Alex Cross - Run by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson [Patterson, James]
Language: deu
Format: epub
ISBN: 9783734101809
Google: z1OKrgEACAAJ
Amazon: 0316097519
Barnesnoble: 0316097519
Goodreads: 13521299
Publisher: Blanvalet Taschenbuchverl
Published: 2016-01-18T12:37:45+00:00

CHAPTER

55

BY THE TIME VALENTE AND I MADE A GOOD PASS THROUGH THE HOUSE, WE heard from the sergeant on the front door that a rep from Baseline Security had arrived. Errico radioed back to keep whoever it was outside, and we made our way out to the street to meet with him.

A black Range Rover was parked halfway between the Whitley home and the barriers at the end of the block. The man waiting for us there introduced himself as John Overbey, the owner of Baseline. His company worked for various neighborhood associations, providing video surveillance and away-from-home coverage where the city’s municipal cameras fell short.

It looked to me like business was good. Overbey’s green silk tie probably cost more than my entire suit.

“We’ve got one hundred percent coverage on this block,” he told us. “I started scanning the logs as soon as I heard the terrible news. And I’m pretty certain we’ve got your man.”

He kept eyeing the Whitleys’ town house while we talked. I’d want to get a look inside, too, if I were him, but Valente motioned for him to open his Toughbook right there on the hood of his car instead.

When the laptop screen flicked on, Overbey already had two side-by-side video images waiting. His time coding looked like a jumble to me, maybe some kind of in-house encryption, but he read it easily enough.

“That’s nine forty-six on Saturday night,” he said, pointing to the image on the left. “And the other is at ten fifteen. Both from the same unit, right over there.”

He turned and pointed up the block, to the corner of Cambridge and Thirtieth Street. In fact, I could see a small black box mounted under the second-floor window of the house on that corner.

“Let’s go chronologically,” Valente said.

Overbey brought the first image up to full screen and let the video play.

Unlike the city cameras, this one recorded a crisp digital color picture. The limitation was the fact that it had been taken at night. Cambridge Place was only sporadically lit by a handful of old-style street lamps along the brick sidewalk.

After a few seconds of empty footage, a man walked into the frame, heading up the block with his back to the camera.

“That’s him,” Overbey said.

There wasn’t much to see, except that he had a ball cap on, and a dark, knee-length coat. When he reached the Whitley home, he stepped up onto the stoop and appeared to ring the bell.

It was chilling, knowing what was about to happen, and not being able to do anything about it.

The porch light came on. There seemed to be a brief exchange at the door, while the man pointed up the street several times. Finally, a blond woman stepped outside. It was too far away to tell if it was Mrs. Whitley or her daughter, but she put an arm around the man and helped him inside. As she did, he moved with a sudden, pronounced limp that hadn’t been there before.

“Probably told her he’d been mugged,” Overbey said, minimizing that recording and bringing up the other.

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