‘I think she didn’t trust herself to remember something so important. She wrote it down but hid it well. But the fact that she wrote it down may help us find her killer.’
‘Her killer?’ She echoed him. ‘You only said she had been harmed by this person.’
‘Yeah. He harmed her by killing her.’
This time, he recognized Aviva Goldsmith’s expression; she was angry, damn angry.
Angie closed the last file. ‘Got it. Let’s go.’
Tripper waited until the electronic display came up, acknowledging the cash he’d fed into the machine: ‘Go pump at #4’. He walked to the motorcycle and began to pump the gas. Through his helmet, he could hear a newscaster’s voice coming from the small television screens mounted above the pumps. The man’s tone was breathless.
Back to our breaking story. We’re just now getting the vision we promised you from Northside where it’s understood that police and FBI officials have made a break in the case of several unsolved Atlanta homicides. Teri is live at the scene. Teri?
Tripper’s grip relaxed on the pump and he turned to look at the screen. The camera was focused on the field reporter’s heavily made-up face as she lowered her finger from where she’d been covering her ear.
That’s right, Don, but I should add that, so far, neither the police nor the FBI have made an official statement as to what is taking place in the house that is just about halfway down the block on this quiet street, but it’s widely believed to be related to the discoveries of female body parts around Atlanta, all still unidentified. As you can see behind me, law enforcement vehicles are continuing to arrive and they have put up crime scene tape to keep us some distance away.
The camera shifted from her face to the street behind her and attempted to focus on a house partially obscured by one in the foreground. In the corner of the screen, a box materialized with a view of the same street with a subtitle: Earlier Today. Several people were visible emerging from an SUV and crossing the street. Tripper raised the visor on his helmet and stared hard. Jayne Hall and Steelie Lander were unmistakable as they walked behind Special Adversary Houston.. . . and although we have no official word on the case being investigated, the families of women missing in Atlanta are already beginning to congregate here, hoping for some word on their loved ones. Back to you in the studio, Don.
Tripper’s anger was so great that it outweighed the zing of fear that shot through him and made his toes tingle. His plan to go back to California and cause those bitches as much trouble as they’d caused him was no longer enough. They’d interfered one step too far now. He had to eliminate them – all of them, including Houston. It could mean taking his chances by going back to the Mead Street house, which was in violation of the Transition Plan. But he would have to take that chance.
Tripper lowered his visor with a snap and turned back to the motorcycle.
As Angie drove them back to her office, Eric made a series of calls. First, he confirmed that King was indeed working at Atlanta Airport on the day that Eleanor Patterson was due to arrive there. Then he contacted the relevant Transport Police units to track down any CCTV footage from in and around the airport. Without a time frame for Patterson’s arrival, they would have to scan through all the footage from that day and hope to see some contact between Patterson and King. They needed a strong link to solidify the case against him because they didn’t have proof that he was driving his van when her dismembered arms fell out of it on the freeway. Nor was her purse in his garage proof that he actually killed her.
By the time Eric and Angie walked into the briefing room, the airport’s Closed Circuit TV tapes were waiting for them. The Transport Police had sent a note that Eric could thank the increased camera coverage and extended CCTV storage requirements that came into effect after September 11, 2001, otherwise the footage would have been wiped by this time.
Angie corralled a television and playback machine from someone’s office and wheeled them into the briefing room while Eric brought sandwiches and sodas from the cafeteria. They had Eleanor Patterson’s photograph illuminated on the projection screen to assist them in identifying her if she turned up on the video and they kept each tape on fast-forward as they ate while watching the screen.
The stationary camera had only picked up the part of the room that showed the information desk and about fifteen feet of tiled floor in front of it. Many people passed back and forth in the room and the fast-forward made them appear to be involved in some complicated dance, sometimes appearing to twirl in the center of the floor when they were consulting monitors mounted around the room.
Angie stopped the first tape several times for false alarms; women who looked like Patterson on fast-forward but then were revealed to look completely different once the tape was put on play. There was no sign of a man cleaning the floors as King was alleged to have been doing that day.
Then Angie exclaimed, ‘Whoa!’ and rewound the tape. ‘You said Houston described a big off-white handbag in the shed at King’s house? I think I just saw one.’ She pressed Play.
At first, the image was just the floor, the desk, and the man working behind the desk. Then a woman came into the shot from the right, the airport terminal side, and she stood in the center of the floor, turning slowly as if deciding which way to go. Angie paused the tape while the woman was turned toward the camera. The time marker read 16:22:12. Eric looked at the portrait on the projection screen and then back at the frozen CCTV footage.
‘That’s her,’ he stated.
‘Yeah, definitely. Same square jaw, same features, same type of hair. Big, pale bag.’
‘Play it, Angie.’
As they watched, Eleanor Patterson turned and walked to the information desk. She kept her handbag tucked under her arm as she stood talking to the attendant. It was while she was doing this that another man entered the shot from the left at time marker 16:26:34. His head was tilted down and he was walking backwards slowly, which was confusing until it became clear he was mopping the floor, shuffling backward so that he wouldn’t walk on areas he’d just cleaned.
‘Shit,’ Angie hissed.
The man with the mop passed close behind Patterson while she was leaning into the counter to look at something. He paused as though to stretch his back and pulled a kerchief from a back pocket. As he wiped his forehead, he glanced at her. At the moment he put the kerchief back in his pocket, Eric pressed Pause.
‘That’s him. That’s King, the sonofabitch.’
‘She doesn’t even know he’s there.’
‘He means nothing to her at this stage. If she even noticed him. He’s just the guy cleaning the floor. We have to see how he gains her trust.’ He restarted the tape.
King carried on mopping until he was out of the shot to the right. Patterson finished the conversation at the desk and walked out of frame to the left, toward the curb pick-up and bus stop area. The time marker read 16:31:02. Then King was back, now entering from the right and working backwards. He seemed to be mopping faster. At 16:40:36, he was no longer visible on the CCTV footage.
Angie exchanged the tape for one that showed the exterior of the same area. They would examine the rest of the interior tape later. She fast-forwarded the tape to time marker 16:30:00 and they saw Eleanor Patterson walk out of the building at 16:31:01, cross a few lanes for other buses, then stand at the third island across. They had a clear view of her. Over a period of 24 minutes, four buses came and went and Patterson didn’t get on any of them. Once, she waved at someone on a bus who may have spoken to her and she held up three fingers as if to suggest she was waiting for the Number 3.