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I did it.
Chi said, “What time was this made? I see no windows. No lights. Maybe there’s an open door providing natural light …”
I restarted the video and watched Blackout’s view close in on Cindy’s face. He spoke to her in his unearthly mechanical voice.
“Don’t fight me,” Blackout said. “I just want to talk.”
Blackout’s glove entered the frame and moved toward Cindy’s face. He ripped the tape from her mouth revealing a cloth gag. He dragged the gag down to her chin.
Cindy screamed,“Let me go!”
I knew Cindy had faced psychos before. The last time, she’d been armed. Shot a killer. This time, she was tied up. This time, shewasthe story, and if she didn’t flip the script fast, Blackout would do to her what he’d done before.
Rich was riveted to the screen. He was muttering, “Talk to him, Cindy.”
On-screen Blackout said to Cindy, “Shut up. No one can hear you, but I will not put up with resistance. I can kill you faster than you can yell ‘help.’”
Blackout leaned down to within inches from Cindy’s face. Her mascara had run down her cheeks and her mouth was white, bloodless from the lingering pressure of the gag Blackout had only just removed. Her two front teeth overlap slightly, a charming imperfection that makes her face even prettier. But now her features blurred together in naked fear. I dropped my eyes and moaned. I just couldn’t take it.
Rich was panting, powerless to help Cindy, but he was a cop, my partner. I knew his thoughts.Where was Blackout? What was he doing to Cindy right now? Was she alive? Where were they?
I looked up again and focused on the images. Blackout’s videos were typically less than four minutes long, limited by the size of the chip in his glasses. I guessed half of that time had been spent.
The killer said to Cindy, “You know Evan Burke. I want to hear all about him. Everything he told you about himself, allof your thoughts about him. Cindy, do you hear me? As long as you talk about Burke, you stay alive.”
That’s when Blackout dropped the camera. That is, his video glasses apparently fell to the floor.
There were dizzying seconds as the images swam free. The frames bounced as he fumbled with them, picked them up and repositioned them on his face. When they had settled, he stared at the dim light coming through the transom window, a pane of industrial glass about three feet long and one foot high. Reading the light, I saw it was dusk. Had this video been shot within the last hour?Were they still in San Francisco?
Blackout couldn’t see us, that we were paralyzed by shock and anger, impotent, frozen in silence.
But here’s what he said to me as we all stared at the image of the transom window above the latched metal door:
“Sergeant, our time is up. To be continued.”
The screen went black.
CHAPTER 63
ALVAREZ SHOUTED AT my old Dell desktop, “To be continuedwhen?”
Beside me, Rich kicked the desk, making the computer jump.
I looked for Brady. He came up the aisle and stopped at our desks, his eyes asking me,What’s happened?
I briefed the boss.
“Blackout has Cindy. He sent a video.”
“Has her where?”
“Don’t know. But whenever he shot this, Cindy was alive.”
I teed up the video for replay. Cappy made room for Brady and I stayed in my chair beside Conklin. I had to watch it again. Maybe on the second pass I’d see something we’d missed. A logo. A clock. A sign, either virtual or actual.
Brady said, “Roll it.”
I tapped the arrow and the opening shot appeared. It was the dimly lit warehouse interior from Blackout’s point of view.All I saw that would identify the location was that the building was not in use.
