Renz found street parking nearby, and we walked to the front doors of the bank. Within five minutes, a patrol unit pulled up and double-parked with its lights flashing, and the officers climbed out. Elizabeth Morrison exited the back seat of the squad car and approached us, and with my badge in hand, I introduced her to our group. Kyle asked the officers to stick around the area but said it could be up to an hour before she would be back out.
I assured Elizabeth that Taft, our supervisor, had gotten through to the bank president and explained why we were there.
“It’s all fine, and he said he trusts you one hundred percent to help us with the camera footage.” I saw what looked like relief spread across her face.
Inside, Elizabeth walked us to the security office, where each camera had its own monitor. There were six in total, but all we needed to see were the two that faced the overpass and Hemmer Street. At that moment, the Hemmer Street footage from yesterday was the most important.
Elizabeth queued up the recording. “What time would you like it to begin?”
I thought about the time we’d returned to the underpass. “Let’s start at three o’clock. We already had our man in question at the downtown precinct by five, so between three and four forty-five is the time frame we need.”
“Sure, not a problem, Agent Monroe.” Elizabeth set the parameters and let the recording roll.
It took a good ten minutes before we spotted Brandon at the crosswalk. As soon as the light changed, he crossed the street and turned east on Hemmer.
“I wonder what he’s up to and where he’s been since Ray saw him. Brandon said he took the bus to the area, but from where, and why walk so far? There’s a bus stop on every other block.”
Kyle nodded. “Let’s see if we can figure that out.” He pointed at a man we had been watching for a few minutes. He always remained about a hundred feet behind Brandon. Other people entered and exited stores, passed him, crossed to the opposite side of the street, or fell farther back.
“That guy is walking lockstep with Brandon, but every time Brandon looks around, the guy turns his back to him or ducks into a store entryway. He has to be the one following him.”
“Let’s fast-forward to when we showed up on the scene. We’ll have copies of these recordings sent to our office anyway, and we can look at them later in closer detail. What time do you think we arrived and you parked, Renz?”
He checked his phone for the time he had called Taft. “I was on the phone with Maureen at ten minutes after four, and that’s when you bolted out of the car.”
“Okay, let’s start at four o’clock and see if that guy is still in the area.”
Luckily, the bank had two street-facing cameras, and both had wide-angle capabilities. From the bank, we were able to see people three blocks in either direction, although not well enough to identify anyone.
“There he is.” Charlotte pointed at a clothing store across the street. That same man was standing in front of it as if debating on going in. “Now, where is Brandon in relation to him?”
“Brandon was on our side of the street and a half block up, just ready to cross at the lights.”
The camera showed us parking, and about ninety seconds later, I bolted out of the car and began walking east. Renz was behind me within seconds.
Kyle laughed. “You seriously plugged the meter?”
Renz shrugged. “I didn’t want a ticket, and I told you, Monroe is like a tracking dog. I knew she was on top of it.”
I chuckled. “Okay, okay, let’s focus on the footage. There, the guy is on the move again, but check it out. As soon as I crossed to his side, he stopped and waited until I got ahead of him. He must have noticed that we were following Brandon.”
We watched his every movement, and he remained behind me at all times. When I crossed the street ahead of Brandon and started backtracking, the guy stopped and watched from his side of the street.
Kyle scratched his cheek while staring at the screen. “So he isn’t moving in because he sees what’s about to play out from across the street.”
We watched as Renz and I squeezed Brandon in, had verbal exchanges with him, then led him back in the direction we came from. At that point, the guy crossed to our side of the street but remained far enough behind us to go unnoticed. He watched as the squad car pulled up, Brandon was put in the back, and the car pulled away.
Renz let out a long breath and checked the time on the monitor. “Okay, we left the scene at quarter of five.”
I turned to Elizabeth. “We’re going to need this footage and the footage from the camera that faces the freeway overpass, both from yesterday. You can send the recordings to my email address.” I handed her my card. “We really appreciate your help, Mrs. Morrison, and I’m sure our supervisor will call in a personal thank-you to the bank president for your assistance.”
She nodded. “I’ll get the footage sent over to you right away.”
We thanked her, then Renz contacted the police unit, and they returned to the bank to take Elizabeth home.
We were back at the office by three o’clock and excited to get the image of that guy’s face to our tech department. If the man had a police record, he would pop up on facial rec, and we’d be able to find out everything we needed to know about him. He was tracking Brandon for a reason, and he was likely Brandon’s killer. We had to dig deeper into Brandon’s life, inform his family of his death, and find out who the mystery man was as soon as possible.
Once at my desk, I saw that the email had come in. I forwarded the video and the time to start watching it to our tech department. “Want to go with me?” I asked Renz.
“Downstairs to Tech?”
“Yep. We have to point out to them who they need to get the facial rec on, and hopefully, at some point in the video, they can get a straight-on view of him.”
“Yeah, sure. Everything kind of depends on identifying him anyway. We’ll watch the underpass video later, or I can forward it to one of the other agents to watch.”
I swatted the air. “That part of the case is ours to follow. Once we find out who the mystery guy is, everyone can jump on board to apprehend him. Chances are, if there are prints on the car, they might be his.”
“Speaking of that, I wonder if Forensics came up with anything.”
I opened our office door and tipped my head toward the stairs. “One problem at a time. Taft can delegate who checks into the car and who talks to the owner. We just need to identify that guy.”
I always opted for the stairs rather than the elevator if I had a choice. We spent a good amount of time sitting, whether that was at our desks, in a car, or on an airplane, and anytime I could be off my butt, I was happy. I bolted down the stairs and had already given our tech department a heads-up that we were on our way.
That Sunday, Betsy Johansson and Marty Trent were on board. We entered the seventy-degree room, and when I felt the goose bumps rise on my arms, I immediately grabbed a spare lab coat off the wall hook.
“Hey, guys,” I said, “you got my video, right?”
Betsy turned toward me. “Yep, and we’re at the three o’clock starting point like you suggested. All we need is to see who we’re looking for and then freeze the image when we get a good shot of him.” She rolled the video, and at the fifteen-minute spot, I pointed out the man who had been following Brandon. “So the guy wearing the blue windbreaker, jeans, and with the ear-length black hair?”
“That’s the guy. He stays on that side of the street and only crosses over once Renz and I have Brandon in custody. I recall seeing him look around on several occasions and directly at the bank after we handed off Brandon to the police. I’m sure you’ll get a direct face shot of him along the way.”
“Good enough. Want me to call you as soon as we find out something?”
“Absolutely, and if I’m not at my desk, try my cell.”
Renz and I headed up the stairs and passed Taft’s office on the way to ours. That time, she was at her desk when we walked by. She called out to us, and we turned back.
“Just an FYI,” she said. “The forensics lab just checked in. The prints they did collect belonged to Brandon Dalton and the car’s owner, but none of the other prints found were in the system.”
“Why were the owner’s prints on file?” Renz asked.
“He’s a guard at the women’s retention facility in New Berlin. He said that car wasn’t his everyday work car, but he and his wife did use it as a spare. Her prints were likely in there, too, but she isn’t on record anywhere.”
I shook my head. “So the killer was either gloved or doesn’t have an arrest record, and that would make the facial rec useless if he and the guy following Brandon are one and the same.”
“Unfortunately, that’s true. Tech is checking it out?”
“As we speak, and they’ll contact us as soon as they know something. We were going to dig deeper into Brandon Dalton, find out where he lives, and contact his next of kin.”
“Wasn’t there a cell phone on his person?”
“Nope. The killer must have taken it,” Renz said.
“Okay, keep me posted.”
Back at our desks, we pondered the fastest way to find out where Brandon lived. His driver’s license had never been updated after a move a year earlier, and different tenants lived at that location now.
“Okay, no phone and no current address. Tax returns, maybe?”
“We don’t have his social security number, and that address might be the same as the one on his driver’s license,” Renz said.
“Then how do we find his family? Maybe the ‘who is’ app?”
Renz disagreed. “No, that’s for businesspeople, but we could try the people search app.”
I frowned. “That information is always so outdated.”
“True, but they usually list other people with that same last name who might be related. It’s worth a try.”
I rolled my chair over to his desk. “Go for it, then.”
Renz logged on to the site, typed in Brandon’s name with his middle initial, R, and waited as the program gathered the results. “Here we go.” Renz pointed as one by one, the results popped up.
I sighed. “Same address as what’s on his driver’s license.”
“Right, but there are four other people who could possibly be relatives in Wisconsin.” Renz wrinkled his brow and tapped the screen. “Either of these two guys could be his father since the age is right.”
“Let’s give them a call and find out. Hopefully, those phone numbers are current.”
Renz dialed the first number. The name attached to it was a Jeffrey Dalton out of Wisconsin Rapids. A woman with a sweet-sounding voice answered and listened as Renz asked if they were related to a Brandon Dalton from Milwaukee. She said it was a possibility, but since she’d been married to Jeff for only a year, she didn’t know his extended family. She said that Jeff didn’t have any sons, but he did have two daughters. Renz thanked her and hung up. The second number belonged to a Robert Dalton, which seemed promising since Brandon’s middle name was Robert. He was out of Racine, a Lake Michigan city not too far south of Milwaukee. The phone rang four times then went to voicemail. Renz left his name and number and asked for a call back.
“Doubt if the guy is at work on a Sunday, so hopefully, he’ll take my message seriously and return my call.”
“Set your phone alarm to try again in an hour.” I looked at the other names. One was a woman, Delores, age thirty-four, and the other was a male, Carlton, age thirty-eight, both Milwaukee residents. “Seems like a stretch to think Brandon could possibly have siblings that much older than himself.”
“And at forty-seven, that would put Robert out of the age group to be Brandon’s father,” Renz said.
“Maybe they’re older cousins.”
“Or no relative at all, but we need to call and find out.” Renz tapped the buttons on his desk phone and called Delores first. A female voice answered right away, a positive start. Renz introduced himself and asked if she was related to Brandon Dalton.
“Yeah, his dad and my own were brothers. Why?”
“Were?”
“Brandon’s dad died in a car accident two years back, and Brandon has been on his own ever since. The mom skipped town with a coworker more than ten years ago.”
“That’s a shame. Does Brandon have any siblings?”
“Yes, a sister, Chloe, who is married and lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.”
“And Chloe’s married name?”
“Um, darn, I can’t think. I haven’t seen her since she moved away and got married. That was five years ago.”
“How about her age, then?”
“She’s twenty-seven, I think. Oh, I remember now. Her last name is Hughes.”
“Great, so Chloe would be Brandon’s only immediate next of kin?”
“That’s correct. Nobody ever found out what happened to their mom or where she went. Is something wrong with Brandon? I mean, why would the FBI call me?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that Brandon died this morning, and that’s why we’re trying to locate his relatives.”
“Oh my God, that’s terrible. We weren’t close since I’m much older than he is, but he was still family. May I ask what happened?”
“It was a car accident,” Renz said.
The statement was literally true if somewhat of a white lie. Renz thanked her and ended the call.
“So, should we call the sister now? Maybe she has some insight as to what Brandon has been up to.”
Renz shook his head. “We’ll call her as a formality so she can arrange to deal with his remains, but as far as her knowing anything about his recent life, I sincerely doubt that she would. She lives fourteen hundred miles away, is seven years older than him, and married. I can’t see what they would have in common or what they would even talk about during a phone call.”
I agreed with Renz’s logic, but the call needed to happen anyway, and there was no time like the present. I did a quick internet search for the name Chloe Hughes in Salt Lake City, and a match popped up with a phone number. I cocked my head at Renz. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
I read off the phone number, and he made the call.