Cold Conspiracy

“We’re not accusing you,” Gage said. “But we’re hoping you might have seen or heard something that could help us find the killer. Where were you between eight and ten this morning?”

“I was at the lake. I always try to get there by eight, and I leave about eleven to come home for lunch.” He turned to Nate. “You saw me there. It must have been about nine or so when we talked.”

Nate nodded. “That’s about right. And you didn’t see anyone else while you were at the lake?”

“Not a soul. I passed a couple of cars on the highway on my way out there, but once I turned onto the Forest Service Road, I didn’t see any other cars, and none in the parking lot. I saw a woman out walking, but that was all.”

Gage tensed. “A woman out walking? Where? What did she look like?”

“She was on the forest road, about a mile before the turnoff to the lake. She was tall and thin, with long blond hair—a lot of it.”

“What was she doing?” Gage asked.

“Just walking along, talking on the phone. She didn’t even look up when I passed.”

“What else can you tell me about her?” Gage asked. “Did you recognize her?”

“She was wearing jeans and hiking boots and a black parka. I didn’t get that good a look at her. She had her head bent, with that phone pressed to her ear and her hair falling all in her face.”

“Had you ever seen her out there before?” Nate asked.

“No. I usually don’t see anybody—not in the winter, anyway,” Abel said. “I don’t think there are any houses out that way.”

“Didn’t you think it was odd she was walking out there by herself?” Gage asked.

Abel shrugged. “People like to walk. It’s none of my business. She didn’t look like she was in trouble or anything. Just walking along, talking on the phone.”

“What time was this that you saw her?” Gage asked.

“Well, it was before eight. Maybe seven fifty.”

“Which direction was she walking?” Nate asked.

“North. Same direction I was headed.”

They talked to him a few more minutes, but he couldn’t tell them anything further. They said goodbye and returned to Gage’s cruiser. Neither man spoke until they were headed back to the sheriff’s department.

“The woman he saw wasn’t Michaela,” Gage said. “She has short, dark hair. And what was a woman doing out there by herself at that time of morning, anyway?”

“Something else really strange about that whole story,” Nate said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gage said. “What was she doing on the phone?”

“Right. Jamie had to drive a ways to call in when she found Michaela. There’s no phone signal out that way. None at all.”

BANK PRESIDENT TOM BABCOCK met Travis and Jamie at the Mountain States Bank, a worried expression on his face. “I hope we can help you,” he said as he led them past the teller windows to the back of the building. “It’s unnerving to think a murderer is one of our customers.”

“If he is a customer, it will make it easier for us to find him,” Travis said.

“You said on the phone you wanted to see footage from our security cameras,” Babcock said. “I’ve asked our IT specialist, Susan Whitmore, to meet with us. She knows her way around the system much better than I do.” He opened the door to a small office filled with computer equipment. “While we wait for her, can you tell me a little more about this? You said our teller, Michaela Underwood, was murdered? And this man she met at the bank might be her killer?”

“We don’t know that he killed her,” Travis said. “But he was supposed to meet her this morning. It may be he knows something about what happened. Were you here on Thursday?”

“Yes. Michaela worked eight to five that day. She took lunch from eleven thirty to twelve thirty, and was the only teller on duty from twelve thirty to three.”

“Do you remember her talking to a young man?” Travis asked. “Flirting with him?”

“I can’t say that I noticed anything like that.” He frowned. “Michaela was always very friendly. Customers liked her. We’re going to really miss her. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her…”

His voice trailed away as a chime sounded. “That will be Susan now.” He leaned out of the open door. “We’re back here, Susan,” he called.

Susan Whitmore was a trim woman with very short platinum hair and piercing blue eyes. “Tom filled me in on the phone,” she said after introductions were made. “Just tell me what you need, Sheriff, and I’ll do my best to help.”

“Michaela Underwood made a date to go snowshoeing this morning with a man she told her sister she met here at the bank Thursday,” Travis explained. “He returned Friday and asked her out. We need to find this guy and talk to him. All we have is a first name—Al. If we can spot him talking to her on your security footage, we’re hoping that will help us locate him.”

“If you find him, we can look at the time stamp on the image and I can link him to a particular transaction,” Tom said. “That should give you a name if he was cashing a check or making a deposit, or a payment on an account with us.”

“Do you have a particular time you want to look at?” Susan asked. “Or the whole day?”

“Let’s start with twelve thirty to three,” Travis said. “When Michaela was the only teller working.”

“All right.” Susan inputted information into a computer and pulled up a black-and-white image showing four screens—ATM, front door, back door and a wider shot that took in most of the lobby. She clicked on the lobby view and enlarged it. “We’ll start here, since this gives us a good view of Michaela. I’ll scroll forward and stop on any male customers.”

Jamie and Travis leaned in as Susan began to forward the film. Michaela waited on an older couple, a young woman with a child and two middle-aged women. Then a single man approached the counter. “Stop,” Travis ordered.

Susan stilled the film. Jamie studied the image of a slender man, maybe six feet tall or just under. He wore a dark knit hat pulled down on his head, the collar of his dark coat turned up.

“Can you zoom in?” Travis asked.

Susan enlarged the image until it began to blur. Travis furrowed his brow. “Is there another camera, focused on the teller, which would give us a view of his face?” he asked.

“No,” Susan said.

Travis sighed and stepped back. “The way he’s standing, we can’t tell anything about his face. We can’t even tell whether his hair is light or dark.”

“Do you think that’s deliberate?” Jamie asked.

“Maybe,” Travis said. “If he is the killer, he wouldn’t want to be seen on video. The hat and coat do a good job of obscuring his face. He’s wearing jeans and hiking boots.”

“Maybe the brand of the boots will tell us something,” Jamie said.

“We’ll try,” Travis said. He nodded to Susan. “Advance the tape again. Let’s see what he does.”

They had a clear view of Michaela, smiling and at one point even laughing, as the man stood in front of her. Then he left. But instead of turning to face the camera, he took a few steps back, still talking to Michaela. When he was almost out of reach of the camera, he whirled, head down, and hurried out of the frame.

“I’m willing to bet he knew about the security camera and didn’t want to be seen,” Travis said. “Let’s see the footage for Friday.”

But the footage from Friday yielded no sign of the man. They spent almost an hour running through everything and saw no images of him. “Maybe she met him outside the bank,” Jamie said. “On her lunch break or something.”