The chief then guided them to his office. The long hallway was dimly lit and the chief’s shoes clacked on the polished marble floor. In his years roaming the building, Sean had never been inside the police office.
On the walk, Martinez and Pacini engaged in small talk. The weather, the court’s recent renovations, how the new job was going for the chief, the do-you-know-so-and-so game cops play. When they seemed to sense that their forced nonchalance wasn’t making Sean feel less anxious, they turned the chatter in his direction.
“I was an MP early in my career and once served under your father,” the chief said. “He was quite a guy.”
Quite a guy. A phrase that could mean so many different things. Everyone who’d ever served in the Armed Forces seemed to have once crossed paths with “the General.” Sean made no reply.
The three entered the police office causing the lights, which were set on motion detectors, to click on, a domino of fluorescents. The reception area had a display cabinet filled with police-uniform hats from different countries with a tall, bell-like London Bobby helmet displayed prominently at the center of the collection.
Martinez steered them down another hallway to an interior office. He tapped on the door and escorted them inside. They were met with a nod from a man who sat at a long desk, facing several security monitors. A stack of what Sean assumed were digital recorders were built into the wall. Each device had masking tape on its face with locations—GREAT HALL, CAFETERIA, GIFT SHOP, E. CONF. RM., W. CONF. RM.—written in black Sharpie.
The chief said, “Tom, this is Deputy Director Pacini from the Bureau and you may know Sean Serrat.”
The man, who was all shoulders and neck, stood. He hitched up his trousers and shook hands with Sean, then Pacini. Sean didn’t recognize him either, but pretended they’d met before.
Chief Martinez said, “Can you pull up the video for last night, the southwest entrance?”
The officer nodded and started pecking his thick fingers on his computer.
“We had a full house last night,” the chief said. “A reception from 7:30 until about 9:30, so we can pull the guest list and see if anyone saw your daughter.”
“Here we go,” the officer said, his gaze fixed on a monitor. The southwest entrance fluttered on the screen and the officer spun a knob that made the images scroll in fast-motion. The bottom right of the screen had a digital clock, which clicked forward rapidly. Men and women in suits put their bags on the conveyer and emptied their pockets. At 19:25, the clock showed a large group entering the court, each going through the same security procedures: keys, change, phones, in the small baskets, large bags on the belt through the X-ray machine. It was basically like an airport. When the clock rolled to 20:20, the screen showed only the doors with an officer occasionally coming into the frame. The clock wound forward.
At 21:23, the camera caught the door open. “This may be her,” the officer said.
Sean stared at the screen. The officer clicked the mouse and there she was. His Abby. A smile crossed her lips and he could see the dimples even in the grainy image at this awkward angle. She said something to one of the officers. Though she gave a faint smile when she collected her book bag at the end of the conveyer, he saw the upturned mouth and slightly furrowed brow.
“I don’t see anyone with her,” Sean said.
“Can we look at other recordings that trace her path?” Pacini asked. “And how about cameras in the library?”
“Yeah, we can hit up the other cameras that would have caught her on the way to the library. But the building doesn’t have the coverage you’d expect. The justices don’t want images of what goes on here leaked, so many of the non-public areas don’t have cameras.”
“The library?” Pacini repeated.
The chief’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“Nothing in the library?”
“I’m sorry, there’s not.”
Sean didn’t know what to make of that.
Pacini pointed at the screen. “We’ve got someone else coming in the door.”
On the monitor, the court’s bronze and glass door opened. The officer working the computer said, “That’s just one of the law clerks.”
From Sean’s own days as a Supreme Court law clerk he knew that the officers were required to memorize the faces of all thirty-six of the justices’ clerks. Sean stared at the screen and a familiar face looked back at him: Malik Montgomery.
The monitor went dark. The rest of the recording had been erased.
CHAPTER 14
Sean sprinted out of the police office and down the long hallway to the elevator. He stabbed the button several times. Abby hadn’t been at the library since yesterday, but he was desperate to close the distance between himself and the last place he’d known his daughter to be.