panned around a thick forest of pine trees surrounding a deserted parking lot, one security light towering on a single pole, spreading a wash of blue-white glow over the night scene. Zoom to door, the darkened neon sign overhead.
'Wait,' Harley stabbed at the screen. 'Does that say Chesterfield's? Looks like a 'C,' then an 'H'
'We'll check it later,' Grace said. 'Just watch.'
A woman came out of the door, closed and locked it behind her, then walked out into the lot. She paused once to look up at the sky and smile, then walked a few more steps forward and stopped dead.
'She saw the camera,' Annie whispered.
And then in the next split second, almost before they had time to process what they were seeing, a shadow moved into frame from the darkness at the side and the gleam of a knife appeared at the woman's throat. They saw only a masculine arm wrapped around her shoulders, and the metal of the knife.
'Jesus,' Roadrunner whispered.
'Don't,' the woman said, and the camera saw her eyes, and the tears welling. 'Don't hurt me.' And then, bizarrely, 'It's my birthday.'
'This is horrible,' Harley said quietly, and then their eyes flickered as the action on the film stuttered forward. There was a struggle, a short scream, and at the end of the fevered action, the woman was on the asphalt with her knees folded sideways, a massive choke chain around her neck, a leash attached to it. She gagged as the leash was pulled and the collar tightened, then she was dragged out of frame.
'Dear God,' Annie whispered. 'What's he's doing…?'
Grace held up one finger as the film wobbled and then jerked wildly. 'He's repositioning the camera for the next scene.'
And now they saw the woman sitting in front of a small car, her knees tucked up to her chest, her arms spread in a cross, tied to the bumper. The leash was fastened to pull her head backwards, exposing her neck. The man's back came into view as he approached her, the flash of the knife swishing back and forth, threatening her, coming closer and closer while the camera watched, and the woman, God bless her, made no sound. The tears streamed down her cheeks, reflecting in the light of the security lamp overhead, but she was in the moment, watching her assailant, ready to fight, and waiting for her time.
Annie closed her eyes.
'Don't, Annie,' Grace said quietly. 'You'll miss who she is.'
The woman sat curled on the pebbled surface of the parking lot, watching the knife swish back and forth, closer and closer to her neck, but by God she wasn't going to give this bastard the satisfaction of seeing her terror, and when the moment came, her cowboy-booted foot kicked out and connected between her assailant's legs, and with his squeal of pain a triumphant exhalation spilled out of her mouth.
'God DAMN you stupid smelly BITCH!'
And now Grace closed her eyes, because she'd already seen what came next. She'd already seen the flash of the knife at the woman's throat and the spill of blood that flooded her neck, and she didn't want to see it again. Ever.
The screen went black, and no one said anything for a long moment. Finally, Agent Smith turned away from Grace's station and walked back toward the table by the window that had become his place. 'I'll call Medford,' was all he said. He used the landline, and when someone answered, he put it on speaker. 'This is Special Agent Smith of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'd like to speak to the officer in charge.'
'You got him,' a gravelly voice replied. 'Chief Frost here, and – mister, I've got my hands full this morning. Can I get back to you?'
'I don't think so, Chief Frost. I'll fill you in on the back story later; for right now, I'm advising you of a homicide committed in your district last night at a place called Chesterfield's.'
There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. 'Who did you say you were?'
'Special Agent Smith of the-'
'I'm going to have to verify that with a callback to your office.'
Smith winced. 'I'm not actually in my office at the moment…'
'Uh-huh. Well, where are you now, Mr. Smith? Perhaps we could meet and have a little talk in person.'
Smith never lost his temper. You weren't allowed to do that in the Bureau, but this yahoo was wasting precious time…
'He thinks you're a nutcase,' Grace said.
'Or the killer,' Annie added.
Grace picked up the receiver on her phone. 'Chief Frost?
This is Grace McBride of Monkeewrench in Minneapolis. We sent you a copy of our software two days ago.'
'Oh, hey. Yeah. It was delivered yesterday. Thanks for that. But I'm a little confused here. First I'm talking to some guy claiming to be a Fed, now somehow you're on the line…'
'He is a Fed, Chief. He's in our office and we have you on speaker. We're working with the Bureau on some homicides with a Web connection, and we just finished watching a film of a murder in the parking lot of Chesterfield's.'
You just watched the film? You mean, like, a movie?'
'It's on the Internet.'
'Okay, sorry, but this is a little hard to believe…'
Grace closed her eyes. 'The woman was tied to the front bumper of a Ford Tempo and her throat was slashed.'
'Jesus.'
'Listen, Chief, we'll e-mail you the details as soon as we hang up, but right now you need to get your men out there to contain the murder scene while it's still fresh, and Agent Smith wants the local FBI in on the investigation.'
Chief Frost sighed and cleared his throat. 'I got no problem with the Feds joining in, but there's no murder. There was an attack, but the woman survived, at least so far. She's in ICU, hanging on by a thread – and I want a copy of that film right now.'
Chapter Seventeen
The downpour had finally stopped and the sun was peeking out between the lingering shreds of storm clouds by the time Gino got his return call from Ole Olssen. They started out the conversation by continuing their recipe argument, which didn't sound like it would end anytime soon, so Magozzi took the opportunity to get up and move his body.
He was almost to the front door of City Hall when Chelsea Thomas suddenly hurried in, carrying a laptop. She was wearing her hair down today, and there were streaks of platinum in it that he hadn't noticed yesterday when it had been coiled up in a bun. She caught sight of him and gave him a slight smile, but her eyes were troubled. 'Do you have a moment?' she asked without preamble.
'Of course.'
Her expression turned sheepish. 'First of all, I'm really sorry about last night…'
'I'm not.'
'I've never been able to hold my liquor. It's one of my many flaws.'
'Some men might consider that an asset.'
The smile flashed, then disappeared again. She was FBI this morning. 'Is there someplace private we could talk?'
'Would an empty interrogation room work?'
'Perfect.'
Gino was still talking to Ole Olssen as the pair passed through Homicide, and his brows shot up curiously when he saw Chelsea. 'The guy on the phone is my partner, Gino Rolseth.'
Chelsea gave him a little wave, and Gino beamed at her, the way he always did whenever he saw a pretty
