54: “How long is this going to take?”
Klozowski raised a hand and waved her off, his eyes fixed on his computer monitor. “I’m trying to find a good camera angle. Tell me when you spot something that—”
“That one!” Clair shouted out.
“Hell, Clair-bear, how about using your inside voice?” Nash said from over her shoulder.
Clair leaned in and touched the monitor. “That’s the back door of the fish store. What street is this?”
Kloz clicked on the information tab next to a graphic of a CCTV camera. “Corner of Sixteenth and Mortimer.”
“Can you get in any closer?”
“I’m at full zoom right now. What day do we need?”
“He said the tank was stolen about a week after Christmas,” Clair said. “He didn’t file a report until January fourth. Maybe start with December twenty-seventh to be sure?”
Kloz let out a breath. “That’s a big window.”
“Better to cast a big net.”
Nash leaned in on the other side. “I thought these things let you search by make and model?”
Kloz leaned back in his chair. “How about a little personal space? You smell like radishes.”
“I had a salad for lunch,” Nash said, stepping back. “I’m trying to make a conscious effort to eat healthier.”
“You had a McDonald’s salad for lunch, and it was swimming in ranch dressing. That’s one of the most fattening things on the McD’s menu.”
“Bullshit.”
“I shit you not.”
“Focus, gentlemen!” Clair said. “Can you search by vehicle type?”
Kloz shook his head. “Not exactly.”
“That’s not exactly an answer.”
“The cameras can’t identify make and model of a vehicle, but they do read and record all the license plates. I can cross-reference that information with DMV records and—”
“So as long as our unsub didn’t swap plates on the vehicle, you can search the plates captured by the cameras and isolate all 2011 Toyota Tundras passing through this intersection without the need for a time or day,” Clair interrupted. “Do it.”
Kloz began typing. “I work better with coffee.”
“You find something, and I’ll buy you Starbucks for a month.”
“That’s wonderfully generous of you, but it doesn’t solve my current situation.”
Clair rolled her eyes at Nash. “Go get him something to drink.”
Nash opened his mouth, prepared to argue, then thought better of it. He headed toward the small break room in the corner of the IT department.
Clair lowered her voice, leaned in closer. “Have you talked to Sam?”
Klozowski’s gaze remained fixed on his monitor. “We’re not supposed to contact him. I would never consider violating a direct order.”
“I’ve tried him three times. I keep getting voice mail.”
“Nash called too, a few hours ago. Same thing,” Kloz said quietly.
A list appeared on Klozowski’s screen. He selected a number of items and clicked Enter. “Look, the last thing I want to do is sound like the only grown-up in the room. Porter’s my friend too, but he fucked us. The feds swooped in and took over the 4MK case, I’m good with that. That’s how things happen in the real world. I washed my hands of it and moved on. You did. Nash did. Porter should have too.” He stopped typing, his shoulders slumped. “You did back off, right? You don’t have a secret crime-fighting lab somewhere?”
He started typing again before Clair could respond, then went on. “I like my job. I wish to succeed at my job, so I do what I’m told. Maybe that makes me a little weird, but I sleep like a baby, not a worry in my head. Oh, boy.”
“What?”
“Toyota Tundras are popular.”
“How many do you have?”
“Six hundred and twelve between December twenty-third and twenty-eighth.”
Nash returned, carefully balancing three Styrofoam cups. He set one down next to Kloz and handed another to Clair.
Clair looked down at the screen. “Can you sort the list by the number of times they appear? Libby McInley working at this fish shop for one day is not a coincidence. If she’s somehow working with our unsub and scouted the place out, that means our unsub didn’t have to, so passes by this camera were probably limited. Higher numbers might be regular traffic patterns, like the same people coming and going from work every day.”
Kloz adjusted some of the entries at the top of his screen, then hit Enter again. “Okay. Highest number of passes is fourteen. One hundred and six single passes, ninety-three doubles . . . I’m gonna sort from lowest to highest, then pull up static pictures.”
Clair watched as the list disappeared, replaced with a dozen images of trucks, all taken from the same angle. “We’re looking for someone towing a water tank.”
Their eyes drifted over the pictures. After a few seconds, Kloz clicked Next at the bottom of the screen. The images were replaced with a new set. They studied the photos, then he clicked Next again, and again after that. They were twelve screens in before they found it. “There you are,” Kloz said.
“Definitely the same truck we saw on the Jackson Park camera,” Nash said.
“We need to run the plate and pull a name and address,” Clair said. “Can you zoom in on the driver?”
“Yep.” Kloz slid a toggle with his mouse, and the image expanded to take up the entire monitor. He double-clicked on the windshield until the driver’s face came into view.
“Oh, balls,” Nash muttered.
“Is that . . . ?” Kloz leaned back in his chair, his mouth open. He rubbed at the back of his neck.
“That’s Bishop,” Clair said softly.