Page 15 of Jesse
The guy inside was Frank Morton, according to the patch on his chest. He barely blinked at the sight of me. Guess the sheriff or Cooper had called ahead.
“Jesse Briggs?” he asked, voice low and a little scratchy.
“That’s me.”
“Come in. Was told to expect you.”
I stepped inside, and immediately regretted it. The whole cramped space reeked of cheap cologne. Old Spice, if I wasn’t mistaken.
The kind that stung your nose and tried to claw its way down your throat. I wrinkled my nose, trying not to gag.
“Sorry about the smell,” Frank said, misreading my reaction. “Air freshener’s busted.”
Sure, I thought grimly, but didn’t correct him. My gut said otherwise.
I focused instead on the wall of monitors, wires snaking across the floor, a half-eaten sandwich abandoned on the desk. Something about it all felt...off.
Frank shifted awkwardly, wiping his hands on his pants. “Look, uh...about the footage.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What about it?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s trashed. Sabotaged or something.”
“Sabotaged how?” I asked sharply, tension rising under my skin.
Frank flinched, held up his hands.
“Not my fault, I swear! Whoever did it knew what they were doing. They wiped the system clean, overwrote the last twelve hours. Like...scrambled it. Nothing but static and junk left,” Frank explained.
My heart hammered faster. Twelve hours was enough to erase whatever the hell happened before the body turned up.
“How did this happen?” I demanded, stepping closer.
Frank swallowed hard, clearly debating whether he could just disappear into the wall.
“I’m not mad at you,” I said, lowering my voice. “But I need to know exactly what went wrong. Every detail could help.”
He hesitated, then sighed. “Took a smoke break. Ten minutes, tops. Left the office door propped open. I figured, hell, it’s a festival. Who’s gonna mess with security?”
I clenched my jaw. Ten minutes. That’s all it had taken.
“You didn’t see anyone go in or out?” I asked.
“No,” he said, face going a little pale. “Could’ve been anyone.”
“Great.” I exhaled hard through my nose, fighting down the frustration boiling up.
Frank quickly added, “I can still give you what’s left. Copy of the ruined files. Maybe someone smarter than me can salvage something.”
“Do it,” I said. “Email it to me and give me the original tape too, just in case.”
He nodded, turning to the cluttered desk and grabbing a battered external drive and a plastic evidence bag with the ruined tape inside.
He handed them over like they were made of glass. I was halfway to the door when something nagged at me.
I paused and turned back. “Hey, Frank, you wear Old Spice?”
He blinked, confused. “Me? Nah. Can’t stand cologne. Makes my wife sneeze.”
