“Anyway, they had eight offers come in, including yours. Not as many as I would’ve guessed, probably interest rates starting to spook people.”
Now we’re getting somewhere.
“Five have pulled out.”
Five?
“That’s it?” My voice spikes several octaves. Fritter stirs awake as I rise from the couch. “Sorry,” I say, getting a hold of myself. “Too much caffeine mixed with the shock, I think.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if the others drop off soon, too,” Derrick says. “But does that mean you and Ian want to stay in? Theresa was trying to politely find out—she said there’s no pressure to decide right now, of cour—”
“We’re staying in.” I take a breath to steady myself. “Sorry, I must be really on edge. What I mean is, I’m not ready—we’renotready—to pull out quite yet. Let’s just see what else we find out today.”
The News 4 theme music starts up, the camera closes in on the anchor desk.
“I have to go, Derrick, but I’ll—we’ll stay in touch.”
The midday anchors waste hardly any time on small talk before the woman half of the duo tosses it to Chad. He’s stationed back in front of the dream house, no doubt relishing his luck in claiming such a career-making story.
“Thanks, Janice,” he begins, face grim, tone appropriately solemn. “We’ve been getting new information all morning long about what, exactly, went on here on Stonebrook Avenue, and, of course, trying to learn more about the victim. But I want to start with one especially significant development that we can report for you,exclusively, here on News 4.
“I’ve just spoken with sources inside the Montgomery County police department who tell me we can expect to see some kind of surveillance footage at a press conference that’ll take place later today. I’m told it pertains to the identification of a vehicle that may have been involved. As soon as we know the precise time of that press conference, we’ll be sure to share it with you, and we’ll of course carry it live.”
So there’s already video. I knew there would be eventually, but that was faster than I would’ve guessed. I’m back to pacing the length of the apartment—window to kitchen, kitchen to window, Fritter tracking me from the couch like the pendulum on a grandfather clock. I’m reviewing the particulars of that night in my mind, and I couldn’t have been more careful.
I’m sure of it.
34
Finally, the press conference is about to come on, nearly three hours behind schedule. It’s almost seven o’clock now, twenty-four hours since news of the #BethesdaBasementBody first broke. I haven’t been able to decide whether the delayed start is a good or a bad sign. Maybe the surveillance footage Chad Benson teased didn’t pan out? My palms are sticky, but not from fear. I’m excited—thrilled, even—to hear what they’ve found.
Montgomery County’s chief of police—a woman, black pixie cut, almost comically petite—stands at a wood podium in a beige room, the American and Maryland state flags hanging limply behind her. The audience isn’t in the shot, but the thick, low roar of voices and the snapping of cameras lets you know it must be jammed wall-to-wall with media in there. This is far and away the most successful PR campaign of my career. It’s almost a shame I can’t claim the credit.
I lean forward from the sofa, elbows on my knees, fingers laced under my chin, pulse thumping.
“My apologies for keeping you all waiting,” the chief begins, her face stony. “We had a late development in this case that required my attention, which you’ll hear about in just a moment. But first, Iwant to focus on a vehicle of interest that we’re asking the community to help us locate.”
The camera feed zooms out to reveal a large TV mounted to the wall, just to the right of the podium. So they do have the footage then.
“The video you’re about to watch was taken by a Ring camera on Stonebrook Avenue, in the Grovemont neighborhood of Bethesda, three houses down from the home where, as you know, a body was recovered Monday afternoon.”
The blank blue screen switches to a still shot of a dark front porch, a strip of front lawn and empty sidewalk beyond it.
“This was recorded shortly before eleven thirty Sunday night,” the chief explains. Someone out of view hits Play.
Jack and Curt only have that old-school brass knocker, but I knew others on the block would have doorbells with cameras. The shot is dim, and Sunday night’s fog doesn’t help. But as it glides into the reaches of a streetlamp, a cherry-hued Volkswagen hatchback, headlights off, is unmistakable.
Ian clears his throat in the kitchen.
“Looks kind of like Natalie’s car,” he says, squinting toward the television as he leans over the counter.
He only got home from Pittsburgh a few minutes ago. He’s been over there making himself a turkey sandwich ever since, because I am no longer interested in preparing his dinner.
I shush him so we don’t miss anything. The video rewinds, then plays again in slow motion.
“The vehicle you see here appears to be either a Volkswagen Golf or Volkswagen GTI, red in color, with a partially visible license plate,” says the chief. “Our investigators have reviewed hours of footage from this same camera, from the overnight period Sunday into early Monday, and only three cars in total appear.”
Wow. Imagine living on a street that isn’t the goddamn Fyre festival all night long.
