Julian didn't make the P.I wait in the lobby. He waved security through and met the private investigator at the elevator focused and determined.
The P.I's face looked unremarkable, coat that didn't creak.He carried no briefcase, just a phone and a slim drive.
"Mr. Blackwood," Mark said by way of greeting.
"Show me," Julian replied.
They crossed to the small conference room off his office. Mark tapped his phone against the glass panel, the room woke and mirrored his screen.
Stills tiled into view time stamps neat, angles careful. A subterranean garage, a service corridor and even at his house. Charles.
Head down, tie wrong for the shirt again. With him, a woman in a dark coat that managed to look like evening even at two in the afternoon.
The lift doors closed on their faces, the next still caught the faintest profile as the doors parted on forty-one.
