Page 21 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

“Mario said you are an investigator?”

“That’s right.”

“We didn’t see anything. If we had, we would’ve told the police.”

“I’m more interested in your cameras.” I pointed at one on a pole in the parking lot, facing towards the street. “Especially that one.”

“We already watched them. She didn’t walk past. She must have come from the other direction.”

“No, she was in a car, and it drove past here.”

The two men looked at each other.

“I didn’t think of that,” Mario said. “My wife’s hairdresser’s friend knows a cop, and he said she walked there.”

“Sometimes things get misheard.” Or plain made up.

“The recordings are on my computer,” Luigi said. “Please, come through to the office.”

“The office” turned out to be a grandiose term for a cupboard, too small to fit more than a desk and a chair, but the two men squashed in there alongside me, and Luigi shoved some papers aside to balance a tray with three tiny cups next to the keyboard. The monitor was split into quadrants, each displaying the feed from a different camera—one covering the front, one at the rear, and two wide-angles inside the restaurant itself.

“Nice system.”

“We bought it after the burglary last year. Someone stole our panini grill. What kind ofstronzosteals a panini grill?”

“The police didn’t catch them?”

Luigi flung up his hands. “They did nothing. Nothing! And I guess they’re not looking into this abduction either if you’re here and they’re not.”

“They tend to go for the easy wins nowadays.”

“The whole world isandando all’inferno.”

“Going to hell,” Mario translated. “The world is going to hell.”

Tell me something I didn’t know. “Can we start reviewing the footage from a quarter to ten?”

“Of course.”

“Will it zoom in on the road?”

“Like this?”

“Can it go any tighter?”

“Mi spiace, this is as close as it goes.”

Luckily, the street outside was well-lit, and at that distance and angle, I was able to make out the forms of the occupants in the vehicles whizzing past. The shades of their clothes were visible, but I couldn’t see the detail of their faces. Worse, I couldn’t read the licence plates either. Still, I had to take whatever information I could get, and if I was able to narrow down the make and model of the car to a handful of possibles, that could only help. Kimberly had been wearing pink, and according to Maria, Tim had been wearing a suit with a light-blue shirt.

“We’re looking for two occupants, a dark-haired male wearing black and light blue in the driver’s seat, and a brunette female in pale pink on the passenger side.”

Luigi put on a pair of glasses, and the two men leaned forward as the footage played. Cars rolled past, most slowing for the upcoming bend. A white pickup, single occupant. A sky-blue compact, woman at the wheel judging by the bouffant of platinum hair. A green SUV, two occupants, both black. After half an hour, our drinks were cold, but we had three possibles.

“Can you play those ones again? Nine fifty-one, nine fifty-seven, and ten oh-two.”

Nine fifty-one drove past, a burgundy SUV. Could that be Kimberly? The hair on the woman was the right length—past her shoulders.

“I think I know who that is,” Luigi said.

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