8

Shortly before 10:00 A.M. Sig sat in a dark conference room facing a TV screen. Dark was necessary, because the tape quality in normal light was shit. Tape quality in the dark was also shit, but in a dark room, images that in daylight were at best impressionistic blurs became vaguely recognizable abstractions.

Sig ground his teeth as he watched the screen. “This is the best quality you can buy, Tom? Damn near worthless from where I’m sitting.”

Tom Fiske fiddled with the VCR, timing it to begin from the time Andrea’s shift had begun at the One-Stop. “I don’t make any decisions about the security equipment,” he said, backing away from the monitor. “Corporate sends us the equipment, gives us installation specs, ships out new tapes on a schedule.”

Fiske stood in front of the monitor for a moment, holding the remote in his right hand, fast-forwarding the gray fuzz until the tape clock reached 17:55:38. Then he clicked PLAY on the remote.

“Okay,” he said. “Andrea’s shift started at 6:30 P.M. You see her coming into camera range four minutes and twenty-two seconds ahead of that. She goes over to the register and talks to Jen—oh, I forget her last name—who worked the shift just before Andrea.”

“Hold it for a minute,” Sig said. “This angle we’re looking at. This is from the camera in the corner at the back of the store, back by the pop coolers? Looks like it’s aimed at the cash register. The other cameras you’ve got—two outside facing the parking lot and another one inside the store at the front, catty-corner from the camera that’s giving us the angle we’re getting now—together those four cameras are going to give us full coverage of the store?”

It was too dark for Sig to tell what was happening with Tom Fiske’s face in response to Sig’s question, but the silence that followed was not encouraging.

His voice low, just a bit more than a mumble, Fiske said, “What we figured we needed was coverage on the cash register. We’re gonna get robbed, that’s where the action’ll be.”

Sig said, “What you’re saying is the other three cameras aren’t going to give us anything? You didn’t have the other three cameras filming last night?”

“You have any idea how much maintenance there’d be on four cameras? The two outside cameras, especially. We had those going when we opened the One-Stop three months ago, but they never did us any good. We’ve had some problems with no-pays at the pumps. Nothing we got off the cameras was any help. You know that, Sig. We sent those tapes over to the station, and you guys told us they weren’t any good.”

“What we said when you sent the tapes over on the no-pays was that cameras mounted on the building weren’t going to do anything for you at the pumps. We told you to mount cameras under the pump canopy. All of which is beside the point. No-pays at the pumps aren’t what we’re talking about here, Tom. For the problem we’ve got with Andrea Bergstad, I want to see somebody walking in through the front door at the One-Stop. If you’d had the outside cameras working last night, we’d have got something on that. Or from the camera over in the front corner. This angle, at best, we’re going to get a profile of anyone who took Andrea last night.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Fiske said. “Let’s run it and see what we’ve got before you start bitching about the tapes.”

What they had was worse than Sig’s lowest expectations. Even Fiske knew it was bad.

When Andrea was behind the counter, right next to the cash register, you’d maybe recognize her. Maybe. If you knew her, maybe you’d recognize her.

Problem was, the only time Andrea was behind the counter, next to the cash register, was when a customer came in to pay for gas or buy something. Then Andrea would appear from wherever she’d been in the store—in the bathroom, stocking shelves, sweeping floors—and ring up the purchase.

What you’d see of the customers was usually the back of their heads. Every once in a while a customer would come to the counter from just the right angle, and you’d get a bit of profile. But the profile wasn’t sharp. The best you could get was male or female and a rough sense of height, dark or light hair. Sometimes not that.

Sig pulled his chair closer when the tape clock approached the time Averill had said he’d stopped by the One-Stop. There was no sign of Andrea on the tape except for a brief moment when a hand flashed out from the bottom corner of the picture frame.

“Back to the hand in the lower left corner,” Sig said. “Then freeze it.”

The hand hung suspended in the air. A girl’s hand? Could have been. What Sig thought was that the position of the hand was consistent with Andrea being on the phone, back by the pop coolers, talking to Erin. Then Averill had come in—the time was right for that—and Andrea waved him off, her hand flashing into the camera’s range.

So far, this was the most useful bit of information that had come from the tapes. It didn’t tell Sig anything he didn’t already know, but it confirmed the facts that he did know based on what Erin and Averill had told him.

The tape rolled on for maybe another minute when, suddenly, Andrea came out of the corner of the frame and walked, fast, toward the cash register. She went behind the counter, reaching up for something. What she was reaching for you couldn’t tell from the tape. Then she turned around and came back in the direction of the phone, disappearing once again into the frame’s lower right corner. Every now and again you’d see her hand for a moment. Once, her elbow popped out, as if she’d lifted her arm and put her hand on her head.

Moments passed with nothing but the empty store—one row of shelves, one end of an aisle, the counter—visible on the monitor. The only movement on the monitor was the rapid flicker of the clock on the screen’s lower right corner, tracking seconds, minutes, and hours as they passed.

And then, abruptly, Andrea came into view again. Moving hesitantly toward the cash register, but with her eyes in the direction of where the front entrance would be. Was she talking to someone? Impossible to say. For the briefest moment, she glanced to her right, like she was checking the shelf, her head disappearing, as if she’d bent down.

The last image of Andrea was as she moved out of the camera’s range. She could have been going toward the door—or not.

They rewound the tape, watching the last images of Andrea over and over. Not knowing any more after the fifth rerun than they’d known the first time.

“Pick up from where we see her for the last time,” Sig said. “I want to see who comes into the store after this.”

Again, minutes passed when all to be seen was the narrow view of the store’s interior. Until, exactly twelve minutes and thirty-nine seconds after their last view of Andrea, a woman came into the frame. She’d been moving quickly, but stopped as if pulled back on a short leash. She looked around, her mouth moving, then she waited, as if for a response, looked down, then turned heel and left.

In seconds she was back, followed by a man. They both walked toward the camera, the top of the man’s head staying at the bottom of the frame after the woman disappeared. He must have been five, six inches taller than Andrea—just enough taller to keep the top of his head in the frame.

“He’s on the phone,” Sig said. “He’s calling the station to say there’s no one in the store.”

Less than two minutes passed before the woman came back into the frame, and the two of them left, the man ahead, the woman behind, the woman looking back over her shoulder, dipping out of sight for a moment, and then she was gone.

They watched the tape until Averill came into the One-Stop, looking pie-eyed and confused. He walked aimlessly around the store, ducking out of sight, moving out of camera range, looking straight up at the camera every now and then.

When Sig saw his own image enter, he told Fiske to stop the tape. He stood and stretched, shaking his head in frustration. “Damn it, Tom. There’s no excuse not having full video coverage on the store. What we’ve got here is good for pretty much nothing. At best I’m going to be able to pull some images to help us find the couple that came into the store and phoned in. Maybe the images will be good enough for that…”

Fiske tried hard to look like the injured party. “For what we get out of those cameras there’s just no way that it pays to have four running. A deal like this comes along how often? We’re supposed to do a couple hours’ maintenance every day on a surveillance system because once in a blue moon some teenager is going to go missing?”

Sig’s frustration turned to anger. “You guys have a formula for how many hours of maintenance you are willing to do per human being at risk? The cameras aren’t all of it. I told you that when we were doing security planning before you opened. I said no one working alone at night. Especially no woman working alone at night. You have a woman working alone and you just add one more motive for some lowlife to commit a crime. The other thing I said was a silent alarm with a direct connection to our station. That and a bulletproof security cage for your clerks…” Sig held up both hands as Fiske started to interrupt him. “Okay. I know that isn’t foolproof. But it’s something. I told you, you put in a security cage, we’ll provide shift change coverage for you. Anything I asked you to do you could have paid for by selling milk for an extra ten cents a gallon. People picking up stuff at the One-Stop, they could care less what they’re paying. They’re at the One-Stop because it’s convenient. They’re at One-Stop because they can get the milk when they pay for their gas, not because it’s the cheapest place to buy milk.” Fixing his eyes on Fiske, he said, “It’s why it’s called a convenience store, right?”

Fiske met Sig’s stare. “Something else you said. You said you’d have your patrol cars out at the One-Stop at least twice a night. And that you’d make sure they came on an irregular schedule, so anyone watching the place wouldn’t know what to expect. Averill Hess always came the same time. Just before a shift change, so he could hit on whoever was working.”

Sig stood, silent. Damn Averill. Damn himself for letting the situation with Averill go on as long as it had.

“I hadn’t known that. If it’s true, I’ll see it changes.”

Fiske sensed he’d gained some ground, and he moved fast to take the advantage. “You’ve had me closed down since after midnight. That’s costing me plenty. When are you going to let us get back in business?”

As Sig left the room he said, “As soon as you’ve got all four security cameras up and running.”

*   *   *

Sig took time to cool down before he called the BCA. The last thing he wanted to sound like when he called was some off-the-wall maniac.

He’d given careful consideration to his approach. He figured he’d start with the request for assistance in identifying sexual predators who might be suspects in a case like this. If he got a sympathetic response on that, he’d level with the BCA, tell them while he didn’t have a lot of facts to support his concerns, all his instincts were flashing red. Would it be possible to get some technical and staff assistance to make sure Redstone was doing everything that should be done on a case like this?

The call went better than expected, even if the BCA didn’t offer to send a team down to Redstone right off. They promised to fax him a sexual predators list before close of business and reviewed on the phone everything Sig had done to date.

“Sounds like you’re on track,” the fellow said. “Guess it feels a little to me like the kid did a runner. That she’ll turn up in a day or two. I know what you’re saying about her being a good kid and all, but teenagers…”

“Well, I suppose that’s what my head says, too. Just that my gut feels real different.”

The fellow at the BCA hesitated. “I’d never tell a police officer to disregard his gut. That’s for sure. But if we sent a team out every time an officer in the state twitched, we’d blow our budget in a week.”

He hesitated again. “What you can do that might help us both out. The kid that’s gone missing. Andrea. She a good-looking kid?”

“A beauty,” Sig said. “And smart. National Honor Society last year.”

“Photogenic is what counts,” the fellow from the BCA said.

“Like I said, a beauty.”

“Okay. You need to do this anyway. Wire us the best photograph you’ve got on her. If there are home videos, send those up by messenger. Send us all the case details as you’ve got them. Any personal details that’ll suck the media in, be sure to include that. I’ll have our public information folks put a media alert together. We’ll handle it as a missing persons case and see the information gets posted across the state. If it’s a slow news day and this kid is as good-looking as you say, we’ll get some media interest. That’s the way it works. If she really has been taken, you need to use everything you’ve got.”

Sig nodded as he wrote down what he needed to do.

“One other thing. Does the kid’s family have any connections to elected officials?”

The question came at Sig from left field, so he had trouble focusing on an answer.

“The reason I ask. A call from her family to your state legislator might help. Might motivate someone over at the capitol to give us a call. We get a call from a state legislator, it makes a difference. Same with media coverage. Media picks this up, makes it easier for us to put some resources in. It shouldn’t, but that’s the way the world works.”

After Sig hung up with the BCA he called Bob Bergstad. He brought Bob up-to-date on what they were doing, then asked a question.

“Am I right remembering you were Redstone County Republican chairman a few years back?”

“You bet,” Bob said. “Still on the party’s statewide steering committee.” His voice was energized by the opportunity to give a positive answer to Sig’s question, by the prospect of a distraction from the void of Andrea’s absence. He said he’d call the state party chairman as well as a couple state legislators he knew as soon as he was off the phone with Sig. “Hell,” he said, “I’ve organized fund-raisers for all the state’s Republican office holders. Our current congressman included. Some of them even met Andrea at one point or another. She helped out on a lot of door knocks and literature drops. Got some of her friends to help, too. I’ll call all of them.”

When Sig hung up he felt like some of the weight of the case had been lifted from his shoulders.

It was just his gut that still felt tight.