I had printed out a map of the businesses on either side of Ninety-Fifth Street before I left the bullpen. Several fast-food restaurants, a handful of apartment buildings, gas stations, and an insurance agency lined both sides of the street. Abbott Park took up a good portion of real estate on the south side of Ninety-Fifth.
Henry and Shawn arrived minutes later, and with the map placed on the trunk of our cruiser, I pointed out the buildings with possible cameras between State and Prairie.
“This isn’t rocket science,” I said. “We’ll just divide up the street and head east. Shawn and Henry, you two take the north side of the street, and Frank and I will take the south side. Since the park is on our side and we may have fewer commercial properties to check, once we reach Prairie, we’ll cross over to your side and start heading toward you. Begin here at the gas station. You may get lucky and see the person who dumped the purse.”
Shawn gave us a nod. “Why don’t we move the cruisers over to the park? Don’t want to make the gas station employees mad by taking up two of their customer spaces.”
“Good plan. Let’s go.”
I pocketed the map and climbed into the cruiser. Frank crossed the busy Ninety-Fifth Street and slipped into a space in the lot at Abbott Park, and Henry pulled in behind us.
“Okay”—I glanced at my watch—“it’s two fifteen. Henry, I’ll text you with an update every forty-five minutes.”
He and Shawn jogged across the street, where they would begin with the Quick Fill station’s footage. As we took to the pavement, I realized that some of the nine-to-five, Monday-through-Friday businesses might be closed on Saturday. We’d do what we could, and the person who followed Callie would show up somewhere on Ninety-Fifth Street during the timeframe in question unless they were cunning enough to stay hidden from view until she turned onto Prairie.
Frank and I walked east until we reached South Michigan, where the fast-food restaurants began on our side. We entered the first one and were told by a manager that the only cameras they had were at the drive-through window, the registers, and in the dining room. None faced the sidewalk parallel to the street. We continued on and bypassed the next building, which didn’t have any visible cameras outside.
Taking a five-minute break at a shaded bus shelter was a welcome relief. The midafternoon sun beating down on the concrete sidewalk was brutal, and I realized then that I should have left my sport jacket in the cruiser. I texted Henry, who replied with a call seconds later.
“My mouth moves a lot faster than my fingers do,” he said.
I chuckled. “What have you got?”
“On last night’s footage, we heard noises by the gas station’s dumpster, but since none of the cameras face that side of the building, it was the sound only.”
“Like opening and closing it or what?”
“Yep, exactly like that. No grainy images, no shadowy figure walking by, just what sounded like the dumpster opening and slamming closed.”
“What time was that?”
“Just before four a.m.”
“And how many people board the northbound train at that early hour?”
“Next to none, I’d say.”
“Exactly. You and Shawn go back to the terminal and watch the trains heading north between three thirty and four thirty. We’ll take care of the cameras along the street, and I’ll update Lutz.”
“Copy that.”
Frank and I hit the other two fast-food restaurants, which were likely our best bets. One had inoperable cameras facing the street, and that was a letdown, but the other gave us images of several people walking throughout the late-night hours. We were sure one was Callie. Even when she was a good distance from the camera and across the street, her long blond hair was a dead giveaway. I checked the time on the footage—3:17.