leading them to the third possible
suspect, the missing weapon, and hopefully some insight into the shooting
itself. She closed her eyes, and she bit down on her lip, trying not to cry as
the little girl was subjected to the horrific acts of one sick pedophile. “Pause
it! She cried out, walking closer to the makeshift screen Frank had set up in
front of the wall.
“Go back about one frame and raise the volume!” She said,
looking at Frank, whose mocha-colored cheeks were stained with dark tears. Frank
didn’t say a word, just hit the slow motion reverse and then hit the play
button. It was hard to make out, but it was obvious to both of the detectives
that Blakey heard something outside the room and stopped what he was doing. He
slowly got off the small cot, leaving the child alone in the room, walking out
of range of the camera, but not out of range of the audio. For a few seconds,
they were able to decipher Blakey engaging in an argument. The detectives could
only make out a few brief seconds of the encounter just before the video went
black. Something or someone must have reached over out of range to turn the
camera off. Jean strained her ears to try and listen to what was going on out
of range of the video. She scratched her head, frustrated at not being able to hear
what was happening. She could definitely make out what she imagined to be male
voices in an argument, but it just wasn’t audible enough. “Do we have the
capabilities to have that audio enhanced?” She turned to Frank.
“I don’t know, Jean, I’ll go down and ask. I need a break
anyway.” She noticed for the first time that he was starting to go grey around
the temples. She flashed back to the wedding picture on his desk, it was taken
in the eighties and his sideburns were at least two inches longer, but
jet-black. She wondered if he was at all tortured that he was getting older and
they were no longer the new kids on the block but the next ones to be put out
to pasture. She decided she really needed to talk to Hope and find out why she,
suddenly, was so obsessed with the mechanics of aging.
“Hey, while you’re at it, see if they found anything on the
hard drive on that laptop!” She called out.
“Yeah, yeah, got it.” He walked out, head down, as if he was
just too tired to turn around, too exhausted emotionally to answer.
With his belly full, he was able to think a little clearer. Just
as he was getting up to pay the check, two uniformed officers were walking in
the door. He played it cool, by tipping his hat, and offered them a “Good
afternoon,” as if he had done it a hundred times before. He knew he needed to
get to the hospital and see what was happening with his brother, but he was
less anxious now. He was lucky enough to overhear some conversations of the
other patrons in the restaurant. The small town’s residents were just abuzz
with news of the murder that occurred in the woods just outside of town.
Apparently, homicides were becoming quite plentiful in the sleepy town and it
was all anyone was talking about. He was able to overhear someone say that the
gunshot wound victim was out of surgery and in recovery. He inconspicuously
tried to eavesdrop, but couldn’t make out whether the person had said the man
was or wasn’t expected to recover. Leaving the pub and walking somewhat
aimlessly, he realized he had to figure out how to get into the hospital and
into his brother’s room without being noticed. The cops were all around the
cabin and searching through the truck so the truck was a wash. If he was going
to have wheels, he was going to have to either steal one or hitchhike his way
around. Hitchhiking didn’t seem like a viable method because he needed to stay
out of sight before some small-town busybody noticed there was a stranger in
town. He tried to make himself invisible as a small group of teenage girls
giggling like a cackle of hyenas pushed past him and entered a convenience
store. He felt a stir in
suspect, the missing weapon, and hopefully some insight into the shooting
itself. She closed her eyes, and she bit down on her lip, trying not to cry as
the little girl was subjected to the horrific acts of one sick pedophile. “Pause
it! She cried out, walking closer to the makeshift screen Frank had set up in
front of the wall.
“Go back about one frame and raise the volume!” She said,
looking at Frank, whose mocha-colored cheeks were stained with dark tears. Frank
didn’t say a word, just hit the slow motion reverse and then hit the play
button. It was hard to make out, but it was obvious to both of the detectives
that Blakey heard something outside the room and stopped what he was doing. He
slowly got off the small cot, leaving the child alone in the room, walking out
of range of the camera, but not out of range of the audio. For a few seconds,
they were able to decipher Blakey engaging in an argument. The detectives could
only make out a few brief seconds of the encounter just before the video went
black. Something or someone must have reached over out of range to turn the
camera off. Jean strained her ears to try and listen to what was going on out
of range of the video. She scratched her head, frustrated at not being able to hear
what was happening. She could definitely make out what she imagined to be male
voices in an argument, but it just wasn’t audible enough. “Do we have the
capabilities to have that audio enhanced?” She turned to Frank.
“I don’t know, Jean, I’ll go down and ask. I need a break
anyway.” She noticed for the first time that he was starting to go grey around
the temples. She flashed back to the wedding picture on his desk, it was taken
in the eighties and his sideburns were at least two inches longer, but
jet-black. She wondered if he was at all tortured that he was getting older and
they were no longer the new kids on the block but the next ones to be put out
to pasture. She decided she really needed to talk to Hope and find out why she,
suddenly, was so obsessed with the mechanics of aging.
“Hey, while you’re at it, see if they found anything on the
hard drive on that laptop!” She called out.
“Yeah, yeah, got it.” He walked out, head down, as if he was
just too tired to turn around, too exhausted emotionally to answer.
With his belly full, he was able to think a little clearer. Just
as he was getting up to pay the check, two uniformed officers were walking in
the door. He played it cool, by tipping his hat, and offered them a “Good
afternoon,” as if he had done it a hundred times before. He knew he needed to
get to the hospital and see what was happening with his brother, but he was
less anxious now. He was lucky enough to overhear some conversations of the
other patrons in the restaurant. The small town’s residents were just abuzz
with news of the murder that occurred in the woods just outside of town.
Apparently, homicides were becoming quite plentiful in the sleepy town and it
was all anyone was talking about. He was able to overhear someone say that the
gunshot wound victim was out of surgery and in recovery. He inconspicuously
tried to eavesdrop, but couldn’t make out whether the person had said the man
was or wasn’t expected to recover. Leaving the pub and walking somewhat
aimlessly, he realized he had to figure out how to get into the hospital and
into his brother’s room without being noticed. The cops were all around the
cabin and searching through the truck so the truck was a wash. If he was going
to have wheels, he was going to have to either steal one or hitchhike his way
around. Hitchhiking didn’t seem like a viable method because he needed to stay
out of sight before some small-town busybody noticed there was a stranger in
town. He tried to make himself invisible as a small group of teenage girls
giggling like a cackle of hyenas pushed past him and entered a convenience
store. He felt a stir in
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