Stared down at my hands for a moment.
And then my fingers pulsed wide as my head sank into my shoulders.
“You screamed.”
“What?”
“You screamed.” The detective pointed to the footage. “You were screaming.”
I didn’t remember any of that. None of it. I remembered nothing. I couldn’t even recognize myself. And I hadn’t even heard myself scream.
Chapter 4
The detective pushed away from the desk, strode to the door that led out to the hall. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Not willing to be left behind, I followed him out into the alley where he was standing in the middle of the pavement, hand shielding his eyes as he tilted his head toward the roof. He walked over to the stain on the asphalt where the victim had been shot. Turned to look up, over his shoulder, at the roof.
I was still standing in the doorway.
He shook his head as he came toward me. “The roof is the only place the shooter could have been. And there’s no way to get up there from the alley.” He gestured for me to go back inside, ahead of him.
I punched in the code for the back-room door.
He sat back down in front of the computer and started the footage again at 1:50.
At 1:51, the door swung open. It was me. I recognized my shirt. As I paused to spin my hair into a bun, the door swung out of view.
It felt extremely odd to be watching myself. I’d been completely unaware of the camera.
He let the footage keep rolling. I could feel my heart slam against my chest as I watched. My vision was going hazy. A sweat broke out above my lip. I stepped away from the detective. “I’m sorry. I just—” I gestured toward the footage. “I need a minute.”
“Hmm?” He turned around to face me. “Sorry. Sure. Can I get you something? Water?”
“Thanks. No. Just give me a minute.” I concentrated on breathing. Tried to blink away the memory of the murder.
The detective was watching the footage again.
I angled my head so I didn’t have to look right at it.
“Do customers normally leave by the back door?”
“No. But the bathroom is down the same hall. And people use that all the time.”
“You say the victim was a regular customer. Did he always use the alley door?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I have no idea.”
“I don’t mean to pressure you. If you don’t know, you don’t know. It’s not a problem. This isn’t a test; there’s no right answer.”
“I just wish I could be more helpful.”
“Well, tell me this. Do you normally leave by the back door?”
“Sometimes. When I want to avoid someone out on the floor.”
“Who would you want to avoid?”
“Customers, if they had issues with their order. Why give them another chance to yell at you? Or my coworkers, if I’m afraid they might want me to do ‘one last thing’ on my way out the door.”
“Sure. I get it. So how often would you say you use the back door? Every other day? Every third day?”
“Once or twice a week.”
“And the victim was your customer for how long?”
How long had I been making those mochas? “Since I’ve been working here, I guess. I started in May.”
“So during all those times you left by that door, did you ever see him in the alley?”
“Not that I know of. I rarely see anyone out there. But like I said, I don’t always leave by the back door.”
“Do people come in that way?”
“Only if you have the code. Or if someone opens it for you. We get morning deliveries through the back door.” I hadn’t opened for a few weeks and I didn’t really want to ever again.
He started up the footage again and watched it through the shooting.
I averted my eyes.
“I’d be interested in knowing if anyone left the shop from the main entrance right before or right after our victim left by the back. You have a security camera inside the store too?”
I didn’t think so, but I got the manager and she brought up footage of the floor from several different angles. I hadn’t even known there were security cameras inside the store. “You never know what’s going to happen,” she pointed out. “And if something ever does, then I’ve got the cameras on my side.” She wound one of them back to one o’clock.
That camera was posted behind the counter, but it was pointed toward the door. Most of the shop floor was within its view.
At 1:34, the door opened. The detective straightened. “There he is. That’s our victim.”
He slowed down the progression.
Joe went straight to the mobile-order counter. Seemed to look at his watch. He turned back toward the front door, and then he walked away from it, around the front counter, and disappeared from view.
“Where’s he going?”
The manager answered, “The back hall. It’s the only way he could have disappeared from the camera.”
“Okay.” The detective started the footage again. Several minutes later, Joe came back into view. He went back to the mobile-order counter and picked up his coffee. Seemed to look at his watch again. Then he walked toward the back hall, out of the footage.
The manager’s phone rang. She stepped out to take the call.
The detective paused the video. “So he picked up his coffee and made a beeline for the back door. Although he looked at his watch first.”
“Maybe he was worried about the time.”
“Maybe. Okay. Let’s go through it again. This time we’ll look at who else comes in or goes out.”
He went back to 1:10. Paused it. “We’ve got—” He counted underneath his breath. “Fifteen people before our victim comes in. Seven sitting down and eight in line.” He resumed the footage and slowed the speed.
“Okay. One goes out.” The video kept playing. “Three go out together. Joe comes in.” He stood at the counter for a moment and then left the footage. “Two come in. Joe comes back. Another goes out.”
It was Mustache Man.
“He comes in most days.”
“What’s that?”
“The guy with the mustache. The one who just left. He’s a regular too.”
“Okay. Two come in. One goes out. What’s our line doing?” He slowed the footage and counted the people waiting to order.
About the time Joe walked out the back door, someone had approached the pastry case and then backed off and left. Several other people got up from tables and left as well. If the detective was looking for the shooter among the customers, there were several possibilities.
“Could be one of those who left at the end,” he muttered. “And I’d like to know more about that man with the mustache. Especially if he’s a regular. Maybe he saw something. Does he come at the same time every day?”
“Generally. After noon. Before my shift ends.”
“You have my number. Can you call me next time you see him? The only people we were able to interview were those still in the shop after it happened. Which by definition . . .”
I finished his thought. “Makes them not the killer.”