Both men put their weapons in their holsters and walked to the desk. Alexander sat in the chair, his eyes scanning the camera feeds on his laptop. Sensing a presence over his shoulder, he glanced behind him to see Agent Moretti hovering, his eyes focused on him and not the laptop screen.
“My company provides security services for a variety of clients,” Alexander explained, trying to clear the tension. If he didn’t know any better, based on the agent’s demeanor, he’d think he was a suspect. “We have a patent on our own top-of-the-line security system, which is what’s been installed here. Security cameras are wired directly into the house’s electrical, but there’s also a battery backup that will automatically switch on in the case of a cut wire or loss of power. The cameras operate independently of the alarm system, so even if that goes down for any reason, the cameras still run. Clients can log in at any time from wherever they are to see real-time video feeds. We maintain a server containing all archived video feeds that can be accessed upon request.”
“And that’s what we’re looking at here?” Moretti asked, eyeing Alexander as if he were waiting for him to snap again.
“Yes. This is all the exterior cameras from last night, starting at eighteen hundred hours.”
“And where were you last night?”
After a brief moment of hesitation, Alexander admitted, “At my office working on a few things.”
“What specifically?”
“As I’m sure you can understand, the nature of most of my business is classified.” Refusing to turn around, Alexander continued staring at the laptop screen, keeping his eyes peeled for anything unusual.
“I can certainly appreciate that,” Moretti offered, “but it could be relevant to your daughter’s disappearance. Do you typically work late, especially on a Friday? My office was pretty much a ghost town yesterday afternoon.”
“Something came up that required my immediate attention.”
“So you stayed late?”
“Yes,” Alexander answered with a clenched jaw.
“Leaving your wife and daughter alone in this big house?”
“I leave them nearly every day when I go to work,” he responded, struggling to control his temper. “I get called in at odd times on a regular basis. This was no different.”
“Hmm.” Agent Moretti paced behind him, studying the books on the shelves. “I’m sure the CARD team is on scene as we speak, probably going through a timeline of the past twenty-four hours with your wife. I just hope both your story and hers match up.”
“What are you saying?” Alexander spun around in his chair, his nostrils flaring. Heat flashed through his body at the agent’s insinuations. In missing persons cases, usually those closest to the victim were suspected. No one was ruled out, even parents, but Alexander couldn’t imagine how any parent could cause their own child harm.
“Mr. Burnham, it’s been my experience that what the lay person believes to be an insignificant detail, such as what one was working on at the office, could be the clue needed to find and bring home a loved one.” His eyes narrowed. “And isn’t that what you want? Don’t you want to find your daughter?”
“Of course I do!” Alexander roared. “What kind of question is that?” He shot up from his chair, towering over Agent Moretti by a good six inches.
“Then prove it,” he hissed, standing his ground. His fierce expression unwavering, he glared at Alexander, leaning into him.
Clenching his fists, Alexander fought the urge to take his aggression out on him and use him as a punching bag. Agent Moretti had a disdainful attitude toward him and he had no idea why. But what if Moretti was right? What if Melanie’s disappearance was connected to Mischa’s death? Alexander didn’t see how, but the more time they wasted arguing, the less time he would have to find his daughter.
Sighing, he lowered himself back into his chair, returning his attention to the security camera feed. He pressed a button on the keyboard to speed the video up.
“Just before three Friday morning, I got a call from my brother-in-law.”
“Detective Wilder, correct?”
“There are two Detective Wilders,” he reminded Moretti.
“One being your sister. She retired from the police force, didn’t she?”
“How do you seem to already know so much about my family?” Alexander asked, a bit wary.
“I take every case I get called on very seriously. While the local LEOs were looking through your house for physical evidence, I was doing my research on your family to see if anything in your history stood out. Based on what I was able to ascertain, I’m in complete agreement with your earlier assessment. You’ve made quite a few enemies.”
“Dave Wilder is my brother-in-law,” Alexander answered, ignoring Moretti’s last statement. “He’s the lead homicide detective for the city.”
“And what did he want so early?”
“He asked me to meet him in Southie.”
“Such a shame to leave your comfortable house in Dover for the slums of Southie, don’t you think?” There was a hint of venom in his tone.
“I’ve been to worse places during my time in the navy, making barely three grand a month after I first enlisted.”
“But you rose in the ranks fairly quickly, didn’t you? If I’m not mistaken, you were a commander when you left, weren’t you?”
“And in what branch did you serve?” Alexander spit out.
“I went into the police academy right out of college. I’m still paying back those student loans. I didn’t have the money to just pay for college up front.” He glared at Alexander before continuing. “Now, why did Detective Wilder ask you to meet him in Southie?”
“He wanted to show me something.”
“And what was that?”
Alexander hesitated briefly, reluctant to get Dave in trouble for his breach of protocol. However, the game had changed. If this information helped find Melanie, it was a chance he had to take.
“A body was found in an old fishing warehouse.”
“Why did he call you about it?”
“Because it was a friend. Mischa Tate.” His solemn voice wavered slightly as he recalled staring at the badly bruised and barely recognizable face of his friend’s sister.
“I heard about that on the news. Another one of the Castle Island Killer’s victims, right?”
“I suppose, except Mischa didn’t exactly fit the profile. Something about the entire situation seemed off to me. I couldn’t help but think it was a copycat, even after Dave assured me there were details of the case not shared with the general public that Mischa’s body had.” Letting out a breath through tight lips, he shook his head. “I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t, so I went into the office yesterday to see what I could dig up. Like you, I like to do my research. I spent hours poring over every detail of Mischa’s life, looking for something that could point me in the right direction.”
“Is there anyone who can vouch for your whereabouts?”
He flung his eyes to Agent Moretti, fire in his gaze.
“I apologize, Mr. Burnham. It’s protocol. We have to account for the whereabouts of everyone close to the girl.”
Running his hand over his weary face, he nodded. “My secretary could, as well as my, well…Martin.”