The Killing Room (Richard Montanari) - By Richard Montanari Page 0,94

the opposite.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘I’m not afraid anymore.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I think I am blessed,’ Byrne said. ‘By all rights, I shouldn’t even be here. I’ve been shot twice. I’ve been stabbed. I’ve been punched more times than I can count, sometimes even for good reasons. I’ve been given last rites. Twice. And yet I’m here. I have a job I love, a partner I love – a woman in whose hands I place my life everyday without hesitation. I have a father – who probably needs your services more than I do – who is healthy. I have a daughter who is bright and smart and beautiful and in possession of the biggest and most generous heart of anyone I have ever met. Dr Goodwin, you are looking at a man who lives in a state of grace.’

‘Do you believe in God, detective?’

‘I believe in God.’

Dr Goodwin waited a few seconds, then typed the new information. When she was done she glanced at her watch. ‘I’m afraid our time is up for today.’

‘And I was just getting into it.’

‘Isn’t that the way?’ she said with a smile. Her entire demeanor changed when she smiled. ‘We need to see each other one more time before I submit my report. Would you like to make the appointment now?’

Byrne pointed to the outer office. ‘You mean with my BFF Antonia out there?’

Another smile. ‘You don’t have to make the appointment now.’

Byrne thought about it. He really had no idea where the next few days would take him. ‘Can I call tomorrow when I have my calendar in front of me?’

‘Of course.’

Byrne sat in his car, wondering how he had done with the shrink. He had wanted to talk to her about Father Leone, about the passing of an era, about the long winter in his soul. He decided to keep all of that for next time. It had probably been a mistake to open up about Gabriel, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

Maybe it was not a bad thing, Byrne thought as he pulled out into traffic. If something happened, at least someone would know the truth.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Sergeant Mateo Fuentes considered the Audio Visual Unit to be his own private fiefdom, a place with its own rules, its own methods and procedures, its own language. In his mid-thirties, Mateo Fuentes was precise in his manner and speech and dress, and considered visits by investigators and brass alike to be a personal affront. Nobody knew more about electronic surveillance than Mateo Fuentes. His personal library on the subject filled an entire wall in the unit.

At just after noon Jessica and Byrne ventured into Mateo’s lair. He greeted them with stiff formality, and got right down to business. They stepped into an editing bay where two laptops sat on a table.

‘You see the most interesting things in the basement,’ Mateo said.

Neither Jessica or Byrne had an argument for this. ‘What do we have?’ Jessica asked.

Mateo held up a disc. ‘I got this from Detective Bontrager. He’s on the street now, but he wanted you to see it.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s surveillance footage from the night before the St Adelaide’s victim was found.’

Mateo was talking about Danny Palumbo.

‘If you’re talking about the pole-cam footage, we’ve seen it,’ Byrne said.

‘We are not,’ Mateo said in his terse manner, apparently using the royal we. ‘This is new.’

‘Where did we get new footage?’ Byrne asked.

‘It seems Detective Caruso wielded her not inconsiderable charms on the owner of an auto-repair shop around the corner from St Adelaide’s. He let her see some of his equipment, as it were.’

Mateo took the compact disc out of the paper sleeve and slipped it into the optical drive on one of the laptops. A few seconds later he cued up the video image.

‘According to Detective Caruso, the auto-body shop has four video surveillance cameras on the property. One of them is on a light pole diagonally across the street from the PPD pole cam.’

‘And this footage is from around ten o’clock on the night before Danny Palumbo’s body was found?’ Jessica asked.

‘It is.’ Mateo clicked on the image. It was grainy, and the light level was very low, but it looked usable. Mateo fast-forwarded through passing cars and people until he got to the mark he sought. He stopped the recording. ‘Now, if you check the time code here, it coincides with the pole-cam recording.’ Mateo opened a second laptop which displayed the footage taken by the police camera. ‘I synched