“One more,” John said. “When did Ellen and Steven Decker split?”
“Years ago—pretty much right after her divorce was final. If you’re thinking she had feelings for him, she didn’t. They were friends before they slept together, and they remained friends.”
“And Marc knew.”
“Yes—they were surprisingly honest about that. But that’s why I think Marc moved in with the teacher. He was hurt. But he didn’t love Monica. He’s never stopped loving Ellen.”
“Thank you, Dr. Hotchkiss.”
She left, and Lucy said, “This is a lot more complex now.”
He was about to say something, then looked at his phone. “Officer Knight says your husband found something. We need to get to Pride, it’s important. Maybe this will make the situation less complex. You still able to join me?”
Lucy looked at the time. “Yes, I have a few hours.”
“I’ll make sure you’re back in time for your presentation—Pride offices aren’t too far from here.”
Chapter Seven
Sean wanted to see Lucy, but all morning he hoped she wouldn’t come to Pride with Detective Black. No such luck.
As soon as she walked in, he saw the worry, anger, and disappointment in her expression. Then she locked down her emotions and all he saw was professional cop.
Riley had been chatting and asking questions the whole time, and while Sean responded, his heart wasn’t in it. He had some answers about Ellen’s attack, but he didn’t have all the answers. He was stuck on the why. Theft? Nope, because he was pretty certain they destroyed the equipment. So if not theft, the only thing that made sense was that they thought she saw something . . . a crime in progress, maybe. And based on the drone footage, that’s exactly what happened.
Except it didn’t.
“Detective,” Riley said. “Sean is a genius.”
“If I were a genius, I’d know who attacked her, but at least I can show you what happened. How is she?”
“She’s in surgery,” John said. “It’s going to be a long process.”
Not for the first time, Sean wished he had been there. But he wasn’t, so this was all he could do.
Sean dimmed the lights in the Pride IT office to give a better visual. The screen he was using was state-of-the-art, high-res; clarity was sharp, but it was still dependent on the quality of the surveillance camera that Ellen had been using.
He said, “Ellen ran through two tests between eight fifteen and nine, one in daylight mode and one in nighttime mode. They were routine and nothing on the recordings looked out of place, but I made you a copy so you could review them yourself. She called the drone back to the van at nine oh one and recalibrated it, then put on the night camera for the third test, which she didn’t start until nine forty-three p.m.”
“Would it take her more than thirty minutes to recalibrate?”
“No. Two or three minutes.”
John made a note, but Lucy knew he was thinking that Marc’s statement was consistent, that he left a little after nine thirty. That would give Ellen time to recalibrate and send the drone up again.
Sean continued. “She tested the drone and camera, then ran through a simulation she’d set up—she had sprayed special paint on a few items in a three-block radius that would glow with the specialized camera and software, to simulate certain targets. You can see here”—Sean pointed to the screen—“that she was running the heat signature program through the recording. These are images in buildings of individuals. She would have edited a lot of this out—her presentation was going to be twenty minutes—but I guess she wanted as much footage as possible to highlight the capabilities of the drone and the software.”
“It’s pretty amazing,” John said.
“It’s standard, to be honest, but what Ellen did that takes this to the next level was anticipate the needs of law enforcement by having preset settings for different types of surveillance, very user-friendly, and she incorporated a bunch of bells and whistles that will help with admissibility in court, things like that. Geo-tags, alerts to tampering with footage, et cetera. It’s pretty cool. Plus she had the drone built to her specs and it’s one of the quietest I’ve ever worked with.
“Here’s the one thing that seems unusual, knowing how these tests are usually run. Ellen went back over the roof of the Sheraton Hotel three times. She had set the drone on auto—again, a very cool feature because it automatically avoids collisions, maintains a preset range—but she took over manually at ten oh eight p.m. and went back to the roof. There was a brief flash on the camera, which is what I think caught her eye—not a bright light, but a reflection, like a low-intensity light reflecting off shiny metal. But it’s off-screen—the flash is there, but whatever was reflected is not. I went through the entire video in slow motion, and found something else—a man in black on the roof. I think that movement, coupled with the flash, aroused her suspicions enough that she went back with the drone, but no one was there.”
“Show me again,” John said.
Sean went through the recording and stopped at one point. He pointed to an indistinct figure, a male all in black, with a hoodie obscuring his face. Only his profile—a partial profile at that—was distinct. He was Caucasian, but that was about all they could surmise.
“Hmm,” John said.
“She thought it was suspicious—at least that’s my guess based on her decision to go back to the roof and circle. He wasn’t there or he was hiding from the drone—there are two places that the drone couldn’t see, and she wasn’t using the heat signature at that point in the demonstration. When she didn’t see anything, she called the drone back home. It’s a simple recall, and the drone immediately returns—‘home’ is set for the docking port, which was in the van. She put it on auto—which means it would lower at a predetermined speed and she could easily retrieve it without damage. If no one grabbed it, it would land safely on the ground and shut down.”
“What’s on the drone? Is there a copy of the data?”
“Yes and no,” Sean said. “It can stream to the main computer—in this case Ellen’s laptop—or it can save the data up to a certain limit on the flash drive in the camera itself. She could have done both.”
“Could someone assume that the drone itself had the only copy of the data it collected?”
Sean frowned. “I suppose, but that would be a ridiculous assumption.”
“Maybe someone not as tech-savvy as yourself. Like me,” John said.
“Umm, maybe. But the average person has probably seen drones on the news and understands the basic principles. Which is why they stole the computer and hard drive. They made the correct assumption that the drone was sending data to a computer; what they didn’t count on was that the backup drive shared in real time to an external server. But I need to show you the rest. Ellen didn’t shut down the camera when she called the drone home.”
“Is that standard?”
“It depends on the operator. She could have wanted to demonstrate how the homing feature worked.”
“What exactly was your role with Pride?” John asked. “You seem to know this system well.”
“Last year I was hired to test and debug the software. I had a prototype of the drone and full access to the system. I spent the better part of five weeks working on this project, so yeah, I know the system well. Here. You need to watch the rest.”
Sean pressed PLAY. The image was of the ground, which was the preset angle once the drone was called home. The van came into view. A few seconds later Ellen exited the rear of the van, stepped onto the sidewalk, and looked up at the drone. Sean’s chest tightened as he focused on her face. He knew what was about to happen because he’d watched this three times already, but it still hurt.
The drone was descending toward Ellen. She was focused on the device. From behind her in the shadows of the convention center, two men dressed in black emerged. They had hoodies that obstructed their faces—just like the man on the roof. She didn’t noti
ce either man until they were only feet from her. She was reaching up to snag the drone when she hesitated and looked over her shoulder, as if she sensed or heard something. The man directly behind her grabbed her, while the other man reached for the drone. Something flashed in the hand of the man who held Ellen as he brought that hand to her head. The image wasn’t as sharp as the earlier images because the camera lens didn’t refocus automatically.
As the second man grabbed the drone, the image became even fuzzier, though it was clear to Sean that the man who held Ellen had a gun. Though the angle was tilted from the camera, the attacker’s arm came down, gun in hand, hard behind Ellen’s ear. She crumbled to the ground—at least that’s what Sean guessed as she went out of view of the camera.
Then the feed went dead.
“They wore masks and hoodies,” John said.
“I wanted you to see the raw video. I can enhance this a bit, but I don’t think I can bring out any identifying characteristics.”
John didn’t say anything for a minute.
Lucy asked, almost too quietly, “Ellen locked onto a couple of license plates. Was she suspicious of those, or was that part of her demonstration?”
“Most likely the demonstration, to show that the computer was capable of digitally reading plates accurately even from a distance.”
John said, “I need a copy of the raw data right now, and if you can enhance it send me that as well. I want all the license plates in the area, and enhance what Ellen circled around on the roof of the hotel.”
“I have more,” Sean said. “They likely destroyed the drone, or at a minimum found a way to disable it. Same with the laptop. I was able to trace them to the point that they became inoperable. They dumped everything into the American River at the 160 crossing. The railing there is low, it would be easy to roll down your window and throw the equipment out. While they likely physically destroyed the device, water is truly the best way to destroy electronics, and they probably knew that.”
“But you’re saying it doesn’t matter,” John said. “Because you have everything here.”
“Correct. Unless the camera on the drone continued to record but the feed was interrupted—in that case, I might be able to extract data from it. But it’s a very slim chance. You know forensics better than I do, but I don’t think prints or other physical evidence would survive in the water. There are no cameras on that bridge.”
“But,” John said, “there’s only one way to get there, from downtown, and there are several cameras between the convention center and that spot. A couple run by SPD, a couple traffic cameras, and several security cameras. It’s a place to start. Do you have a time?”
Sean smiled. He couldn’t help himself, because it was an easy question. “The drone stopped transmitting at ten twenty-five p.m. The laptop stopped functioning at eleven oh one p.m.”
“Thirty-five minutes,” Lucy said. “It took them thirty-five minutes to render Ellen unconscious, dump her body in the Dumpster half a block away, throw the laptop in the river. How long to drive to that spot?”
“At night? Five minutes tops,” John said.
“So what were they doing for the rest of the time? Give them five minutes to search the van and clear out the equipment, five minutes to put Ellen’s body in the Dumpster, and no one saw them. At ten thirty at night near a convention where four hundred cops are in attendance—going to bars and restaurants nearby—and no one saw anything.”
“J Street is not heavily trafficked at night, especially on foot,” John said. “We only saw two people on the camera, but there could be more. I don’t think they carried her body—there was no sign of blood or other evidence between the van and dump site.”
“Ellen was five foot six and one hundred thirty pounds,” Lucy said. “A fit man could carry her to the Dumpster, but it might attract attention.”
“There was a small amount of blood near the van, a small pool in the Dumpster,” John said. “What if they thought they killed her, and dumped her to buy them a bit of time?”
“Possible,” Lucy said. “Sean, would they have had time to review the video?”
“Not on the laptop—that has high-end security, and I can tell from here whether someone tampered with it. They didn’t. But they could have easily reviewed the footage on the camera itself. They could have taken the memory chip and watched it elsewhere.”
“We should assume that they did,” Lucy said.
“Okay,” John said, not sure what she was thinking, but Sean knew.
“They were up to something, thought Ellen saw them, grabbed the drone, and if they view it, they’ll know that we don’t know shit about what they were doing on the roof of the Sheraton.”
“Exactly,” Lucy said.
“If the man on the roof was involved in this,” John said. “That’s a short time period for him to get down—not impossible, but dressed in black would arouse suspicion. The Sheraton is a swanky hotel.”
“Can we get footage from their security?”
“That won’t be a problem. Next stop.” To Sean he asked, “How certain are you that the laptop and drone are in the water?”
“Almost one hundred percent.”
“I’ll talk to my boss about retrieving the equipment. I assume you can’t track it anymore?” John asked Sean.
“No. It’s dead. But unless they weighted down the equipment, the drone is light and has buoyancy and may float to shore. The laptop and external drive would sink. If they used a hammer on the equipment—to destroy it—there could be evidence in their vehicle, small pieces of plastic or chips.”
John turned to Riley. “I want you to canvass every security camera on 12th and 16th—they likely used 16th Street to get to the river, but they could have backtracked to 12th. Pull feed during that window. I’ll have the computer techs go over it, compare it with vehicles that the drone caught.”
To Sean, he said, “If I need you, will you be available?”
“Of course. But if I may, I’d like to go with Riley—I have a lot of experience with security cameras and technology. It might make the process easier and faster.”
“I don’t have a problem with that, it’s ultimately up to Officer Knight.”
“I love having a ride-along,” Riley said with a grin.
John looked at his watch, then said to Lucy, “Then I guess you’re with me, Kincaid. I need to interview the staff here, but it shouldn’t take long.”
Lucy looked at Sean, and he averted his eyes. He couldn’t do this now. He needed to—he wanted to. He wanted to take Lucy away from all this and try to explain . . . but he didn’t know what to say. What could he say? He fucked up . . . again.
“That’s fine,” Lucy said.
“I’ll try to make it to your presentation,” Sean said.
“If you can’t, don’t worry about it,” she said.
She was giving him an out that he didn’t want, but would probably take, because every time he looked at her he thought about how he’d hurt her.
Sean walked out with Riley. “Is something wrong?” Riley asked.
“No. Just tired.”
“Just—well—I guess—nothing.”
Great. Now other people saw the strain and Sean didn’t know how to fix it.
Chapter Eight
Pride staff—a small, close group of people—were visibly upset about what had happened to Ellen, and were putting together shifts of people to go sit with Marc at the hospital. They didn’t know who might want to hurt her, she had no enemies, there had been no threats, and they didn’t have any pending lawsuits over their equipment. Two previous lawsuits had been settled years ago.
By the time John took Lucy back to the convention center, they had learned nothing more that could help.
“It goes back to that drone footage,” John said. “Other than that person on the roof of the Sheraton, I didn’t see anything suspicious.”
“Maybe,” Lucy said, “the killer thought the drone had caught them doing something
. Or one of those cars the drone tagged is suspicious.”
“I sent the plates to my boss, I’ll have a report shortly.” He glanced at his watch. “Do you want to join me talking to the folks at the Sheraton? I want to inspect the roof. The AG will be at the Hyatt later this afternoon, and there’s no line of sight from the Sheraton to any of the rooms—except maybe the top floors—but even then, it would be next to impossible to plan an assassination.”
“Assassination?” Lucy was surprised that that was where his mind had gone.
“The AG’s security chief has been wanting a threat assessment on the AG and other dignitaries here for the conference—the DA, police chief, people like that. I don’t want to downplay a threat, but I don’t see it right now. And a room full of armed cops—it would be suicide. Bomb dogs already walked through the conference yesterday. They’re going back today and doing a wider canvass, including both hotels as well as the convention center.”
“Maybe there’s something on the roof that will help us make sense of all this.”
He glanced over at her as they walked through the main doors of the Sheraton. “I appreciate you helping me with this. You didn’t have to spend your time off doing this.”
“Ellen is a friend of Jack and Megan, I want to do whatever I can to help.” Not to mention the vacation she thought she’d have with Sean had ended before it even began.
She didn’t want to think about Sean now—she couldn’t, not after last night. And he was so . . . formal at Pride. He knew Ellen, and that had to bother him, watching what happened to her. But he didn’t reach out for Lucy, for support or anything . . . and she hadn’t reached for him. She should have. She should have known that this was getting to him, in addition to all the other weight he was carrying. But she’d been hurt, and she let her anger and frustration take over when she saw him. Self-defense, maybe, but it shouldn’t be like that, not with her husband.
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