Left to Murder (Adele Sharp #5) - Blake Pierce Page 0,40

dropped it? As in someone assaulted her and she—”

“No, no certainly not!” the woman exclaimed. “I would have immediately called the police if I’d seen anything like that. No—rather, she seemed a bit overburdened with everything she purchased. Newer customers can be like that sometimes.” She shrugged. “Two trips instead of one can save a world of headache.” The clerk nodded sagely at her own advice.

Adele mirrored the gesture if only to further put the clerk at ease for what she asked next. Adele didn’t doubt the woman’s story. Perhaps the victim really had dropped her item by accident. Perhaps the killer had spotted this and taken advantage of a vulnerable situation.

Adele indicated the front glass panes and gestured with her fingers. “Any chance I could get a look at that security footage?”

The clerk chewed on her lip for a moment. She half glanced back across the store, as if looking for a manager or some form of permission. But then she sighed and said, “Can’t see that it would hurt. Here, step around.” She pushed open a small, swinging wooden door, allowing Adele entry behind the counter.

Agent Carter tried to follow, but John stepped in front, bumping past him and crowding the area behind the counter, forcing the younger agent from the San Francisco office to wait on the other side of the divide.

The clerk pulled open a drawer beneath the cash register and fiddled with a large black box, muttering and cursing a couple of times. Adele resisted the sudden urge to scream, clenching a fist to hold back her sudden rush of frustration. Finally, though, after what felt like a year, the woman pulled out an LED display screen, placed it next to the register, and muttered, “We only have the one. And it’s as old as bones. But here it is.”

After another few muttered expletives and some more fiddling, the clerk finally managed to project the image from the security footage onto the small display screen. Adele and John both leaned forward so far their shoulders pressed against each other. The clerk gave a nervous little chuckle and then waited as the image played.

Adele witnessed extraordinarily grainy footage as a woman carrying a brown box walked into frame. She watched as the woman placed the box on the trunk of her car, and then accidentally dropped something out of the bottom.

A few seconds later, she witnessed someone just out of frame, talking to the woman.

Adele frowned. “Any way we can see who that is?” she asked, jabbing a finger.

The clerk winced and shook her head. “Only the one camera—sorry.”

Adele sighed and returned her attention to the screen. The person out of frame didn’t seem to have alarmed Ms. Wagner. She was smiling genially, even gratefully, nodding quickly and then pushing her box beneath the car.

Adele watched as she moved off with the person toward another vehicle.

“Hang on—there!” John said, sharply. “Can you rewind?”

The clerk’s cheeks reddened a bit, and it seemed like she might be holding back a burst of frustration, but after another few moments of finagling, she managed to rewind to the portion John had wanted. “There, stop!” he said.

The woman sighed and did just that. John tapped a calloused trigger finger against the screen. “There,” he said. “See?”

Adele did. The corner of a man’s shoulder, the very edge of his neck. She watched as the man led the victim away toward another parked vehicle. This second vehicle was nearly entirely out of the camera’s view—but Adele did notice two things.

“A white van,” she said, quietly. “Too wide to be a sedan. Definitely white.”

John nodded as well, confirming the observation.

They watched the tape through until the figures disappeared, then watched it again. At last, Adele looked up, addressing Agent Carter this time. “We need the office to run people in the area who own a white van.”

“Could be a truck,” John said, quickly. “Americans like trucks, yes?”

Adele snorted, but said, “If that’s where he bled her out and dumped her, it’s more likely a van. A truck wouldn’t suit his purposes.”

John shrugged, stepping back through the swinging wooden door set behind the counter. “Could be a truck,” he insisted.

They both turned now to Agent Carter, who was hesitating, looking at them with an expression caught somewhere between apologetic and worried. The second part of the emotion seemed mostly directed toward John. He winced as he said, “Actually, not sure we can do that. I already spoke to the office before you guys arrived. Was