as the image appeared on the screen.
“Good morning,” Dr. Edelman’s voice resonated over the speaker.
Schullman did a double take, as if he’d expected to see the doctor’s face appear on the bright blue screen. Victoria sensed his confusion. “We’ll see the same thing here on our screen that he sees on his back in Washington,” she explained.
“Good morning,” she said into the speaker. “Dr. Edelman, I have Special Agent Brent Schullman here with me.
He’s the field coordinator and case agent for the San Francisco investigation. Actually,” she smiled, “I think the real reason he’s here is to see how his computer works.”
A chuckle came over the line from Washington, but Schullman didn’t seem to appreciate the humor.
“Anyway, Doctor, I know you haven’t completed your analysis yet, but I just got word from the lab this morning that the cigarette remnants I found in the alley near Copeland’s apartment were Marlboros, and the stock of paper indicates they were distributed and probably purchased on the East Coast. That makes it all the more evident that whoever was smoking in the alley probably didn’t live around there and had no business being out there. It made me curious to know whether you’ve been able to find any evidence that the man in the ATM video is a cigarette smoker.”
“Understood. Let’s pull it up and I’ll show you what I got.”
The screen flickered, and the grainy black-and-white 102
James Grippando
image from the ATM security camera appeared on Victoria’s monitor. It was a frozen pose, showing one of the clearest images of a man in a ski mask standing at the machine.
“As you can see,” said Edelman, “there aren’t any obvious signs this man’s a smoker. No cigarette pack poking out of his pocket, et cetera. If I had a high-resolution color tape I could probably tell you whether his teeth were stained with nicotine. But not with an ATM tape. I searched for signs of ash on his clothing, but in black and white that’s extremely difficult to pick up. The only thing I found is this,” he said, zooming in on the right hand.
“Notice the thumb.” The zoom tightened until the screen filled with just the tip of the thumb. “See the little hole?
The glove is burned right through to the skin.”
“Like somebody who uses a cigarette lighter with his gloves on,” said Victoria.
“Exactly.”
“That seems a stretch,” said Schullman. “How do you know it’s a burn mark? Maybe he just takes his gloves off with his teeth and bit a hole through it.”
The zoom tightened further, as tightly as it could without reducing the grainy footage to a meaningless collection of black-and-white dots. “Notice the fibers around the hole,” said Edelman. “They’re not frayed, the way you’d expect them to be with biting and pulling.
They’re singed. It’s a burn mark.”
They stared at the image together, until both she and Schullman seemed convinced. “All right,” said Victoria.
“Is there anything else?”
“That’s it for now. I’ll call you if I get anything more.
So long.”
103
THE INFORMANT
“Thanks, Doctor,” she said as the line disconnected.
The screen turned a blank bright blue as she leaned back in her chair, thinking.
“You buy this burn-hole theory?” asked Schullman.
“If Edelman says it’s a burn mark, I believe it’s a burn mark.”
“But where does it take you?”
“Hard to say. Somebody was watching me at Copeland’s apartment, and whoever it was probably followed me there.”
“What’s your guess?”
“At first I thought it might have been the killer—a chain-smoker who stalks his victims and returns to the scene of the crime, curious about how the investigation is going.
Now it looks like it could have been the informant. We know he was here in San Francisco, since he used the ATM here. And if Edelman’s right, he’s probably a smoker. I just don’t know,” she said, sighing. “All I saw was an
“Good morning,” Dr. Edelman’s voice resonated over the speaker.
Schullman did a double take, as if he’d expected to see the doctor’s face appear on the bright blue screen. Victoria sensed his confusion. “We’ll see the same thing here on our screen that he sees on his back in Washington,” she explained.
“Good morning,” she said into the speaker. “Dr. Edelman, I have Special Agent Brent Schullman here with me.
He’s the field coordinator and case agent for the San Francisco investigation. Actually,” she smiled, “I think the real reason he’s here is to see how his computer works.”
A chuckle came over the line from Washington, but Schullman didn’t seem to appreciate the humor.
“Anyway, Doctor, I know you haven’t completed your analysis yet, but I just got word from the lab this morning that the cigarette remnants I found in the alley near Copeland’s apartment were Marlboros, and the stock of paper indicates they were distributed and probably purchased on the East Coast. That makes it all the more evident that whoever was smoking in the alley probably didn’t live around there and had no business being out there. It made me curious to know whether you’ve been able to find any evidence that the man in the ATM video is a cigarette smoker.”
“Understood. Let’s pull it up and I’ll show you what I got.”
The screen flickered, and the grainy black-and-white 102
James Grippando
image from the ATM security camera appeared on Victoria’s monitor. It was a frozen pose, showing one of the clearest images of a man in a ski mask standing at the machine.
“As you can see,” said Edelman, “there aren’t any obvious signs this man’s a smoker. No cigarette pack poking out of his pocket, et cetera. If I had a high-resolution color tape I could probably tell you whether his teeth were stained with nicotine. But not with an ATM tape. I searched for signs of ash on his clothing, but in black and white that’s extremely difficult to pick up. The only thing I found is this,” he said, zooming in on the right hand.
“Notice the thumb.” The zoom tightened until the screen filled with just the tip of the thumb. “See the little hole?
The glove is burned right through to the skin.”
“Like somebody who uses a cigarette lighter with his gloves on,” said Victoria.
“Exactly.”
“That seems a stretch,” said Schullman. “How do you know it’s a burn mark? Maybe he just takes his gloves off with his teeth and bit a hole through it.”
The zoom tightened further, as tightly as it could without reducing the grainy footage to a meaningless collection of black-and-white dots. “Notice the fibers around the hole,” said Edelman. “They’re not frayed, the way you’d expect them to be with biting and pulling.
They’re singed. It’s a burn mark.”
They stared at the image together, until both she and Schullman seemed convinced. “All right,” said Victoria.
“Is there anything else?”
“That’s it for now. I’ll call you if I get anything more.
So long.”
103
THE INFORMANT
“Thanks, Doctor,” she said as the line disconnected.
The screen turned a blank bright blue as she leaned back in her chair, thinking.
“You buy this burn-hole theory?” asked Schullman.
“If Edelman says it’s a burn mark, I believe it’s a burn mark.”
“But where does it take you?”
“Hard to say. Somebody was watching me at Copeland’s apartment, and whoever it was probably followed me there.”
“What’s your guess?”
“At first I thought it might have been the killer—a chain-smoker who stalks his victims and returns to the scene of the crime, curious about how the investigation is going.
Now it looks like it could have been the informant. We know he was here in San Francisco, since he used the ATM here. And if Edelman’s right, he’s probably a smoker. I just don’t know,” she said, sighing. “All I saw was an
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