by Bill Bernico
“Mr. Cooper,” he said, “My name is Henry Porter.”
That name struck a familiar chord but I couldn’t place him.
“I was one of the drivers in that accident down on the boulevard last Monday,” Porter said.
“That’s why your name sounds familiar,” I said. “I read about it in the paper the next day.” I led Porter to the leather sofa that sat against one wall and invited him to make himself comfortable.
He eased himself down into the leather cushion and sighed. “Mr. Cooper,” Porter began, “I understand that you and your son were down on the street that day.”
I said we were.
“Mr. Cooper, did you read the part of the article where it said charges were pending?” Porter said.
“I did,” I told Porter. “But it didn’t say who was being charged.”
“Well, they finished their investigation and decided to charge me with vehicular homicide.” Porter lost his breath for a moment and then continued. “Mr. Cooper, I didn’t do anything wrong. She turned in front of me. I couldn’t stop.”
“Didn’t anyone on the street come forward as a witness?” I said.
“That’s the strange part,” Porter said. “There must have been three or four dozen people on that corner, yet no one saw the accident. I find that hard to believe, especially since I know at least one person saw what happened.”
“How can you be sure they saw it happen?” Matt said, joining in the conversation.
“Because I saw him just before that woman turned in front of me,” Porter explained. “He was standing on the southwest corner, waiting to cross over to the north side of Hollywood Boulevard. We even made eye contact for a brief instant.”
“You’re sure about that?” I said.
“No doubt whatever in my mind,” Porter said. “What I can’t figure is why he hasn’t come forward yet.”
I thought about the implication for a moment and said, “Maybe he’s not from town or was just visiting someone here and went back to wherever he was from.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Cooper,” Porter said. “But if I don’t find him, I could end up going to prison for up to five years. That’s why I need your help. I want you to find this guy for me.”
I sat back and nestled myself into the leather folds of the sofa, wondering how I’d go about finding this potential witness.
Matt pulled his client’s chair up to the sofa, facing Porter. “Can you give us any kind of a description of this fellow?”
Porter thought for only a second before offering, “I’ve been seeing him in my mind for the last three days. He was around twenty-five or so with brown hair. I couldn’t see his eyes from that far away. I’d guess he was maybe six feet tall, give or take an inch. He was wearing blue jeans and a dark-colored tee shirt with some advertising on it. I remember, because there was no picture, like so many tee shirts have, rock bands or whatever. Just white text on a dark background. He wore white sneakers, too.”
“Anything else you remember about the guy?” Matt said. “Was he wearing a hat or did he wear glasses, maybe?”
Porter thought for a moment and then said, “No, he wasn’t wearing either. That’s how I knew he had brown hair. No glasses, either.”
“That’s a start,” I said. “Do you remember anything at all about the text on his shirt?”
Porter shook his head. “I only caught a word or two between the folds when he turned. I saw the word, ‘Rod’ and part of a second word—’Pet’. Does that make any sense to either of you?”
Matt and I both shook our head. “Not at this time,” I said, easing myself off the sofa and stepping over to the day planner on my desk. I had nothing pressing for the next few days. I turned back to Porter and said, “I can help you out the rest of this week and the first part of next week until I have another case that needs my attention. Would you like me to look into this for you right away?”
Porter leaned forward, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Would you? That would be great.”
I held my hand out to him and he grabbed it. I pulled him to a standing position and escorted him over to my desk. I pulled out a standard contract, filled in the bare essentials and showed him where to sign. “Our fee is two hundred dollars a day with a one day minimum. We require two days in advance, refundable on a pro-rated basis in the event we find the guy in one day. If it takes u longer than two days, I’ll let you know and you can decide if you want us to continue.”
“Of course I’d want you to continue,” Porter said. “We’re only talking a few hundred dollars here versus five years in prison. Please, do whatever it takes to find this kid and clear me.”
I promised Henry Porter that we’d give it one hundred percent of our attention and showed him to the door. He turned back once more before leaving my office. “Thank you so much, Mr. Cooper.” And with that he turned and walked back down the hall toward the elevator.
I turned to my son. “Does this seem like a case you could sink your teeth into?”
Matt smiled broadly. “You bet, Dad,” Matt responded. “Where should we start?”
“See, this is where you’ll come in handy,” I explained. “The witness he described is a lot closer to your age than he is to mine. You’re more likely to think like he might, so you tell me, where would you look first?”
Matt thought for a moment. “Let’s see, what’s in this neighborhood that would interest my generation?” Matt remained silent for a few seconds, lost in thought.”
“May I suggest something?” I said.
“Go ahead, Dad.”
I stepped over to the window and looked down at the street. “There seems to be at least a dozen businesses close to that intersection. I would think that at least one or two of them would have security cameras mounted somewhere on their buildings. Shall we go knock on a few doors?”
“I was just going to suggest that,” Matt said, smiling.
“Really?”
Matt’s smile fell away. “No.”
I locked up the office and the two of us rode the elevator to the lobby. I looked both ways once we were on the sidewalk and pointed to my left. “Suppose we start three doors east of us and work our way around the intersection. You ready, Roy?”
“Roy?” Matt said, puzzled. “Who is Roy?”
I looked at Matt with furrowed brows. “Didn’t you ever see Smokey and the Bandit?” I said.
Matt shrugged and spread his hands.
“Burt Reynolds and Sally Field in a Pontiac Trans-Am? Burt says to Sally, in his Gabby Hayes voice, “You ready, Roy?”
“Gabby Who?” Matt said.
“Forget it,” I said. “Sorry I brought it up. “Suppose we stick to questioning the merchants. I’ll explain all this later.”
“Whatever.”
Matt and I walked three doors to the east and into a gift shop. The door was propped open and a single beep let the proprietor know that another customer had passed through the door, breaking the connection of the infrared beam. I walked up to the clerk, who was standing behind the counter and asked to see the manager. Without acknowledging my request this teenage clerk walked away and into a back room. When she returned, she was being followed by an older woman—maybe in her mid-twenties.
“You’re the manager?” I said
The woman nodded. “How can I help you?”
I flashed my I.D. and shield just quickly enough for her to get a glint of the badge before closing it again and dropping it in my shirt pocket. “We’re looking into the accident that occurred at the corner several days ago,” I explained. “I need to know if your store has any surveillance cameras aimed outside your store, or if any of the interior cameras are aimed so as to catch any activity on the street.”
The woman leaned in close, as if to whisper. “I don’t want the customers to hear this,” she said, “But the cameras you see along the ceiling are dummies. We couldn’t afford the real thing but these at least lead people to believe they’re being watched. And no, none of th
em are pointed out the window.”
“Thanks anyway,” I said and headed for the exit.
Matt and I walked one door to the west, a store that housed a tuxedo shop. I would think a high class place like this might actually spend the money for real cameras. I turned to Matt. “Want to take this one?”
“All right,” Matt said, leading me into the shop.
We didn’t have to hunt down a manager in this store. He approached us. Fittingly enough he was wearing a tuxedo.
“May I help you gentlemen?” he said in a somewhat regal voice.
I was immediately impressed by his use of ‘may’ versus the woman from the gift shop, who used ‘can.’
Matt opened his leather case to show the man his I.D. and badge, only he was a little more forthcoming with this manager than I had been in the previous store. “My name is Matt Cooper and this is my partner, Elliott,” Matt said. He offered his hand and the manager shook it.
Joseph Cummings,” the manager said.
“Mr. Cummings, we’re looking into the accident that happened on the corner a few days ago.”
“Dreadful,” Cummings said. “Simply dreadful. I understand that poor woman didn’t make it.”
“Sadly, no,” Matt said. “What we were wondering was whether or not your store uses surveillance cameras.”
“Why, yes, we do,” Cummings said.
“Are any of them mounted outside the store or do any of the interior cameras point toward the outside?” Matt waited for the manager to think for a moment.
“We have four cameras,” Cummings told Matt. “None of them are mounted outside.” He looked up at one camera near the display window. “That one might show a little of the outside from there.”
“Would it be possible to see the video from that camera?” Matt said politely. “And is the video stored on tape?”
Cummings shook his head. “Those record in digital format,” he explained. “The old tape system was too grainy and I had to keep replacing the tapes. Besides, I could only get twelve hours from a tape. I can save a week’s worth of video before I have to erase the hard drive and start over.”
“May we see that video?” Matt asked again.
Cummings held up one hand, motioning another clerk over to where we stood. “This is Mr. Williams,” he told Matt. “He’ll take you to the video room and run the footage for you. Will there be anything else this afternoon?”
“Thank you, no,” Matt told him before he walked over to one of his customers.
Clarence Williams led us to a back room with four video monitors mounted on one wall. Beneath each monitor was a small box, about the size of a book. Williams took a seat in front of the monitor on the end and hit one of the buttons on the front panel. A digital readout counted backwards from four thousand or so until it got to eight hundred thirty-one. Williams hit another button and the monitor displayed video showing the inside of the front of the store.
Matt pointed to the monitor. “Right there,” he said. “That’s the southwest corner.” He turned to Williams. “Is there a time stamp on this video?”
Williams hit another button and several digital numbers appeared on the screen in the lower left corner. The date was correct, but the time was only eight-thirty a.m.
“Could you fast-forward it to right around nine-thirty?” Matt said.
Williams hit another button and the activity on the monitor progressed at triple speed. When the counter got to nine twenty-five, he pressed play again and waited.
Matt and I watched and waited. Several minutes later a figure in a dark shirt with white lettering came into the frame, but he was too far away to make any kind of identification. I turned to Williams. “Does this unit zoom in any closer?”
Williams turned a knob and the subject got larger but we still couldn’t make out any details. Several seconds later, somewhere out of camera range, we heard the two cars collide and the people on the street began scurrying every which way. The guy in the lettered shirt disappeared from view.
“That’s all there is?” I said.
Williams nodded. “I’m afraid so, sir. Will there be anything else?”
Matt looked at Williams. “Not at this time, but thank you for your assistance, Mr. Williams. We can show ourselves out again.”
I followed Matt back out of the store and down the street to the store on the corner. It was a tax preparation office, which had no reason to employ video cameras inside or out. We crossed the intersection to the first store on the other corner, a candy store. This store was on the northwest corner, facing the spot where the witness had been standing. We decided this would be our best bet and walked in the front door. A bell tinkled overhead and an older lady, perhaps fifty or so, approached us as we entered. Matt explained the reason for our visit and traded names with her. She was a woman named Betty Lawrence.
“That was terrible,” Betty said. “I’ll never forget that sound.”
“Mrs. Lawrence,” Matt said. “Does this store use video cameras for surveillance?”
Betty nodded. “We have to or those little hoodlums would steal me blind.” She pointed to a small camera over the front door that pointed into the interior. She pointed to a second camera near the middle of the store that was pointed at the front door.
“I noticed that camera faces the front door,” Matt said.
“That’s right,” Betty said. “And the kids know it, too. They know their face will be plainly visible the minute they walk in here and that seems to be enough of a deterrent to keep them from filling their pockets with my candy.”
Matt held up one finger. “Do you suppose we could get a look at your surveillance tapes from the day of the accident?”
“Tapes?” Betty said. “Who uses tapes anymore? Everything is digital these days.”
“Pardon me,” Matt said. “Could we have a look at your video from that day, please?”
“Do you know how to use the equipment?” Betty said. “I’d go with you, but I’m here by myself and cameras or not, if I leave the front of the store unattended, some little brat’s bound to make a dash for the door with my candy. It’s back there, through that door.” Betty pointed to a door halfway into the long narrow room.
“Thank you, Betty,” Matt said. “We know how to use it. It won’t take us long to find what we need.”
Matt and I walked through the door, closing it behind us. There in this small room was a setup similar to that in the tuxedo shop, only with half the monitors. It was even the same make and model. The same surveillance salesman must have serviced both locations. Matt found the box beneath the monitor that was displaying images of the front door and out onto the street. He rewound the video to the day of the accident and stopped it at twenty-five minutes past nine. We watched as the people came and went past the camera.
The counter displayed nine twenty-eight and fourteen seconds when the kid in the lettered shirt appeared at the corner, waiting for the light to change. “Freeze that,” I said.
Matt froze the image and turned the knob that zoomed in on the kid. From this angle we could read the printing on the shirt now. It said, ‘Red Hot Chili Peppers.’ It wasn’t ‘Rod’ or ‘Pet’ as Henry Porter thought it was, but this was the guy. Matt unfroze the image and we continued watching. A few seconds later we saw Porter’s car come into view. It passed by the camera and then continued out of view shortly before Betty’s camera recorded the sound of the crash.
We kept our eyes on the kid, who now was walking a lot faster through the intersection, toward this corner. A second later he was out of range of the camera. I turned to Matt. “Do you have your key ring with you?”
“Yeah,” Matt said, puzzled by my odd question. “Why?”
“Let me have it, would you?” I said.
Matt handed me his key ring and I found what I was looking for, holding it up in plain sight. Matt kept a small USB jump drive on the key ring. I slipped it into the side of the recorder, rewound to the point where the kid came into view and
captured the next two minutes of video on it, pulling it out when I’d finished. I handed it back to Matt. “Now we can go,” I said.
Matt fast forwarded the machine back to real time and hit record again before leaving this room. We thanked Mrs. Lawrence and walked back to our office. When we got back, Matt slipped the jump drive into his desktop computer and transferred the two minute video to his hard drive. He hit the play button on his media player and froze the image again when the kid in the ‘Chili Pepper’ shirt appeared. Matt zoomed in on the kid, froze the image and sent it to his printer, making two copies. He handed me one.
“Now we know who we’re looking for,” he told me.
“We do?” I said.
“Well,” Matt explained, “Maybe we don’t know his name, but at least we know what he looks like. Someone in this neighborhood is bound to recognize him. Should we hit the streets again?”
“You go ahead,” I said. “We’d be splitting up anyway, so why don’t you go ahead of me. I have a call to make first.”
“Lieutenant Anderson?” Matt said.
“Good idea,” I said, “But no, I was thinking I’d better call my client back so he doesn’t think I’ve forgotten about him.”
“What client is that?” Matt said.
“Remember the day of the accident?” I said. “I got a message on our machine and called the guy back. He wasn’t in and I left a message with him. Well, he didn’t call back, but it turns out that he stopped up here while we were down on the street looking into that accident. He came up and found the door locked and left again. I checked his phone number on out called I.D. and finally got to talk to him. You go ahead, I won’t be long.”
“All right,” Matt said. “I’ll start on the north side of the boulevard. When you’re finished up here, suppose you take the south side of the street.”
“Will do,” I said, picking up my phone and dialing. Matt left the office and I ended up having to leave another message for my potential client. I took my copy of the kid’s picture and headed down to the street. I walked to the corner and crossed over to the south side and walked west. That was the general area where the kid first came into view of the camera in Betty Lawrence’s store.
