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“Fair enough.” He unlocks his phone, scrolls until he finds what he’s looking for, and hands me the phone. “You’re going to want to see this.”
Huffing, I sit and accept the phone from him and my heart stops when I see what’s on screen.
I’m looking at the building in East Flatbush, the same one that I found Emily at. The same one where Alisa’s trail ended.
“What is this?”
“While you’ve been busy with your new wife, I’ve been digging around based on the information she provided you,” he explains. “I haven’t found anything that might help us locate Alisa Yurevna, but I did find this. It’s the security camera footage from the building across the street. And the only one that hasn’t been scrubbed.”
I look down at the video and hit play.
The grainy video is clear enough for me to make out the details. I glance at the timestamp.
Three weeks ago. This must’ve been right when Alisa was kidnapped.
A man with long hair approaches near the front door of the walk-up at midday. My heart thuds quicker when I recognize him.
It’s the same person I killed inside of that apartment.
And he’s dragging Alisa behind him.
The video ends.
“Is that it?” I look up. “We know she was there.”
“There’s more.” Sima’s face darkens. “Keep going.”
I do, and play the second video.
I check the timestamp. A full twelve hours has passed between the first video and this.
It’s night time in the video, and the door to the walk-up opens. The hitman I killed walks forward. Behind him, someone else enters into the frame.
I can recognize his tell-tale limp from anywhere.
Domenico.
He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag, the glowing tip throwing the lines of his face into clarity.
“What does this prove, Sima?” I pause the video turn to him. “We know that the Ferratas are responsible for the kidnapping.”
“Keep watching.” He says quietly. “And look closely.”
And then I see it.
Thereissomeone else there.
A woman stands behind Domenico around the corner of the entrance, almost completely tucked out of sight. Something about her looks familiar. Domenico takes one final drag on his cigarette, and tosses it on the ground.
And I see the telltale dark chestnut hair.
Emily?
No … it’s not her. This must be her sister, Olivia.
They look nearly identical.
“That’s Emily’s sister, Olivia.” I sigh. “Emily told me that it washerapartment where the trail ended.”
