Guilt By Degrees

9

As check-cashing places go, it was relatively discreet. Just a cursive neon sign in the window to let people know they could get fleeced in exchange for a fast return. We entered the small store and walked up to the counter, where an older Asian man with wire-rimmed glasses and a few strands of comb-over hair sat on a high stool behind a cash register.

Bailey flashed her badge. “LAPD, homicide investigation. I’d like to speak to the manager.”

He calmly inspected the badge and glanced at Bailey to match the photograph, then sat back. “First time I see detective as good-looking as you,” he said, his speech accented but very intelligible. He seemed appreciative in a completely nonlascivious way. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Does your surveillance camera pick up a view of the street?” Bailey asked.

“Of course,” the man replied. “You talking about the day that homeless guy died?”

We both nodded.

“I hear he lay there long time before someone call,” the man said, shaking his head. “Sad business, very sad.”

I was glad to find someone who seemed to get that.

“You have exact date when it happened?” he asked. “Camera record on a loop. After so long, record over itself.”

“It was twelve days ago,” I said. Please don’t let it be a ten-day loop.

He smiled. “You in luck. It’s fourteen-day loop.”

He called out, and an older woman in thick-soled rubber shoes and polyester pants and blouse shuffled out from the back of the store.

“Show them tape for twelve days ago,” he ordered her.

The man let us behind the counter, and we entered a back room so cluttered it looked like it was occupied by hoarders. Literally every single square inch of space was covered with layers of paper of all kinds: invoices, newspapers, dry-cleaner trade magazines. The woman gestured for us to follow her to a tiny office at the back. It had only a computer and monitor on a small desk, which was handy because that’s all there was room for.

She punched some keys and asked us for the date and time. We gave it to her, and then she punched some more keys and sat back to let us watch.

The black-and-white images didn’t allow us to discern any details, only gross movements. But we could clearly see John Doe reach for a woman in dark sunglasses who was walking in front of him. She spun toward him at first, then recoiled and tried to pull away. Seconds later, John Doe’s arm fell, and the woman broke free. John Doe watched her for a moment, then sank down and dropped out of the frame. By that time, the woman was out of sight.

“So that’s when he got stabbed,” I said. “But it doesn’t show the stabber.”

“Because our John Doe’s body was blocking him from view-at least from the angle this camera had.”

“And I couldn’t see what that woman did just before he went down, could you?”

“No,” Bailey replied. She tapped the screen. “Would you mind replaying it for us?”

We watched again. “Look,” I said, pointing to the monitor. “He grabs her, she stops, then somehow she gets free and turns away. But he’s still standing.”

“Right,” Bailey agreed. “So he got stabbed after he let go of her.”

“Could you please rewind a little and freeze it?” I asked.

She nodded.

I watched again as the homeless man grabbed the woman’s forearm. At the moment the woman pulled away, I told the shopkeeper to freeze the picture.

I pointed to the screen, which showed John Doe still on his feet. “Makes it hard to believe that the stabber was just trying to protect her,” I remarked.

“Though not impossible,” Bailey said. “We need to find some surveillance footage from another angle.”

“Ideally, one that shows the stabber,” I agreed. “And it’d be good to find this woman. She had to have seen something.”

“Right,” Bailey replied.

“So why’d she split without reporting?” I asked.

Bailey shook her head.

We continued watching. Our John Doe dropped out of frame. Pedestrians walked by. Eventually a man stopped and looked down at the spot where John Doe had fallen, then walked on. Some minutes later, a young girl aimed her iPhone at the same spot, then continued down the street. Other passersby parted around an unseen obstacle, then rejoined and kept moving. I winced as, one by one, each of them walked right past my John Doe, most without so much as a second glance.

According to the time counter, John Doe lay on the ground for two and a half hours before the police arrived.