Page 44 of 4th Silence
His face reddens. “At the time, no. It just seemed like one more mean trick from that girl. Not a...” He trails off, swallowing hard.
Thirty years, and it still troubles him. That says something. I believe him, despite myself. Sometimes the most damning evidence against someone is their conscience.
Meg catches my eye, her fingers tapping against her ripped jeans—a silent signal that I need to tread gently or lose our best lead at the moment.
“Mr. Jarrett. Gordy,” I say gently, “did you see Gerald or Phillip arguing that night?”
His face clears. “Those two? They were always in each other’s faces. Upstairs, downstairs, probably argued in both that night. A lot of society drama, you know. Always was. Gads, I hated those parties.”
“But you didn’t directly witness any argument between them in the basement?”
“Nope.”
“Or between Mary and Gerry?” Meg adds.
“Mary didn’t speak to that scumbag unless she had to. Ever. Why?”
Meg squeezes her cup. “You’re sure?”
“A hundred percent, sweetheart. Gerry went on the patio to smoke a cigarette off and on, but so did half the other guests. Mary snuck out to the cottage.”
I freeze. “Mary left the house?”
“Sure did.”
“You saw her?”
“On that night’s surveillance tape.”
Meg and I exchange a glance. Gordy thinks we don’t believe him. He pushes to his feet, knees popping. “I can prove it. Before they canned me, I took the backup of that night’s tape. Still got it.”
“You have a copy of the surveillance footage?”
“Insurance.” A bitter smile plays on his lips. “Rich folks always need a fall guy. I worked security long enough to know to cover my ass. Wasn’t sure what I might need that video for, but better safe than sorry. You get me?”
Meg frowns and shoots me a questioning look. “Is that…?”
“Legal?” Gordy finishes. “Not according to my employment contract. But wrongful termination ain’t nice, either. I had two kids in school. Sometimes you need leverage.”
Family first. Our dad would have done the same. “Is there anything suspicious on the tape? Anything at all?”
A shake of his head. “Watched it dozens of times. I do feel somewhat responsible, you know? It was my job to keep everyone safe in that house.” His eyes cloud. “That girl died on my watch. I wondered if I’d missed something.”
How many times have I replayed interviews in my head, wondering if I missed a verbal tell, a micro-expression that might have changed an investigation’s outcome? “Did you? Miss something?”
“Nah. Never saw anything that looked like foul play.”
“But you still have the copy?”
Gordy jerks his thumb at another room. “In the basement. I’ll get it.”
Meg rises and sets her mug on the coffee table. As a forensic sculptor, she deals primarily with physical evidence—bones, tissue markers, facial reconstructions. But she understands, as I do, what this could mean. Video evidence from a security system could reveal truths that memories—faded, biased, or deliberately tampered with—can’t. “You think it’ll show something more than we have?” she whispers. “He could be the one who erased the footage.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But if his copy hasn’t been tampered with, we can either cross a few people off our suspect list or narrow that list down.”
Thumps and muttering come from below. Gordy returns, dust streaking his shirt and a black plastic case in his hand. “State of the art back then,” he tells us, blowing dust off an old VHS tape. “Sixteen cameras throughout the property, all time-stamped, backed up every twelve hours.” His wrinkled fingers tap the cassette. “One tape held twenty-four hours of footage. This is the backup copy from that night.”
He shuffles to an entertainment center that looks like it was purchased during the Clinton Administration and slides the tape into a VCR—an actual functioning VCR. He turns on a much newer flat screen and fiddles with the VCR. “For that time, it was impressive. Motion-activated in some zones, constant recording in others. Split-screen view of all cameras, but you could isolate any feed.” The screen flickers to blue, then displays a grainy multi-camera view of the Hartman estate. “Still, I did a manual backup as routine. You never know when technology is going belly up, you know?”
