“You want the disc for the night of March 18,” Bakhtiari said. It wasn’t a question. “I copied that tape once, for OIC Stanley.”
“I understand,” Tracy said. “We’d like to see the original.”
Bakhtiari’s eyes narrowed with interest. He was clearly wondering why, and likely processing the possible answers. “You have a subpoena, I assume.” He said it in a tone that sounded like a challenge, but more likely was intended to cover his ass in case anyone ever asked.
Tracy handed him the subpoena. Bakhtiari read through it in some detail. After a minute or two he nodded and said, “Okay. I’ll burn you a copy. Where should I send it?”
“We’d like to see the tape now,” Owens said. He reached into his coat pocket and handed Bakhtiari a business card. “After we see it, you can forward a copy to this address, but we’d like to see it now.”
Bakhtiari let out a held breath and quickly checked his watch. Tracy wondered if he was covering for someone.
“You need to be somewhere?” Owens asked, letting a hint of sarcasm creep into his tone.
“My daughter’s birthday is today.” Bakhtiari shrugged. “We’re supposed to be having a party in the backyard, but with this weather . . . My wife is a bit stressed-out. She asked that I get home as soon as possible.”
Tracy fought the urge to smile; nothing could take down a man, even a very large man, faster than his wife’s irritation. He’d stand up to other men, even go to blows to save his ego, but when the wife asked for something, he shuddered at the thought of not delivering.
“I have the time stamp with the time we’re interested in,” Tracy said. She reached into her pocket for the piece of paper on which Dan had scribbled the times that the door to the office appeared to have moved. “We just want to see a particular section of the tape. After we do, you can mail Detective Owens a copy and we’ll be out of your hair in time for you to get home and celebrate your daughter’s birthday.”
Bakhtiari seemed to exhale in relief. “I appreciate that. What sections?”
Tracy handed him the slip of paper. He studied it, then said in a brighter tone, “Okay. This makes it easy.”
They followed Bakhtiari to a computer terminal, standing behind him as he sat and pecked in commands. Within minutes he’d pulled up a familiar lobby. Bakhtiari pointed to the first series of numbers on the scrap of paper he’d set on the desk and confirmed it as the first location.
Tracy said, “But take it back thirty seconds earlier.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bakhtiari gave her a slight nod and continued to type. He compared the time on the tape with the time on the sheet of paper, then pushed back his chair, about to hit the arrow to play the tape.
“Can you stand on the other side of the computer?” Owens said.
Bakhtiari looked between the two of them, uncertain of the request.
“In case this becomes evidence, you might have to testify regarding the chain of custody,” Owens said. “I think it best if you also don’t become a witness to what’s on the tape.”
“No problem.” Bakhtiari rose from his seat. “Just press that button to go forward and that one to go back.” He stepped around to the other side of the screen.
Owens sat, surveyed the keyboard for a second, and hit the arrow to start the video. When he did, Tracy hit the stopwatch on her phone.
“What are you doing?” Owens asked.
She kept her voice low. “I want to be sure this tape wasn’t tampered with either.”
On the screen, Al Tulowitsky exited the second office with two plastic waste bins, one for trash and the other for recycling. He emptied them and returned both bins to the office. He then rolled the garbage can to the front door, exiting.
Several minutes passed. Tracy was tempted to hit “Fast Forward.”
“It would take him a minute or two to empty the garbage,” Owens said, eyes locked on the screen.
Another fifteen seconds and someone stepped into the lobby. Owens and Tracy leaned close to the monitor. She felt a rush of adrenaline. It wasn’t Tulowitsky. It was someone dressed in the same baggy, blue-and-gray uniform, the hat squarely on the head, which was turned to the left, away from the camera.
“Holy shit,” Owens said under his breath. “There really is somebody. I—can’t tell who it is. Can you?”
“They know the camera is there,” Tracy said softly. “Whoever it is, they’re avoiding it, avoiding showing their face.”
Owens leaned closer. “Then they work in the building.”
“Or just know where the security camera is,” she said.
“Can you tell if it’s male or female?”
“Not in those uniforms,” Tracy said. “Everyone looks the same.” The angle of the camera also made depth perception difficult.
The person walked down the hall between the two offices to the staircase leading up to the evidence room.
“Play it back,” Tracy said.
Owens did, but even viewing it a second time, Tracy could get very little from the tape.
They let the tape run. Tracy checked the stopwatch on her phone. Four minutes and twenty-four seconds had passed. Then five minutes. Six. At six minutes and forty-two seconds, the uniform returned from down the hall, but again the person kept his or her head lowered so the bill of the cap prevented Tracy from seeing the face in any detail.
“I think it’s a woman,” she said.
“How can you tell?”
“The facial features are soft. The chin.”
Rather than proceed to the front door, the uniform turned quickly into the second office and partially closed the door.
“That explains the first door movement,” Tracy said.
“Anything?” Owens asked.
“Not yet,” Tracy said.
“Could it be Cho?”
“I don’t think so. Cho was more erect in his walk and his features were stronger. It could be Battles or Stanley. They’re about the same height and build.”
At eleven minutes and four seconds, Al Tulowitsky came through the front door carrying the cleaning supplies and the vacuum cleaner.
“Somebody cut about two minutes,” Tracy said. “The tape I have, Tulowitsky is gone for nine minutes.”
“He’s heading for the bathrooms,” Owens said.
Seconds after Tulowitsky exited the reception area, the office door opened and the uniform stepped out.
“There’s the second door movement,” Tracy said.
The uniform moved quickly toward the front entrance, head still down, face still partially obscured by the bill of the cap. Tracy’s heart quickened for just a beat before the image was out the door. “Go back.”
Owens hit the keys and went back. “How far?”
“That’s good there. Can we slow it down frame by frame?” Tracy asked Bakhtiari.
Bakhtiari came around the desk and Owens pushed back his chair to provide him space. Bakhtiari hit a couple of keys, and again departed. Owens pushed the “Forward” button and Tracy leaned closer to the monitor. The uniform came out of the office and walked toward the door one frame at a time. Tracy had her finger on the keyboard as the uniform approached the entrance. She hit the “Stop” key, freezing the frame.
“I know who it is,” she said.