by T. K. Leigh
“And that’s what we’re looking at here?” Moretti asked, eyeing Alexander as if he were waiting for him to snap again.
“Yes. This is all the exterior cameras from last night, starting at eighteen hundred hours.”
“And where were you last night?”
After a brief moment of hesitation, Alexander admitted, “At my office working on a few things.”
“What specifically?”
“As I’m sure you can understand, the nature of most of my business is classified.” Refusing to turn around, Alexander continued staring at the laptop screen, keeping his eyes peeled for anything unusual.
“I can certainly appreciate that,” Moretti offered, “but it could be relevant to your daughter’s disappearance. Do you typically work late, especially on a Friday? My office was pretty much a ghost town yesterday afternoon.”
“Something came up that required my immediate attention.”
“So you stayed late?”
“Yes,” Alexander answered with a clenched jaw.
“Leaving your wife and daughter alone in this big house?”
“I leave them nearly every day when I go to work,” he responded, struggling to control his temper. “I get called in at odd times on a regular basis. This was no different.”
“Hmm.” Agent Moretti paced behind him, studying the books on the shelves. “I’m sure the CARD team is on scene as we speak, probably going through a timeline of the past twenty-four hours with your wife. I just hope both your story and hers match up.”
“What are you saying?” Alexander spun around in his chair, his nostrils flaring. Heat flashed through his body at the agent’s insinuations. In missing persons cases, usually those closest to the victim were suspected. No one was ruled out, even parents, but Alexander couldn’t imagine how any parent could cause their own child harm.
“Mr. Burnham, it’s been my experience that what the lay person believes to be an insignificant detail, such as what one was working on at the office, could be the clue needed to find and bring home a loved one.” His eyes narrowed. “And isn’t that what you want? Don’t you want to find your daughter?”
“Of course I do!” Alexander roared. “What kind of question is that?” He shot up from his chair, towering over Agent Moretti by a good six inches.
“Then prove it,” he hissed, standing his ground. His fierce expression unwavering, he glared at Alexander, leaning into him.
Clenching his fists, Alexander fought the urge to take his aggression out on him and use him as a punching bag. Agent Moretti had a disdainful attitude toward him and he had no idea why. But what if Moretti was right? What if Melanie’s disappearance was connected to Mischa’s death? Alexander didn’t see how, but the more time they wasted arguing, the less time he would have to find his daughter.
Sighing, he lowered himself back into his chair, returning his attention to the security camera feed. He pressed a button on the keyboard to speed the video up.
“Just before three Friday morning, I got a call from my brother-in-law.”
“Detective Wilder, correct?”
“There are two Detective Wilders,” he reminded Moretti.
“One being your sister. She retired from the police force, didn’t she?”
“How do you seem to already know so much about my family?” Alexander asked, a bit wary.
“I take every case I get called on very seriously. While the local LEOs were looking through your house for physical evidence, I was doing my research on your family to see if anything in your history stood out. Based on what I was able to ascertain, I’m in complete agreement with your earlier assessment. You’ve made quite a few enemies.”
“Dave Wilder is my brother-in-law,” Alexander answered, ignoring Moretti’s last statement. “He’s the lead homicide detective for the city.”
“And what did he want so early?”
“He asked me to meet him in Southie.”
“Such a shame to leave your comfortable house in Dover for the slums of Southie, don’t you think?” There was a hint of venom in his tone.
“I’ve been to worse places during my time in the navy, making barely three grand a month after I first enlisted.”
“But you rose in the ranks fairly quickly, didn’t you? If I’m not mistaken, you were a commander when you left, weren’t you?”
“And in what branch did you serve?” Alexander spit out.
“I went into the police academy right out of college. I’m still paying back those student loans. I didn’t have the money to just pay for college up front.” He glared at Alexander before continuing. “Now, why did Detective Wilder ask you to meet him in Southie?”
“He wanted to show me something.”
“And what was that?”
Alexander hesitated briefly, reluctant to get Dave in trouble for his breach of protocol. However, the game had changed. If this information helped find Melanie, it was a chance he had to take.
“A body was found in an old fishing warehouse.”
“Why did he call you about it?”
“Because it was a friend. Mischa Tate.” His solemn voice wavered slightly as he recalled staring at the badly bruised and barely recognizable face of his friend’s sister.
“I heard about that on the news. Another one of the Castle Island Killer’s victims, right?”
“I suppose, except Mischa didn’t exactly fit the profile. Something about the entire situation seemed off to me. I couldn’t help but think it was a copycat, even after Dave assured me there were details of the case not shared with the general public that Mischa’s body had.” Letting out a breath through tight lips, he shook his head. “I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t, so I went into the office yesterday to see what I could dig up. Like you, I like to do my research. I spent hours poring over every detail of Mischa’s life, looking for something that could point me in the right direction.”
“Is there anyone who can vouch for your whereabouts?”
He flung his eyes to Agent Moretti, fire in his gaze.
“I apologize, Mr. Burnham. It’s protocol. We have to account for the whereabouts of everyone close to the girl.”
Running his hand over his weary face, he nodded. “My secretary could, as well as my, well…Martin.”
“Martin? The fellow who was just in here?” Agent Moretti took out his pad and began scribbling in it. “What’s his relationship to you?”
“I’ve known him practically my entire life. He was my father’s right-hand man when he was alive. After his death, Martin stepped in to temporarily run the company before I decided to leave the navy and take over.”
“And how did Martin feel about that?” His interest piqued, he put his notepad back into his pocket, his attention devoted to Alexander once more. “It must have been difficult for him to hand things over to you, don’t you think? Hell, if I had been working for someone for years, essentially being groomed to run things, and someone who never exhibited any interest in having anything to do with the day-to-day operations suddenly came back and took over, I might get a little upset. In fact, I’d be fucking livid.”
Alexander opened his mouth, bewildered at how this agent seemed to know all the tiny details of his life. Things very few people knew.
“Like I said, I did my research on you.” He gave a contemptuous smile.
“Martin’s not like that,” Alexander explained. “He never wanted to run the company. He just stepped in for the time being while my mom convinced me that my father wanted the business to stay in the family. Martin was the only one who could fill my father’s shoes at the time. He was the only one who knew where all the bodies were buried, so to speak. To this day, he’s still the only one, besides me and my brother.”
“So you and your brother both run the company now, correct?”
“More or less. We have different skills. Tyler is more interested in expanding our humanitarian presence in areas that need help…” Alexander trailed off, thinking how much his b
rother reminded him of Landon. They both bent over backwards to help some of the most vulnerable people in the world. Tyler devoted endless resources to people whose countries had all but forgotten about them. Landon opened Alexander’s eyes to the potential impact his company’s vast resources could have. Now, Tyler carried on that legacy.
“It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it?” Agent Moretti cut through his thoughts.
“What’s that?”
“Some of the people you try to help could be running from the very same armies your men have trained.”
“We never get involved in areas of internal conflict,” he insisted. “We provide resources after armed conflict to help stabilize the region.”
“That may be true, but your company’s contractors have trained armies in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Africa, just to name a few. There’s always conflict.”
“What does any of this have to do with finding my daughter?” Alexander asked, losing the little patience he had left.
“It could all be related. Now back to your, well…Martin. What’s his official title with your company?”
“Operations Vice President.”
“And what does that entail?”
“Everything, really. Whenever I need something, he’s the person I go to.”
“Including a ride?”
Alexander shot his eyes to him. “What do you mean?”
“Operations Vice President sounds like a rather embellished title for someone who seems to be just a chauffeur. To go from being interim president of the company to driving around the new president must have been difficult.”
“He’s not just my chauffeur,” Alexander hissed. “If he were, do you think he’d be the only one who knows everything about the company? He’s the only one who has full access to everything — files, cases, even this house! He’s more than just my driver. He’s more than just my right-hand man. Martin is family. When I came back to take over the company, Martin showed me the ropes. He helped mold me into the leader I am today.”
“Still…” Moretti shrugged. “Sounds like he could be hiding some resentment. I know I would be.”
“Thankfully, with all due respect, Martin is a bigger man than it sounds like you are, Agent Moretti.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he retorted, everything about him condescending. “So your secretary and Martin could both vouch for your presence in your office from the time you arrived until the time you left?”
“Yes. Well, not the whole time. My secretary left at five. I fell asleep a little bit after that. I was tired from having been up most of the night. When I woke up, it was after ten.”
“At which point you decided to continue working instead of come home,” he said, very matter-of-factly.
“Yes,” Alexander agreed, bending the truth. He did go back to work. That he left the office to search for another ghost of his past was none of Moretti’s business.
“And what time did you arrive home?”
“Around seven this morning.”
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”
“Not at first. I parked my car in the garage and entered the house through the kitchen.”
“The entrance from the garage has the same security as the other exterior doors, correct?”
“Yes. It has the same keypad and thumbprint scanner as the other doors. The house was quiet. There were a few ornaments scattered on the floor, but that’s usual around here. We have a cat who thinks Christmas ornaments are toys.”
“My ex-girlfriend had a cat. I’m convinced the thing tried to kill me in my sleep on a nightly basis.”
Alexander gave him a congenial smile, not surprised he was single. He pictured him treating everyone with the same respect he gave him, which was none.
“Anything else appear out of place?”
Nodding, he continued recounting the morning’s events. “If you recall, just past the living room is a large rotunda entryway. Olivia always keeps a floral arrangement on a table in the center. It was knocked onto the floor, as were some of the pictures from the smaller entryway table. As I headed up the stairs, I saw Melanie’s bear in the hallway outside her room.”
“And none of that raised any red flags with you?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow and cocking his head.
“It wasn’t until I pulled the covers back on her bed and saw it was empty that I put two and two together. Until that point, I just thought our cat had decided to cause a ruckus and that Melanie had left her bear in the hallway. She’s a typical eight-year-old who tends to leave her things all over the house.”
“And your wife didn’t hear anything?”
“This house is over eight thousand square feet. It’s not her fault she didn’t hear any sort of commotion,” Alexander said defensively. He didn’t want to say anything about Olivia taking some cold syrup to help her fall asleep. Then Moretti would pry into why she had trouble sleeping to find another reason this was all Alexander’s fault.
“When you realized Melanie was missing, what did you do?”
“After searching every inch of this property, I called Martin.”
“How did he react when you told him what was going on?” Agent Moretti asked, his intrigue increasing.
Alexander eyed him with renewed skepticism. “Why does it matter?”
“Humor me.” He smirked.
“I didn’t tell him at first. I just told him I needed him to come over to the house right away.”
Standing back, Moretti widened his stance, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I thought you told him everything, that he was your ‘right-hand man’? If he’s your sole confidant, why didn’t you confide in him immediately? Wouldn’t you want him to do everything he could to help find your daughter? Why did you keep that information from him all the time it took him to drive over here?”
“Because!” Alexander slammed his fist on the desk, his face flaming. All his training to remain calm and focused during interrogation-type settings had been forgotten. This wasn’t just him keeping information out of the hands of the enemy. This was so much bigger. His entire world was at risk and this agent was doing nothing, except making everyone seem like a suspect when the real culprit was out there somewhere with his daughter. With each breath Alexander took, he feared Melanie could be taking her last, and the lack of action on Agent Moretti’s part frustrated him to no end.
“Because saying it out loud would make it seem real! Because I should have been home last night instead of chasing down a theory on a case that may turn out to be completely pointless! Because I know it’s my fault Melanie’s gone! So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to look through these camera feeds to see if we can find something!”
Alexander’s voice rang out in the room for what seemed like an eternity, then a heavy silence settled between the two men. Agent Moretti remained standing over his shoulder as Alexander continued scanning through the camera feeds. He tried to unclench his jaw and relax his shoulders, but he couldn’t.
“My apologies, Mr. Burnham. I didn’t mean anything by—”
“Yes, you did,” Alexander shot back. “I don’t need you reminding me of what I already know.”
He kept his eyes glued to the laptop screen, watching the time code on the camera feeds race by. He had scanned through hours of footage with no sign of anything suspicious. Every so often, a raccoon would scurry across the cobblestone driveway. The only sound in the room was that of Moretti’s heavy breathing, coupled with the occasional throat clearing that grated on Alexander’s nerves. Each one was a little louder, a little more obnoxious. Just as Alexander was about to lose it and kick him out of the room, there was a subtle knock on the door.
“Come in!” Moretti called out, as if it were his office.
Alexander turned to glare at him, then something on the screen caught his attention. If he hadn’t paused the video when he heard the knock, he probably never would have noticed it. He had been focused solely on looking for some dark figure approaching one of th
e entrances. What he failed to take into account was the probability that this was a very well-thought-out plan requiring months of preparation.
A man wearing an FBI jacket, jeans, and glasses peeked into the room. “Agent Moretti.”
Alexander looked up briefly before returning his attention to the screen in front of him, trying to hide his interest. He caught his lip between his teeth, rewinding the camera feeds in slow motion to see if his hunch was right.
“Yes. What is it?” Alexander overheard Moretti inquire in the background. His attention remained fixed to the laptop screen, continuing to rewind and fast forward through the camera feed, jotting down the time code displayed. 00:12:36. 00:17:50. 00:23:04. 00:28:18.
“Five minutes and fourteen seconds,” he whispered.
Starting at just before midnight, there was a skip in the video every five minutes and fourteen seconds. During each of those five minute intervals, a raccoon ran across the driveway at the same exact place. He didn’t think it possible, but someone was able to manipulate the video feed to set it on a loop. There were only two or three people who could even log on and access the server.
“We’ve been in touch with the tech team at Mr. Burnham’s security firm,” the agent told Moretti. “They’ve granted our team access to the system information from last night to see if we can find anything suspicious.”
“I already checked the system myself,” Alexander interrupted. “There were no entries at all. The system logs every time someone uses their unique code and fingerprint to enter.”
“In cases like these, where the victim usually knows the suspect, we like to control everything,” Moretti explained. “Someone may have been able to pull this off because they had access to your system and were able to manipulate it.” He turned back to the agent. “What did you come up with?”
