The Summer House

Chapter 30

Despite its narrow aisles, the Route 119 Gas N’ Go is well stocked. Its overflowing shelves boast everything from motor oil to fishing lures to canned goods to paper products, with coolers and freezers at the far end. Special Agent Connie York is up at the front of the store with Major Jeremiah Cook.

Behind the checkout counter topped with dispensers of cigarette packs and tins of chewing tobacco is Vihan Laghari, the store’s smiling owner dressed in jeans and a pink Lacoste polo shirt. He has a thick black moustache, two gold chains around his neck, and three gold rings on his hands, which he constantly rubs as he speaks. He says in barely accented English, “A bad deal, what happened. A very bad deal.”

“It certainly was,” Cook says, smiling. “And for the third time, please, Mr. Laghari, may we see the video surveillance from that evening?”

“Of course, of course. Right this way, good sir, good ma’am,” he says, going to the other end of the counter and gesturing them in. A young boy and girl look up from their cell phones, smile, and go back to whatever games they’re playing. They’re wearing khaki shorts and bright-yellow T-shirts printed with the store’s logo.

York takes in the crowded work area. More cigarettes, large plastic bins with lottery scratch-off tickets — or, as they’re called here, scratchers — and, underneath the counter and cash register, a color television with a bright, sharp picture. She’s not sure what the program is, but it’s some sort of musical number with young Indian men and women in bright clothes dancing in a meadow somewhere.

On the side counter, a large computer screen displaying four surveillance video feeds is hooked up to a laptop. One shows the store entrance, the second shows the outside with the four gas pumps, the third shows the rear of the store, and the fourth focuses on the cashier area. She sees herself, Cook, and Laghari on the screen.

“See?” he points out. “Recording all the time, twenty-four/seven. For two days, then records over. When we heard about those dreadful murders, dear me... Sheriff Williams, she asked me if I saw anything that night, and I said no, the usual customers.” Laghari shakes his head. “But later she came back and asked to review that Wednesday night. She was looking for something.”

Cook asks, “Did she tell you what?”

Another shake of his head. “No, no, no. Just a review of a few hours, and she spotted it. She thanked me very much for my help. Would you like to see that Wednesday night? I kept a copy of what I gave to the sheriff.”

“Very much so,” Cook says.

“My boy, Prince, he will help,” the store owner says. “He knows all this computer stuff.”

Laghari speaks loudly in a burst of Hindi, and the young boy gets off his stool, puts down his handheld device, and comes over. “Sure, bapu,” he says. The young boy works the keyboard, and the live feed of the surveillance cameras shrinks to a small square in the corner. His fingers rapidly go to work, and then...

Up comes a recording.

“Here,” the boy says. “Here’s what the sheriff copied.”

York’s throat thickens as she watches the footage, and she feels her heart rate increase.

A pickup truck pulls up to the front of the store. Four men get out, and she recognizes the four Rangers: Staff Sergeant Caleb Jefferson, Corporal Curtis Barnes, Specialist Vinny Tyler, and Specialist Paulie Ruiz. Jefferson and Barnes go to the store’s rear cooler section, grabbing some type of power drinks. As they’re in the store, Tyler and Ruiz remain outside, smoking cigarettes and having a heated discussion, lots of finger-pointing and arm-waving.

Connie checks the time stamp. The day is last Wednesday. The time is 7:40 p.m.

Twenty minutes or so before they’re seen leaving the site of the killings.

Jefferson pays cash for the drinks. Barnes is behind him, face hard and determined.

Laghari works the cash register, and then the two Rangers leave. Tyler and Ruiz drop their cigarettes on the ground.

“See?” Laghari asks. “Just what I saw that night... soon before the dreadful murders.”

Cook says, “Connie? Get a copy of this, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” she says, going into her bag, fumbling around for a second, coming out with a thumb drive.

But she knows she won’t need it.

What she’s just seen in the surveillance tape will remain sharp and clear in her mind for years to come.

The four Rangers, all dressed in fatigues, boots, and MOLLE harnesses.

Jumping into their truck and quickly driving away.

Off to perform a mission.