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Nope. Not good enough. “These guys had to have done recon on these locations,” Roman argued. “What about the video feeds at the banks? I assume you’ve started to go through the footage to look for people matching these builds that appear multiple times.”
“First of all, you’re talking about thirteen different high-traffic banks. Each one of them sees hundreds of people a day,” Garza said, brows sky high. “The best we’d be able to do is narrow the timeframes down to four to six weeks during which theymighthave done recon. And I’m not sure if you missed this part, but we have no idea who to even look for. As for build? If you put Maxwell in tactical gear, he matches the description of the bigger guy. For Chrissake,Halecould even be the smaller one. Doing a search like that is a waste of freaking time!”
Just like that, the anger that had been building in Roman’s chest snapped free. “I was there, with my face on the tile and no choice but to let the whole thing play out. Believe me, I didn’t miss a damn thing. And if you don’t know how to spot someone who’s casing a place with the intent to rob it, then how you made detective is beyond me.”
Garza was out of his seat in a flash. Which was just fine by Roman, because he’d had just about enough of the guy’s shit. For fuck’s sake, he could help them solve this case. But before either one of them could get a step closer to the other, Maxwell had stepped into Garza’s flight path and Hale had placed herself in front of Roman, one hand flat against his sternum.
“If you have any sense of self-preservation, you’ll stop right there,” she murmured sweetly, and Jesus God, she was stronger than she looked.
Sinclair split an ice-cold glance between him and Garza before letting his steely gaze re-settle on Roman. “I’m going to chalk that up to frustration, but it’s not going to happen again. Are we clear?”
Damnit. “Yes.”
Sinclair looked at Garza, who nodded, but still looked pissed. “In this case, you’re both right. This robbery was too well-planned for the assailants not to have done recon. But going through video footage from all the banks for possible frequent flyers will take more time than we have, even with facial recognition software. It’s a process we can start”—Sinclair gestured at the video array, where images of the bank flashed over several screens—“but it’s not illegal to visit your bank as often as you like, and we can’t investigate every customer who appears more than once. We’re going to need something a hell of a lot more concrete to break this case open.”
Roman exhaled. He hated it, but Sinclair wasn’t wrong on either count. Facial rec was a shitload faster on TV and in the movies, and while it could give them a direction to move in, itwouldtake time they didn’t necessarily have. Plus, going to a bank a few times to have a look-see wasn’t a crime in and of itself. It would be a start, but ultimately, they’d need more.
“So, that’s it? There’s nothing else you can do?” Camila asked, and Sinclair shook his head.
“I know it’s frustrating. This part is just going to take time.”
Roman watched the video of the robbery play out on screen, his pulse ratcheting. He forced himself to take a breath, then another, analyzing every move. The leader was clearly calling every shot—not just with the bank patrons, but with the other two robbers, as well. He had to have been the one to come up with the strategy of using fear to immobilize the people in the bank.
Stepping closer, Roman’s stare sharpened on the replay. The big guy was clearly muscle, serving his role as the intimidator well, although with the menace that had radiated off the man, Roman doubted he’d been acting much. The smaller man was a little harder to figure out, though. He served his purpose, clearly watchful of both the other two as they fanned out in the lobby, movements quick and lithe, and wait. Wait…
For Chrissake, Hale could be the smaller one.
Oh. Shit.
“Play that again.”
Okay, so the words came out a lot pushier than Roman had intended, but his heart was slamming too hard for shit like decorum. Thankfully, Capelli didn’t protest, sliding the video back to the beginning, and Roman examined the smaller figure’s movements closer, then closer still, and holyshit.
“I think that’s a woman.”
All of the air left the room for a split second. Then, everything exploded.
“No—”
“What?”
“Wait a second—”
“Stop.”
The last word cracked through the Intelligence office, leaving everyone else silent. “Capelli,” Sinclair said, his voice deadly calm. “Can you replay the video one more time, from the beginning?”
Three keystrokes had the request in motion, and the more Roman watched, the more certain he became.
He wasn’t the only one. “I think you’re right,” Camila said, fumbling through her purse until she unearthed a well-worn sketchbook. “I drew these pictures of the robber’s eyes. They’re not great, or anything”—she flipped the book open, and whoa, Roman disagreed. The sketches were incredible, the blues and browns shaded and perfectly nuanced—“but look at the eyelashes and the curve of the eyebrows. It’s not a definitive indicator, of course, but…”
“They’re pretty well-groomed,” Roman agreed.
“This assailantissmaller than the other two, and he—she?—never spoke at all, according to the witnesses in the bank,” Isabella said slowly.
Camila straightened, then nodded. “She specifically used hand motions with me. The other guy spoke, but not her. It’s like she went out of her way to avoid saying anything.”
“I bet that’s why,” Roman said. Better to let everyone assume they were three men committing these robberies. More subterfuge made it easier for them to stay off the radar. “You said you ran the heterochromia through the database. Did you include women in the search?”
