Black Silk. Metsy Hingle

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СКАЧАТЬ another shot at the desk clerk to see if he recognizes her and find out why she didn’t sign in,” Vince offered.

      Rich fast-forwarded through more film and when the light glowed on the elevator, he slowed to real time again. A man wearing sunglasses and a hat with a brim exited. The collar of his jacket was turned up, shielding the lower half of his face, which he kept angled away from the camera. “Hold it there,” Charlie instructed and glanced at Vince. “Do you think wearing sunglasses indoors at night is some kind of new fashion trend? Or do you get the feeling our visitor knew about the security camera and didn’t want to be identified?”

      “My guess is number two,” he said. “Can you get a close-up of our shy guy?”

      “Give me a sec.” Rich tapped at the keys, formed a frame around the face, then magnified it. “That’s about the best I can do,” he said after several attempts at enlarging the image failed to yield a clearer view. “I’ll see if I can get a better angle of him leaving.”

      But that view proved no better. Disappointed and frustrated, Charlie clenched the pen in her hand. “What about the cameras in the lobby? Maybe there’s a better shot of him on those tapes? And check the camera at the delivery entrance, too, just in case he didn’t come through the front door.”

      “I’ll check them,” Rich said.

      “Call us if something pops,” Charlie said and started to push away from the table. They had a lot of territory to cover and with each hour that passed the trail grew colder.

      “Hang on a second. Don’t you want to see what else I found?” Rich asked.

      Charlie eased back down and waited while the whiz kid tapped the computer keys. He fast-forwarded, then slowed it to real time. One second, two seconds, three seconds ticked by showing only the same scene of the elevator door and the empty hall leading to the Hill apartment. Then she saw it—a blip in the film. The blip was so quick, it was almost indiscernible. The empty hall scene remained the same, but the time on the film had jumped forward by nearly two hours. “Wait. Back it up a few seconds, then run it.”

      Rich did as he was told. And there it was again—a break in the surveillance tape. It lasted no longer than the blink of an eye, but according to tape, nearly two hours had passed. “Somebody monkeyed with the surveillance camera,” she said aloud.

      “Someone who obviously knew his or her way around the security system,” Vince pointed out.

      “Good job, kid,” she told the tech as she stood and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. “Let us know if you come up with anything else on our mystery guy.”

      Vince followed her to the door. “Who do you want to start with?”

      They’d already interviewed J.P. Stratton and his son Aaron once. “Why don’t we start with the other son, Cole Stratton. Since he owns a security company, chances are he knows how to get around one.”

      * * *

      Sitting alone in the dark, he turned on the television and tuned in to Channel 4, knowing they would be the first to break the news story. He sipped his scotch and waited patiently for the beer commercial to finish.

      “Good evening. This is Bill Capo filling in for Eric Paulsen,” the veteran investigative reporter began in that deep, sincere voice that made him a favorite among the locals. “Today in Washington…”

      He listened to the reporter give a rundown on the national news front, the budget deficit, the rising cost of health care and the use of steroids in professional sports before he shifted to news on the local front. After a station break, Capo’s face returned to the screen.

      “In other local news, the much-talked-about wedding of businessman J. P. Stratton to Francesca Hill that was scheduled to take place this evening has been canceled,” Bill announced. “Live on the scene with more on that story is Anne Le Blanc.”

      The TV screen switched to the perky blond reporter standing at the entrance to the museum with the wind whipping her hair around her face. “Bill, I’m here at the New Orleans Museum of Art, where less than an hour from now J. P. Stratton, the founder of Stratton Hotels, was scheduled to take Francesca Hill as his bride. Inside,” she continued, extending her arm toward the structure, “thousands of red roses were flown in for the event and food was prepared by some of the top chefs in the city for the guest list of five hundred. But I’m told, a short time ago the guests began receiving calls from Mr. Stratton’s staff, advising them that the wedding had been canceled.”

      “Anne, has any reason been given for the cancellation?” Bill asked.

      “Not yet, Bill. And so far, our calls to both Mr. Stratton and Ms. Hill have not been returned. But as you can see from the cars arriving, not all of the guests received the news in time.” She walked down to the street and knocked on the window of a sleek black limo. When the window slid down, she asked, “Sir, you’re live on Channel 4 News. Are you here for the Stratton/Hill wedding?”

       She pointed the microphone at him. “Yes, I am.”

      “No one contacted you to tell you the wedding had been canceled?” she asked, and angled the microphone at him.

      “My secretary reached me on my cell phone just as I arrived and gave me the news.”

      “Were you told the reason for the cancellation?” Anne asked.

      “No. Just that it was canceled and that Mr. Stratton extended his apologies.”

      “Any guess as to why it was canceled?” she asked.

       He paused. “Maybe J.P. got cold feet.”

      “Thank you,” she said and walked away from the car. “It appears that for now the reason for cancellation of the fairy-tale event remains a mystery. However, a source, who has asked not to be identified, told this reporter that the police were seen at Mr. Stratton’s home this afternoon.”

      “Anne, do we know why the police were at the Stratton home?” Bill asked.

      “No, Bill, we don’t. But I’m sure many of the guests who were invited are wondering just as we are if the reason for the cancellation of the wedding is something much more serious than cold feet.”

       “Thank you, Anne.”

      “Thank you, Bill. This is Anne Le Blanc reporting live for Channel 4 Eyewitness News.”

      “I’m sure we’ll be hearing a lot more on this story as the details become available,” Capo said.

      They would be hearing so much more, he thought, disappointed that they hadn’t released the real story. He’d hoped to see the photos, hear some of the grim details and relive his triumph. He’d also wanted to get another look at the pretty detective.

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