wind and into their noxious atmosphere.
It’s marginally preferable to having the cap fly away while I work the phone with both hands.
It takes me five more tries, and Louise won’t stop asking me about my situation. How it feels to be me. What I’m doing to protect myself. What I’m going to confess.
What have you done?
“Please,” I finally say. “I need to concentrate on this for a moment.”
Finally, I manage to stop the video on the frame with the arm stretching down.
I enlarge the screen as much as possible and there, in a grainy, blurry image, I make out a blotch of something dark peeking out from under the cloth.
A shiver shoots up my spine. “Jackpot,” I whisper to myself, ignoring the Harmses, who are arguing with each other now.
Artie tells Louise to be quiet and to leave me alone.
Louise insists I’m the one all over the news and they should call law enforcement or a reporter.
A tattoo. It’s only a smudge on the screen and much too faint to make out, but I’m sure Alderson and Greene’s tech guy can figure it out. On the man’s wrist, there’s a bracelet or band.
“I’m going to need to borrow this for a few hours,” I tell Art and Louise right as Alderson and Greene’s black SUV pulls into Jess’s driveway. “And no, I’m not the woman you think I am, but if you spread rumors that I am, you see that black SUV that pulled up?” I point to Alderson and Greene.
Louise’s eyes are huge.
“I will tell them to come have a talk with you both about the consequences of meddling in a law enforcement matter.”