Chapter 5 - A Camera That Wasn't There
"The colonel didn't sign this," Doc said, holding the order up to the light. "I've seen her signature all week."
"An imitation isn't proof," Henderson replied. "Preserve it. Get the issuing office to confirm."
That was what I liked least about him. He wouldn't hand me the dramatic answer I wanted. He made me earn the true one.
Jax drove me to the motor pool in his battered pickup, moving slowly over every pothole. He showed me a photo from that morning's rehearsal: the lane, the truck, the awning where Miller stood dry. A small camera was mounted over the dispatch door.
"It should have caught everything," he said.
At the dispatch desk, Specialist Len Park checked the camera inventory. "That unit was marked offline at 7:12," he told us. "Funny thing, though. The repair ticket says it went down because of lightning. There wasn't lightning until after nine."
"Can you keep the recording?" I asked.
"I can put the system under an evidence hold if security authorizes it. I'm not letting anybody walk out with a drive in their pocket."
Jax pointed at the duty roster. "Rusk was dispatch supervisor at 7:12."
Park called the security office while I photographed the ticket number. Through the glass we watched two junior soldiers loading parade barricades. One of them was Private Lowell. He looked up, saw me, and dropped his gaze.
I opened the door. "You don't have to talk to me. Just tell the truth when someone asks."
He gripped a barricade so tightly his knuckles went white. "They said they'd take my mother's medical benefits if I did."
"Who said that?"
May you like
Lowell glanced toward the office ceiling, where the supposedly dead camera's small status light flickered green.
"Sergeant," he whispered, "that camera was working the whole time."
