Page 24 of Smoke Screen
“This footage is from two weeks ago. Is this you?”
Maddy checked the timestamp; 1:15. “Yes. This was right after the exhibit opened. I walk the building each day after my lunch. I like to get feedback from visitors.”
“Uh-huh,” Special Agent Walker said, emphasizing the last syllable enough that it dripped with disbelief.
And…whoa.
What wasthatabout? She met Special Agent Walker’s gaze, but the woman gestured to the screen. “The man on the left.”
Another arrow appeared. This one pointing to the man’s neck.
And the tattoo peeking out over the top of his hoodie.
5
“Oh my God,”Maddy gasped. “Is that the same man?”
“Appears so,” Special Agent Blackwell said. “We haven’t been able to get a match on facial recognition, but based on the location and image of the tattoo, our working theory is it’s the same man. Do you remember speaking with these gentlemen?”
And, holy cow, Phin had told her about this. About how thieves did a dry run right before a robbery.
She thought back to the last couple of weeks. Each day, her routine had been the same. Lunch, walk-through, back to her office. Every day.
In the last few weeks, given the excitement over the collection, they’d had a variety of tours, talks, and other scheduled events, including a wedding in the ballroom. She’d spoken to hundreds of people.
She continued to stare at the screen, her mind spinning, spinning, spinning, replaying each day since the exhibit opened. The people. So many people.
The tattoo. Being an art lover, all art, how could she not remember?
Maybe because tats had become commonplace. Everywhere she looked, including on her brother’s body, she saw tattoos.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I don’t remember him.”
“Ms.Carmichael,” Special Agent Walker drawled, once again emphasizing syllables until they dripped like blood. “Forgive me, but I find that hard to believe. Look at these men. I can’t imagine you regularly get three twenty-something-year-old men waltzing through here dressed in ratty jeans looking, to my eye anyway, suspicious. You really don’t remember them?”
Special Agent Blackwell cleared his throat but said nothing. Was that a warning to Special Agent Walker to check her tone?
Maddy pushed her shoulders back and met the agent’s gaze straight on. “Special AgentWalker,” she mimicked the condescending tone. Why not? The woman had no idea who came through here. What? Guys in jeans weren’t allowed to visit? “Two days ago, we had a community activist, a former gang leader who’s found the Lord, parading a dozen teenaged gang members dressed inratty jeansthrough this building. Part of our mission is to provide a safe, educational environment for at-risk kids.” She swung to President Thompson. “Sir, I’ve heard you say many times you wanted this to be a haven. A welcoming space with an opportunity to change lives.”
“She’s right.” He gestured to the screen. “I’ve seen countless people who look like this visiting the Center.”
The two agents exchanged a look.
“All right,” Special Agent Walker said. “Let’s move on.”
She tapped the iPad again, cueing up another video. “This is security footage from your condo’s parking lot and breezeway. Is this the front of your building?”
My building?Maddy’s gaze fixed on the screen, her body somehow frozen. What the hell was going on? Why were they watching her building?
“Ms. Carmichael?”
Maddy turned, found Walker studying her. Watching. Did they think …?
Panic banged around inside Maddy’s brain, making her temples throb.
Hold it together here.She swallowed, fought to get her tongue moving in the desert that had become her mouth. “I’m confused.”
“About whether this is your building?”
