After my old pals said good night, Conklin and I went back to hamburgers on parade.
I watched the relentless march of people on my screen, and after reviewing the entire fast-forwarded twelve hours of Day Minus One inside the restaurant, I changed out the disk and watched parking lot videos.
These were more of the same: slices of gray-and-white cinema verité: a bread truck arrival and departure, ditto a refrigerated delivery truck from Chuck’s main kitchen, bringing boxes to the back door. And I watched a few hundred cars park in Chuck’s lot and then depart onto Hayes Street.
Had I seen a killer and didn’t know it?
How could I know?
I went on to the next day’s disk, saw the two doomed college kids pick up their lunch from the takeout line, and noticed some of the same customers I’d seen before.
I made a note of the regulars, marking the time that they appeared on the tape, and I took screen captures for later comparison. Again I watched delivery trucks arrive and guys lugging cartons to the back door of the kitchen.
I watched the Hayes Valley kitchen crew dunk trash into the Dumpster outside the back door and lock up the store when the doors were closed for the day.
I got up and went to the ladies’, and when I came back, Conklin said, “I’m thinking Italian.”
“Fine idea.”
CHAPTER 63
CONKLIN AND I walked out onto a darkened Bryant Street and headed to Enzo’s, a greasy pie pan joint on 7th, where we scarfed down a pizza before returning to surveillance footage hell.
It was my turn to make coffee, and Conklin used a letter opener to cut Cappy’s donated pound cake into thick slices.
Four hours later, I had marked and snipped out three images of customers who looked suspiciously like the same person in disguise: a skinny guy with (a) a beard, (b) a knit hat, and (c) a hoodie.
That was the extent of suspicious individual sightings. Still…
I showed my snippets to Conklin, who said sweetly, “I think you’re reaching, Linds.”
I took a fistful of pencils out of the mug on my desk and hurled them, one after the other javelin-style, toward the trash can near Brenda’s vacant desk across the room.
I made six baskets out of ten. Which sucked. It was a big trash can.
I said to Conklin, “Maybe I’m reaching. Maybe I’m right on the nose. You don’t mind if I send these photos to the lab. Get another opinion?”
“There’s a naked woman in my bed,” Conklin said, reaching behind his chair for his Windbreaker. “I think I’ll go now, catch her while she’s still in the mood.”
“Go,” I said. “This will still be waiting for us tomorrow.”
Conklin waved good-bye, and then my phone rang.
It was Joe, and he got right into it.
“This just in on the FinStar,” he said. “Shots have been heard. Another body has washed up. Crowds are gathering all over Alaska, demanding an end to the hostage crisis. The government of Finland is jumping up and down, but there’s absolutely nothing they can do. Communications with the Coast Guard vessel have broken down. That’s all I’ve got. I’m sorry.”
“Shit.”
“I know,” said my husband. “Come home now, Blondie. Your family misses you.”
CHAPTER 64
TOTAL DARKNESS HAD descended over southeastern Alaska. Sitting on the deck behind Brady, Yuki pressed her cheek against his polo shirt and just tried to breathe normally.
Brady said softly, “Sweetie, this will be over soon. They can’t keep six hundred people in this situation for very long.”
She nodded. “I know.”