The 24th Letter

TWENTY-EIGHT

The hospital security center was on the first floor, hidden through a labyrinth of corridors. Two security technicians sat in front of forty monitors, all taking live video feeds from every floor in the hospital-lobby, cafeteria, parking lots, and rooftops.

O’Brien looked at the identifying locations superimposed on the bottom of each monitor. “Why monitor the roof?” he asked.

The man at the console said, “To spot jumpers. We had two guys do swan dives to the street the last couple of years. I’m glad they double-locked the door to the roof.”

“What do you have on our elusive priest between seven and eight p.m.?”

“I cued it up for you. All digital. Stored in some pretty hefty hard drives. Archived and erased at the end of ten day cycles. It’s done automatically unless we tell the computers to store it. Camera nine caught a priest.”

The man pressed four buttons and the time of day appeared at the bottom of the screen. It was calculated in military time, down to the second. O’Brien, Grant and the other two security officers watched in silence. On the screen, they saw nurses making their rounds, a custodian pushing a mop, a family huddled at the far end of the hall, and a man dressed as a priest walking toward Deputy Tim Gleason.

O’Brien leaned in toward the monitor, his eyes searching every facet. Although the images were in color, the shot was too wide to see much detail. The man wore a fedora hat, collar, dark church-issued suit, and black shoes.

O’Brien studied the man’s body language. He wasn’t animated. Movements more conciliatory. Brotherly love. Head nodding. He moved a Bible from his left hand to his right and reached out to touch the deputy on the shoulder. “Can you back it up about fifteen feet before he approaches the deputy?” O’Brien asked

“Sure.”

“There, that’s fine. Play it. Can you get any closer?”

“Some. Cameras don’t have high resolution. You’ll see some loss of quality when I push in.” The security tech zoomed in closer on the image. “Look,” O’Brien said, pointing. “See that, Dan?”

“See what?”

“The perp knows there’s a camera, and it’s not an easy camera to spot. He looked toward it just a half second. That’s why he turned profile. He moves the Bible from his left hand to his right-the right hand is supposed to be hurt, remember? He scratches his left cheek while he’s talking. Doesn’t want his lips read. Can you go in any closer?”

“Just a notch,” said the technician. “Pixels in the picture start to come apart.”

“That’s good. See that, Dan?”

“I see his hand.”

“Look closer. I don’t know many priests who are married.”

Dan Grant leaned in toward the monitor. “Wow, he’s wearing a gold ring.”

“I wonder if the lady of the house knows she’s sleeping with a killer.”