He grabbed one, walked into the bank and was immediately greeted by one of the tellers. Again he asked if people needed permission to leave flyers or business cards on the table. And again, the answer was no, but this time his luck changed.
A woman in her mid-fifties wearing a peach pantsuit approached him from a bullpen area with several desks and a copy machine. She introduced herself as Charlotte Blumstein, the branch manager.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
Nick identified himself and said, “You have a security camera trained on the entrance?”
“We do.”
“How long do you keep the footage?”
“It’s digital,” she said. “We store it for ten days before overwriting it. Next month we plan to upgrade our storage capacity and keep thirty-one days.”
“Are you familiar with this flyer?”
“No,” she said. “I’m afraid I barely notice the stuff on that table anymore.”
“I believe it’s been in circulation for a week,” Nick said. “No more than two. I’d like to review the footage for that camera, see if I can get a shot of whoever left it there.”
“No problem. Follow me.”
She took Nick to a cramped office in back with a small desk supporting a large flat-screen monitor that displayed eight black-and-white live video feeds from the interior and the exterior of the bank, including one over an ATM machine, another angled toward the drive-through lanes, and one facing the front door from inside the bank. The branch manager sat at the desk and clicked through a program that showed archive footage for that one feed.
“Start with the earliest and work forward,” Nick said.
“Ten days ago?”
“Why not?”
“Okay,” she said with a resigned you-know-best tone in her voice. “Ten days ago starts… now.”
Nick watched for a minute or two. “Can you play it at a faster speed?”
“Yes,” she said, followed by a couple clicks. “This is double speed.”
Customers showed up on the feed, seemingly in a hurry; most bypassed the table, but a few stopped and scanned the items on the table before continuing into the bank.
After a lull with nobody entering, Nick said, “Faster?”
She clicked again. “Four-times speed.”
People fast-waddled into the bank, while others fast-waddled out. The procession continued. One man stopped and placed a stack of a dozen business cards on the table before entering. A few minutes later, someone ripped a phone number tab off the bottom of a for-sale flyer.
“Faster.”
“Eight-times,” Charlotte informed him.
People darted in and out of the bank, like fish in a fast-moving stream, too fast to make out features and, sometimes, not even gender.
“Pause!” Nick said. “Back up.”
A gray-haired man looked over the table, then set down a stack of flyers. With the footage at normal speed, Nick could tell the flyers were white pages, with large type and no drawings.
“Speed it up again.”
After a couple minutes, Nick offered to take over the controls. Charlotte gave him the basics on operating the program and left him alone in the office. The speed was so fast, Nick simply stared at the table as a focal point—almost mesmerized—and waited for any hesitation in movement that indicated somebody was either looking at the table, dropping off flyers and business cards or taking any from the table. After a while, he increased the speed so that he watched activity ten times faster than normal, and had to refrain from blinking for so long his eyes burned.
When he thought he needed a five-minute break, he paused the playback, took out his phone and called Hank. He answered on the third ring.
“Hey, Nick,” Hank said. “Any luck?”
“Still following breadcrumbs,” Nick said. “Get anything from the widow?”
“She said Crawford kept her and the kid in the dark,” Hank said. “Told them he was involved in something illegal and potentially dangerous. Apparently he left no written or digital record in the house to avoid incriminating them.”
“Hard to believe he kept no records.”
“I know,” Hank said. “But he had his work computer wired to self-destruct. Makes sense he’d leave nothing incriminating at home. But I’ll get a search warrant.”
Nick told him about reviewing the security camera footage.
“We could do that in shifts,” Hank suggested. “Or get the techs down there. Let them come up with an algorithm or something to scan for interaction with the table.”
“For now, I’ll keep at it the old-fashioned way,” Nick said. “Since I’m tied up here, I was hoping you could check on Monroe.”
“Something up?”
“Texted him a copy of Crawford’s flyer. Now that we know it’s Wesen-related, I thought Monroe might be able to shed some light on it. Maybe something in one of his old reference books. I called but he’s not answering his cell or home phone.”
“Okay, I’ll head over to his place.”
Nick thanked him, disconnected, and directed his nose back to the digital grindstone.
Although the drive-through lanes opened early and stayed open late, the lobby ran on a nine-to-five schedule. All the cameras, however, ran twenty-four hours a day, which meant Nick could skip ahead in the time stamps from closing time each evening until the next day’s start of business.
During the next two hours, the branch manager checked on him a couple times, to see if he needed a cup of coffee or anything else, but he declined, never looking away from the screen.
In the third hour, while reviewing footage from eight days back, he spotted something. Backed up and played it again at normal speed. The timestamp showed 4:15 p.m. when the man came in. Tall and broad across the shoulders, wearing a black hoodie, black gloves and dark sunglasses. One gloved hand clutched several mottled pages the right shade. Without hesitating, the man pushed some business cards aside and placed the flyers in the same spot where Nick had found them.
Gotcha, Nick thought.
His satisfaction was short-lived. Nick paused the image and stared, looking for something useful. He tapped a finger beside the mouse. Clicked “Resume.” And, as he’d seen at the accelerated frame rate, the man turned on his heel and exited the bank without coming into the main lobby. He scanned backward until he found the frame where the man set down the flyers, the only moment where any portion of his face was visible to the camera.
“Find something?” Charlotte said, startling him.
“Got the guy,” Nick said. “Not much to look at. Adult Caucasian male, possibly Hispanic. Can you zoom in on his face?”
She leaned down and glanced over his shoulder.
“It would be a digital zoom. Pixelated.”
She demonstrated, zooming in and turning the face blocky as the computer attempted to guess at what the larger version should look like without having the actual data to display the image at that size. The zoomed-in image was worse than the distant one.
“Should I print it out?” she asked.
“Yes,” Nick said. “The non-zoomed version.” He doubted it would help identify the suspect, but it might help eliminate other suspects at some point. He also requested all the footage to pass on to the computer techs at the precinct, in case they could identify someone who had picked up a leaflet. It was a longshot but he figured it was worth a try.
After thanking the woman for her help, Nick took his security feed printout and a copy of the bank flyer with him. He started the Land Cruiser, checked the address at the bottom of the bank’s version of the flyer and drove across town to the next breadcrumb.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Monroe prepared dinner, chopping green beans, boiling brown rice and broiling two veggie steaks. Decker hovered around, glancing from one pan to the next and clucked his tongue.
“What?” Monroe asked.
“Something is missing,” Decker said. “Trying to put my finger on it.”
“Got it in one!” Decker exclaimed.
“Don’t knock the veggie steak until you’ve tried it,” Monroe said. “This could open a whole new world for you—a meat-free existence along with the inner peace we talked about.”
“Not sure I want to face a new world sober, brother,” Decker said. “Got any beer?”
“Some microbrews,” Monroe said. “Check the top shelf. I should have a few bottles from Hair of the Dog.”
“Made with real dog?” Decker said, standing with the refrigerator door open. “Yes, I might go there.”
“It’s beer,” Monroe said as he monitored the sizzling veggie steaks. “No actual dogs were involved in the brewing or bottling process.” He tried to work out a kink in his neck. Despite meditating—briefly—he found it impossible to relax around Decker. The house had become so quiet that Decker’s voice was the only—
He had a head-slapping moment as he remembered he’d turned off his house and cell phones.
“Keep an eye on the stove for a minute” he told Decker. “Don’t—don’t touch anything—unless something catches fire or boils over.”
Monroe hurried to the other room. But, really, he wondered, what could Decker do to the meal? Burn it? Not like he had any actual meat in the fridge the man could toss in the pan. Unless Nick had bought…
He grabbed his cell phone and powered it on before returning to the kitchen. Immediately, he saw a one-word text from Nick—“Recognize?”—with an attached image. Monroe squinted at the small image but all he could make out was a circle and some writing beneath it, so he sent the image to his wireless printer.
“Everything okay?” Decker called.
“Back in five seconds,” Monroe said absently. He grabbed the printed image from his printer’s output tray and returned with it to the kitchen, where he set it on the table. Nick wanted to know if he recognized it, but the image meant nothing to Monroe and, with dinner at risk, he decided to check it properly later.
“I kept the house from burning down,” Decker said as he backed away from the stove and took a swig from the microbrew’s IPA. “Now what?”
“You could set the table,” Monroe suggested. “Put out plates, a couple glasses and flatware.”
“Flatware?” Decker said. “You don’t eat with your hands? You know, sometimes I shove my face right into the plate and rip the meat from the bone with my teeth alone.”
“No bones here,” Monroe said evenly. “So you can stick with a knife and fork.”
Decker was silent as Monroe finished cooking and turned off the burners. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Decker hadn’t made a move toward the cabinets to retrieve plates and glasses.
“What?” he asked.
Decker looked at him and pointed to the flyer. “Do you know what this is?”
“No. Should I?”
Decker shrugged. “Looks like some kind of puzzle, but I’m stumped. Maybe that circle is supposed to be the sun. Where’d you get it?”
“Nick—Detective Burkhardt—sent it,” Monroe said. “Part of a case or something.”
“Why send it to you?”
Monroe frowned, not wanting to open the Wesen can of worms.
“He’s trying to figure out what it means. Guess he thought a second set of eyes might help. Plates?”
“Oh, yeah, right,” Decker said, setting down his half-empty beer bottle. After opening a couple cabinets, he located the plates and glasses and set down two place settings on opposite sides of the table, facing each other, adding the flatware last. “I know you went to a lot of—”
The doorbell rang.
“Sit,” Monroe said. “I’ll get it.”
“But…”
As Decker’s voice trailed off, Monroe answered the door and found Hank on crutches on his front door stoop. Alone. Monroe leaned out a bit and looked left and right.
“Hey, Hank, is Nick…?”
“Nick said you weren’t answering,” Hank said. “Asked me to drop by.”
“Come in,” Monroe said, swinging the door open and stepping aside so Hank could maneuver inside. “I had my phones turned off. Meditation session.”
“Oh,” Hank said. “Didn’t know you were into that.”
“I’m not, usually, although I have tried it in the past a few times, but today I had a—”
“Who’s your friend?” Decker asked, approaching. “Ah, another cop.”
“Detective,” Hank corrected.
“Hank Griffin,” Monroe said. “Nick’s partner. Hank, this is Decker, an old friend of mine. We’ve been… catching up.”
“And meditating?” Hank asked.
They shook hands briefly.
“Gave it a shot,” Decker said. “Bit too relaxing for me.”
“Sometimes ‘relaxing’ is just what the doctor ordered,” Hank said.
“Speaking of doctors,” Decker said, indicating the crutches with a sweep of his hand. “Hope that’s not too serious.”
“Torn Achilles.”
“Ouch!”
“Few days away from the cast coming off,” Hank said, shrugging. “End in sight.”
“Sure,” Decker said. “But until then, something like that must put you off your game. No chasing suspects on foot, am I right? Can you even drive?”
“I get around all right,” Hank said, clearly wishing to drop the topic. He turned to Monroe. “Nick sent you a photo. Have you had a chance to look at it?”
“I have, but only for a minute or so,” Monroe said. “It’s in here.” As he walked to the kitchen, Hank and Decker followed him. “I had my phones turned off during meditation and forgot to turn them back on before I started cooking dinner.”
Monroe grabbed the printed copy of the flyer photo and looked it over again, the circle surrounded by triangles and the address at the bottom.
“Nothing’s ringing any bells. Decker thought maybe the circle represents the sun. I’m not familiar with the address on the bottom but maybe that will help the cause.”
“Nick’s tracking down addresses.”
“There’s more than one?”
“More than one version of the flyer,” Hank said. “Each one’s the same except for a different address. That address took Nick to a market, where he found another one, which took him to a bank. Not sure where he’s headed now.”
“I wish I could help, Hank,” Monroe said, shaking his head as he continued to look at the image. “I got nothing. But I could, you know, look into it later.”
“Appreciate it.”
Monroe set the flyer back on the table and saw the two place settings, awaiting the food cooling in the pans on the stove.
“Hank,” he said. “I’d like to offer you a meal, but I wasn’t expecting company, well, other than Decker, that is. I could split my veggie steak with you, if…”
“No need,” Decker said. “I started to say earlier, I need to bug out. Hank’s welcome to my veggie steak.”
“But I cooked—Decker, we planned to—” Monroe’s frustration began to rise again. Decker flaking out yet again. Why he let his friend continue to disappoint him, he couldn’t say. But, clearly, it was time for Monroe to let go. No regrets. “Okay, man. I’m sorry you can’t stay.”
“It’s something I really need to take care of, brother,” Decker said. “Completely slipped my mind until I grabbed the plates. Unfortunately, the… temptation of fake meat doesn’t trump what I gotta do, you know?”
“Okay.”
“We’re cool?”
Monroe offered his hand. “Eyes forward, full bore…”
“No regrets,” Decker said and shook his hand. “Ain’t it the truth, brother?”
This time Decker’s grip was firm, but without the dominance display. Monroe walked him to the door, watched him stride down the walk, closed the door behind him and shook his head.
Finally, it was over. No more classes or exercises. No more pep talks. No remaining calendar
commitments. Monroe had probably seen Randall Vail Decker for the last time. But he truly had no regrets. He’d said goodbye to the man—and the time he represented in Monroe’s life—long ago.
“So, Hank,” Monroe said, walking back to the kitchen. “Looks like the numbers worked out. Veggie steaks for two.”
Hank looked over at the stove dubiously. “Actually, I need to get back to the precinct, some reports to fill out and loose ends to tie up, before I call it a day.”
“Oh,” Monroe said, his disappointment obvious.
“You could save it for Nick,” Hank offered. “Heat it up later?”
“I’m sure Nick has something planned with Juliette,” Monroe said. “But that’s okay, I have a healthy appetite and can manage two veggie steaks—again.”
* * *
Nick pulled onto the parking lot of the Rosedale Community Center and double-checked the address on the bottom of the flyer he’d brought from PFNB. He had the right place—and it was open late, no doubt for evening activities.
Inside the building, he found an expansive main room with a high, canted wood ceiling, scattered tables and chairs, and an information desk that faced the front entrance. Each end of the main room connected to additional rooms visible through glass walls.
He noticed a cork bulletin board against the near wall and veered in that direction. Again, he found several copies of the circle-and-triangles flyer hanging on the cluttered board and took one. But the address at the bottom of the flyer looked familiar. After a moment, it came to him. It was the library’s address.
He’d reached the end of the line.
He approached the information desk, staffed by two middle-aged woman engaged with their computer displays. A banner hung over the curved desk advertising free Wi-Fi. Others pamphlets mentioned various exercise classes, and rules for use of the pool and a gym.
Nick identified himself to the closer of the two women and asked if she knew anything about the flyer. The other woman scooted her chair next to the first and they both examined it. Then shook their heads. Nick also discovered they had no formal approval process for hanging flyers.
Grimm: The Chopping Block Page 18
