Chapter 6 - The Installer
The message came from Nora Finch, owner of a small security company on the north side of Chicago. She had fitted our cameras after Dad's funeral. Brandon had introduced her as his contractor. I hadn't spoken to her since.
"Why are you contacting me?" I asked when she answered.
"Because your husband called last night and told me to wipe the recordings. He said you'd signed a release."
"I didn't."
"I figured." Nora's voice grew hard. "He sounded frightened, not angry. People asking me to erase things usually have a reason."
She explained that our system stored selected motion events with a commercial monitoring service. The red light indicated active local recording; a separate secured archive kept alarm events for thirty days. Nora had exported clips after my silent alert, before Brandon's request came through.
"I haven't reviewed everything," she said. "I don't want to put words in your mouth. You and your lawyer can arrange the footage through the proper process."
"Did you see who turned off the detector?"
A pause. "I saw something you need to look at yourself."
We met her at Daniel's office, where she brought an encrypted drive and a written account of how she'd obtained it. She insisted on documenting the transfer. Smart woman.
The video had no dramatic music, no helpful narration, only time stamps and the ordinary ugliness of people believing themselves unobserved.
At 8:54, Gertrude walked into the kitchen with a spray bottle. She wiped the floor, checked the camera, and tipped oil from a small container near the stove. At 9:11, Brandon turned the detector's switch to its service position. He then carried the key out of the kitchen.
"That's enough for the police," Marisol said quietly.
"Maybe," Daniel replied. "But watch the rest."
At 9:16, before Brandon locked the door, someone appeared in the hallway behind Gertrude. A man in a gray coat leaned toward her and showed her a document.
May you like
Nora enlarged the frame.
The man was holding a photograph of my father.
