Page 40 of 4th Silence
“That’s the front,” Mom says.
“And?” I ask, heavy on the sarcasm since we’re not blind and can see that.
“Well,” Mom claps back, upping the ante on the sarcasm. “If you were meeting with your drug dealer or bookie, would you do it in front for everyone to see or somewhere out back? The main grounds and cottage are behind the house. If you wanted to sneak around and do deals or get high, you’d do it there. You’d leave through the kitchen door. At the rear of the house.”
Gotta give it to Mom on that one.
“I’ll buy that,” I say, pointing at the laptop. “Charlie, do you have footage from the yard?”
She moves her finger over the mousepad and juts her chin at the television, where a menu with different tiles appears.
“There.” Matt points at the screen. “Lower left says kitchen door.”
A click from Charlie yields another grayscale image, the quality so poor I squint and crane my neck closer as if that’ll help me see better. Security footage has come a long way in thirty years.
“For people with so much money,” Mom says, “you’d think they’d have invested in a better system. With sound.”
Charlie grunts and shoots me her I-may-have-to-kill-our-mother look.
I offer her a sympathetic smile and turn my attention back to Mom. “Check your notes. What time was the murder?”
“I don’t have to. The estimated time of death was nine-thirty.”
Using her mouse, Charlie drags the button below the video to the right and clicks.
“Eight o’clock,” I say. “Keep going.”
She tries twice more before she lands on nine-fifteen, clicks the play button, and sits back.
The video shows a group of kids of various ages hanging out in the yard. Three younger kids lie in the snow, making angels, while what appear to be older teenagers stand around watching.
As irritated as I am with Mom, I have to agree with her on the sound issue. It would be nice to have color images, as well as the option to hear what’s being said.
“Charlie,” I say, “can you zoom in on the younger kids? Maybe Tiffany is one of them.”
She does, but the already hazy video blurs even more.
“Two boys and a girl,” Charlie says.
“Tiffany had blonde hair,” Matt adds.
I focus on the girl in the image, swinging her arms and legs and smiling over her snow angel efforts. She’s not wearing a hat, and lying on the ground as she is, her hair blends with the snow.
“Even in grayscale,” I say, “light versus dark stands out. Her hair is light.”
“Meg’s right,” Mom says. “I don’t think that’s her, though. Tiffany’s face was rounder.”
“Mom,” Charlie says, “who are those boys on the ground? Do you recognize them?”
She shakes her head. “No. But I have a list in my notes of everyone in attendance.”
“Do they look like Alex?”
Mom stands and moves closer to the screen, studying it for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t think either of them is Alex. They look too young. And the ones standing are too old.”
Interesting. “So, Alex and Tiffany aren’t in this shot?”
“Doesn’t appear so.”
