The team huddled in the area where Curtis found Vail’s phone. Curtis’s cell was pressed to his ear as he requested that Crime Scene be immediately dispatched to their location. The only good news was that the forensic technicians were not far off. While there was a local unit in the Police Department’s Mason District station, they did not handle complex violent crime–related cases. However, they would only need twenty minutes to make the drive from the Massey Building headquarters—adjacent to the records room where Vail and Curtis retrieved the PD-42 regarding the Marcks’s teen shooting.
“This is exactly how I found it,” Curtis said as he snapped some pictures with his iPhone. “That folder there is the one she came out for.”
Hurdle put both hands on his hips. “So she got it from her car, which is what, about twenty, twenty-five yards away?”
Tarkoff, who was walking along the stand of trees, stopped suddenly. “If she had the folder, why wouldn’t she just come right back to the RV? She knew you didn’t have a lot of time.”
“She saw something that intrigued her,” Hurdle said. “Or someone called her over and she thought it was important enough to stop. Maybe somebody in distress?”
“Or pretending to be in distress.” Curtis turned in place and looked at the large brown, sand, and turquoise single-story building behind him. “The police department has cameras. Wait here for Crime Scene, I’m gonna go grab a look.”
“I’m with you,” Hurdle said.
They jogged into the station’s lobby and up to the large bulletproof glass-enclosed half-moon front desk where two PCAs, or Police Citizens Assistants, were seated.
“Richie’s here,” Curtis said to Hurdle as they approached. “He’s a cop, on light duty after blowing out his ankle.” Curtis stepped up to the speaker by the pass-through slot. “Yo, Richie!”
A man in his thirties turned and gave Curtis a nod.
“I need the video feed from the parking lot, the past hour.”
Richie put his coffee mug down and hobbled over to the window. “Parking lot?”
“Officer was abducted. Move fast, Richie. Her life depends on it. We’re coming around. Jane,” Curtis said to the closest PCA, “let us in.”
When Curtis and Hurdle entered the horseshoe-shaped administrative space, Richie was clicking his keyboard and downloading the footage to a flash drive.
“Pull it up on that screen,” Curtis said, gesturing at the one closest to him and Hurdle. “Can I have the mouse?”
Richie handed it to Curtis, who began fast-forwarding, watching the seconds cascade by until it got to within fifteen minutes of the current time. Then he slowed it down and hit “play” when he reached the spot he wanted. They watched as Vail, barely visible in the distance, exited the Marshals’ RV.
“Okay, so she’s walking toward the camera,” Hurdle said.
“Toward her car. We parked in the first row of spots.”
“She disappeared.” Hurdle turned to Richie. “Camera lost her. We have another angle?”
“I can check.”
“Don’t need it,” Curtis said. “She’s back in the camera’s field of view. Walking away from her car. And the folder’s under her arm.”
They watched Vail’s back another few seconds as she headed toward the task force command post—but veered to her right, the spot where they found her phone.
“Fuck me,” Curtis said under his breath.
“What? What do you see?”
“Just a sec.”
Curtis pulled out his pad and jotted down a note as Hurdle took over the mouse.
They watched as Vail bent over to look inside the car window—and a large male figure with a ball cap pulled low on his forehead emerged from the row of trees that stood along the parking lot’s perimeter.
He struck Vail from behind, her head hit the door, they struggled, and then he slammed her into the car again. She dropped—but the man caught her before she struck the ground. He pulled open the back door and pushed her inside.
Curtis shifted position. “This is tough to watch.”
“He’s doing something—taking her Glock. Of course. And …” Hurdle tilted his head as he studied the screen. “Looks like he’s tying her up.”
The assailant got into the front seat and drove out of the lot.
“Hold it.” Curtis stabbed at the monitor. “Back it up.”
Hurdle clicked pause and the image froze, rewound frame by frame.
“There,” he said, pointing at the best view they had of the man’s face, behind the glare of the windshield as he started the car.
“Richie, I need that cleaned up. See if you can get us a decent still image of that asshole’s face.”
“Doubt it, too far away. But I’ll do my best.”
“And get a screen grab of the license plate, see who it’s registered to. Probably stolen, but let me know. A cop’s life is on the line. We need everything fast.”