He came over and went to the NYPD Twentieth Precinct private network and logged in. He found the case file and opened the folder that contained hundreds of clips of video lifted from cameras around the building.
“This is everything we could get half an hour either side of the shooting,” he said.
“Thanks,” Mo-bot responded. She took control of her laptop and went to a folder marked “Gaiter.”
She highlighted the video footage and ran it through the Gaiter program.
“Neighbors see anything?” Sci asked.
Salazar shook his head. “They heard the chase and a woman yelling, but no one saw anything useful.” He looked over Mo-bot’s shoulder. “What is that?” he asked, pointing at the Gaiter status bar, which showed the program had almost finished analyzing the video files.
“No two humans walk the same way. Our gait is as unique as out fingerprints, so I created an AI program that’s studied millions of gait patterns from video footage taken around the world and has taught itself to identify a person solely from their gait,” Mo-bot replied. “Pretty cool, huh?”
She was used to the stunned reaction she received from people when she gave them these glimpses of the future, and Salazar didn’t disappoint.
“We’ve got six matches,” she said, looking at the search results. She scrolled down a tile display of six individuals who featured in multiple videos. One was the masked man.
“This looks like our shooter. He takes off his mask between that camera and this one.” She pointed at stills from two different sites. “Unfortunately, he’s got his back to the camera when he removes the ski mask.”
“Wow,” the detective remarked in awe. “You just saved us hours of legwork.”
“You think you could share the case files?” Sci asked, taking advantage of the goodwill their breakthrough had engendered. “We can see what else we can help with.”
Salazar nodded. “Sure. Once you’ve signed a contractor NDA, I’ll send you everything we’ve got.”
Mo-bot smiled as she clicked the still and Gaiter opened the relevant video file: a short clip taken from a traffic camera at a distance. The shooter walked away from the camera for a little while before pulling open a wire-mesh gate and hurrying into an alleyway beside an apartment building.
“You see it?” Mo-bot asked.
“Yeah,” Sci replied. He was at her shoulder, totally absorbed in the footage, which had started playing again from the beginning.
“See what?” Salazar asked.
Mo-bot waited until the suspect pulled open the gate.
“See how he reacts here?”
She saw Salazar register the significance this time.
“He nicks himself on the gate.”
“Right,” Sci said. “We don’t have a visual, but we just might have his DNA.”
Chapter 12
The last time I’d been locked up, I’d shared a cell with a downed US airman called Joshua Floyd in an outpost on the Afghan — Pakistan border. This time I was alone in a six-by-eight cell in a police station in the Pinggu District of Beijing. Zhang Daiyu and I had been manhandled into custody and booked for offences I didn’t understand. We were separated early on and the officers who processed me didn’t speak English, so despite my protests that I didn’t know why I was being held, I was frogmarched to a cell in the custody block. This had no windows and my watch and phone had been taken along with my passport and wallet, so I’d passed the hours on a steel bunk, listening to the sound of a leaking toilet, and eventually lost track of time. I only knew night had turned into morning when I heard activity in the corridor outside.
I’d spent most of the restless night thinking about David Zhou. He’d proved to be a handful, and his attempt to flee spoke to his guilt, or at least to his playing some part in the murders and Shang Li’s abduction. I was annoyed I hadn’t been quicker. All I needed was some time alone with the guy, but that now looked very unlikely. Zhang Daiyu had been right to pick out the wise woman’s apartment as an anomaly from the surveillance file. Normal people didn’t have secret rooms hidden in their homes, and it was clear from Meihui’s reaction and her circumstances that she was pretending to be something she was not. But I wasn’t clear what she really was, or why Zhou was hiding there. Intelligence, perhaps? Or maybe organized crime?
I heard footsteps and the buzz of an electric lock being activated. I got to my feet as the door was pushed open by a lone uniformed officer I hadn’t seen before. He looked mean, like he’d been forced to spend his life doing tax returns.
He yelled something unintelligible to me and signaled me to follow him.
“I’d like to speak to the American Consul,” I replied. “Or my firm’s Beijing attorney, Duan Yuzhe.”
My words prompted an angry repetition of the command, so I sighed and got to my feet.
The officer’s uniform was new, but the black trousers and blue shirt weren’t a great fit, so he looked like a little kid playing dress-up in his father’s clothes.
The police station couldn’t have been more than a few years old, but already seemed worn and tired. I followed the officer through the cell block, retracing the journey I’d made the previous night. Another officer stood guard by a steel gate and nodded before running a key card over a reader. The lock buzzed and the guard pulled the gate open, allowing us to pass into the main booking hall.
I saw Zhang Daiyu immediately. She was talking to a man in Beijing Police uniform. He was in the same light blue shirt and black trousers, but his fit perfectly. He was clean-shaven and had a thoughtful-looking face.
Zhang Daiyu smiled as I approached them. “Mr. Morgan, good morning.”
“I thought I told you to call me Jack,” I replied. “Did you spring me?”
She nodded at her companion. “This is Chen Ya-ting. He’s leading the investigation in the murders. He... clarified things with the officers here, so the misunderstanding that led to our arrest could be corrected.”
“Mr. Morgan,” he said, offering me his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m sorry for the loss of your team.”
“Thanks,” I said. “And thank you for getting us out.”
“Some of my colleagues lack nuance,” he said. “They like cracking heads and stamping on people, but that isn’t the way of modern police work, is it? You should never have been in custody. They should have thanked you for locating and apprehending David Zhou.”
I immediately liked the guy. “These things happen. I want to ask you about Shang Li. What’s your working theory?”
Chen Ya-ting looked at Zhang Daiyu and shook his head slowly. “We think maybe they put his body in the reservoir. We found some footprints by the water’s edge.”
“Why would they do that?” I asked. “And leave the others in the van?”
He shrugged. “To conceal evidence maybe. Who knows what was going through the mind of whoever did this?”
I frowned, pondering the fate of my business partner and friend. “And David Zhou? Where’s he?”
“He’s been taken to Qincheng Prison for questioning.”
“It’s a high-security facility,” Zhang Daiyu explained. “Reserved for enemies of the Chinese people.”
“Political prisoners?” I remarked.
“We don’t have such things in China,” she responded playfully.
“Why would they take him there?” I asked.
She shrugged and Chen Ya-ting shook his head in reproof.
“In China one is not encouraged to ask about such things,” Zhang Daiyu remarked. “Qincheng is the preserve of people who have powerful enemies, and those enemies become hostile to anyone who asks troubling questions.”
“I need to talk to him,” I said.
Chen scoffed: “Even I can’t see him. Any requests for information must be submitted to the Qincheng authorities. It is impossible for anyone from the outside to see the prisoner.”