The still photo on the monitor was replaced by footage of lined-up people peering into a food truck window. “Caroline Bishop is third in line. Big black coat,” Zade said. “See her?”
Noah’s heart thudded heavily. The woman Zade had indicated was hunched and nondescript. The fisheye lens of the microcam fastened to the truck distorted faces. But he recognized hers when she looked up. The swift glimpse of wide, shadowy eyes was startling. She seemed much thinner and paler than in the photo. She reached for her sandwich, and asked Bea a question.
“No audio?” Noah asked.
“Conked out,” Zade said.
Bea flapped her hands in a gesture that was clearly meant to get Caroline Bishop to go away.
She didn’t. She appeared to be pleading.
Bea jerked back into the truck and slammed the window shut. The people behind Bishop in line protested. One man knocked on the window. The feed began to blur as the truck pulled away.
Caroline was left behind, standing on the street.
“That’s all. Didn’t look like Bishop was threatening her, did it?” Zade said.
“More like she was asking her for something,” Noah said. “Or begging her.”
“What I was thinking myself.”
Did you keep tailing her?” Noah asked.
“Yeah.” Zade held up his phone. “With this for a backup camera. They went to the hospital. Look.” He thumbed the phone again.
This clip showed a slim form in a fuzzy rainbow wig, a big red nose and a baggy patchwork suit. A huge rubber stethoscope hung around her neck.
“She’s a clown,” Zade said. “Cheering up the kids in the cancer ward.”
“How the hell did you blend in there?”
“Grabbed some scrubs from a closet and changed fast. Got lucky on the size. I filmed this from behind a food trolley in the corridor.”
The kids in the room were hollow-eyed. Some had IV’s, some didn’t. Most lay on rolling hospital beds. They watched the spectacle as she juggled fruit, did tricks and examined kids with her toy stethoscope. After her show the camera followed her down a corridor. She disappeared into a bathroom. The figure who emerged was shapeless and stooped, wearing the hat and oversized winter coat that Noah had seen on her earlier that day.
“She stopped in here next,” Zade said. The camera zoomed in on a storefront.
“Bounce Entertainment?”
“Her current employer, evidently.” Zade stared into his phone, syncing up the video stream with Noah’s monitor and zooming in for a closeup of the signs taped to the storefront window.
Noah read aloud in a flat voice. “We’re the Party People. Unique Themes for All Occasions and All Ages. Ask About Our Balloon Animals Special. That’s a big step down from tech consulting.”
“Ya think? OK, then she went to the Stray Cat Pub in Greenwood.” More footage in the dark. The audio was a confusing babble. Drums started to throb. Wailing instruments cut through the din.
The camera focused in on a dancing figure swathed in purple veils.
“Belly dancing for a bachelor party,” Zade said. “That gave us our idea.”
Noah stared at the graceful arch of Bishop’s slender back. Veils swayed, light flashed and glittered off her jangling belt and delicate chains. Those striking, tilted green eyes were framed with showy make-up. Her tits jiggled as her hips swiveled with insolent grace. And then there was that smile.
An AVP surge started happening, even via digital footage. His ears roared, his heart galloped.
“. . . . Noah?” Zade’s voice cut through the buzz. “Hey! You tracking?”
“Huh?” Noah dragged his eyes from the monitor.
“I was just saying, the chick’s in hiding. Definitely. She wouldn’t be clown-slash-belly dancer if she were on Mark’s payroll.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Noah said.
“God forbid we do anything as attention-getting as jumping, even if it’s to conclusions,” Zade grumbled. “We just stand around like embalmed corpses.”
“I bust my ass to keep you from becoming a corpse,” Noah said. “Turn that thing off. I’ve seen enough.”
Zade poked his phone with dramatic emphasis. The flickering screen froze.
“You need more proof?” Zade’s voice was belligerent. “Call up the entertainment agency. Ask for Shamira.”
Noah willed his heart to slow. “What would that accomplish?”
Zade shrugged. “Might shut you up. Our consensus is that she isn’t on Mark’s team. He wouldn’t let her work these two-bit gigs.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Noah said.
Zade smirked. “You like to run AVP with the lights way down low, right? So order a dance. Schmooze, flirt, suss this girl out. Use your fucking abilities, dude. Besides, she’s not the real problem. Mark is. We should have neutralized him years ago.”
“I didn’t want to. And that was the right decision,” Noah said.
Zade’s face was grim. “Mark’s been hurting people ever since he got out. He’s a Midlands monster, just like they wanted us to be. But monsters should stay in cages. We’re the ones who turned him loose, so we should shut him down. Because truthfully? No one else on earth can.”