Page 48 of Tide and Seek
“I thought the same thing,” Max murmured.
At the sound of the mechanical security gate opening, all three of us turned.We watched as it slowly opened to admit a black truck with “American Pool and Spa” painted on the side in red, white, and blue lettering.The truck’s engine rumbled as it drove into the colony and parked in front of my house, its brakes squeaking softly.
“Looks like the pool guy’s here to work on the pool heater,” Max said, frowning.“I thought he was coming tomorrow.”He turned and strode toward the middle-aged man climbing out of the black truck.
When I turned back to Stiles, he was staring at the pool guy with what looked like annoyance.But when our eyes met, that easy smile returned, so I assumed I’d read him wrong.
“Well, if Luke is surfing, I think I will go get some lunch and then swing back by later.”Stiles held out his well-manicured hand and his pricey gold watch glinted in the sun.“It was nice meeting you, Royce.”
“Likewise.”I shook his hand and then went to join Max and the pool guy.
Stiles got back in his sports car and his engine purred to life.Then he drove out through the gate, giving a nonchalant wave of his hand.
A short while later, Max and I were on the road to the Malibu Lost Hills Sheriff’s Station.The twisting canyon curves reminded me how far I was from the wide-open prairies and two-lane highways of North Texas.Maxwell sat hunched beside me, not enjoying riding in the Hummer this time around any more than he had the first.
We pulled into the modest parking lot of the sheriff’s station, scattered with black-and-whites and unmarked cars.The station itself looked more like a small-town civic building than the nerve center for policing some of the wealthiest real estate in America.It was a modest single-story structure of brick and stucco with a low-pitched peaked roof over the entrance, and a plain sign marking it as the Lost Hills Sheriff’s Station.Two flags hung limply in the still afternoon air, adding to its unpretentious, functional appearance.
The moment I stepped through the glass doors, the familiar rhythm of law enforcement washed over me.Radio chatter punctuated the steady hum of voices, keyboards clicking, phones ringing.The fluorescent lighting cast everything in that particular institutional glow I knew from my own station back home.Though, surprisingly, this place felt more cramped, every square foot utilized out of necessity.
A young deputy with dark, close-cropped hair and the eager demeanor of someone still proving himself approached the reception desk.“Sheriff Callum?I’m Deputy Martinez.Deputy Gonzalez asked me to get you set up to see the security footage.”
I shook his hand, noting the firm grip and the way his eyes briefly assessed both Maxwell and me.“Appreciate that, Deputy.”
“Detective Jones will be the one actually showing you the footage, but I’ll escort you to his workspace.”
“Thanks.”I smiled.
“No problem.”He led us through a maze of cubicles where deputies hunched over paperwork and fielded calls.The walls were institutional gray-blue, decorated with the usual mix of wanted posters, community event flyers, and department notices.It reminded me of home, just compressed into a tighter space with better equipment.
The surveillance room felt almost claustrophobic after the bustle of the main floor.Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting everything in a hard white glow.A long table ran along the wall beneath several mounted monitors, each one displaying grainy security footage with date and time stamps flickering in the corners.The steady hum of equipment filled the quiet, layered with the faint whir of a printer and the smell of burnt coffee lingering in the air.
A detective sat hunched at the table, clicking through camera angles on a battered keyboard.He was a lanky man, all sharp angles and jutting elbows, with thinning sandy hair combed carefully over the top of his head.Piles of manila folders and a half-empty Styrofoam cup of coffee competed for space at his elbow.
“Detective Jones, Sheriff Callum and Mr.Thornton are here to see the footage from the Ocean Whisper Estates security cameras,” Martinez said.
Jones glanced up as we entered, his face drawn with fatigue.He gave us a congenial nod.“Howdy, gentlemen.”
“Thanks for taking the time, Detective,” I said.
“Sure thing.”Jones gestured to two folding chairs positioned in front of the monitors.
“Yes, thank you,” Max said, dusting off the folding chair with a handkerchief.
Jones gave Max a quizzical look and then said, “In addition to the security footage from Bright-Eyed Security, we’ve also pulled a lot of outdoor security tape from Monday at the colony.Camera coverage is pretty good for that area—multiple angles on the main entrance, some interior shots of the community.”
Once we were settled into our seats, Martinez dimmed the lights slightly, and I felt Maxwell tense beside me.The screens came alive with grainy but clear footage, and I found myself leaning forward as the first images began to play.
“This footage is from the outside security cameras provided by the Ocean Whisper Estates,” Jones said, his fingers moving across the keyboard.“The time is around 3:00 p.m.I thought it would be good to scan the video earlier in the day to see if anyone was watching the place.”
“Not a bad idea,” I said.
The timestamp in the corner read 2:55 p.m.as we watched the main entrance gate.With only four homes in Ocean Whisper Estates, there wasn’t much traffic.A few luxury sedans and SUVs came and went, along with the occasional service truck or delivery van.
“I don’t notice anyone loitering,” I said.
“No, me neither.”Jones nodded.“They could be parked up on the highway, though, watching through binoculars.Unfortunately, there are no cameras that would capture that.”
Jones fast-forwarded the footage, cars blurring past in accelerated motion until he slowed it down again.We watched the beach colony as the sun set and night descended.The traffic in and out of the colony slowed to almost nothing.“There’s not a lot going on until around 1:30 a.m.”
