She ran the sequence again and again, and compared the face on the screen with the pictures she had stored on her laptop. He looked like Weiss, but Weiss wasn’t unusual-looking. She froze him again. She took a piece of paper and a pencil and looked at him as he came out of the building. He was leaning forward slightly, his right arm extended to push the glass door open. She drew his exact stance and counted the rows of bricks of the bank wall from his feet to his head. She estimated the distance from the top of the door to the top of his head. She noted that the length of his step was roughly one and a half per block of pavement.

She could see from the side that he had a widow’s peak. She looked at the profile pictures in her computer file and measured how far the side hair had receded as about two inches. She translated the sight into a proportion of his head from forehead to back—about one-fifth. The proportion for the man on the recording was about one-fifth also. She got into her car, parked off Fifth Avenue, and went for a walk. As she passed the bank door, she took a phone picture of her own reflection in the glass and kept going.

When she got home, she used her own height to tell her the height of the door and used that to give her an estimate of the man’s height. She put it at almost exactly five feet eleven inches. His slim body and his hair matched Weiss’s. She spent another half hour finding, stopping, and enlarging the man’s profile. She compared the profile with the profiles on Weiss’s mug shots.

These operations required trying to copy the shape of the face with her pencil and paper, and while she was doing this, her recording was running. Other pedestrians walked past the bank’s doors; some went inside and others didn’t. Traffic on the street in front of the building was moving slowly, and when the traffic signal somewhere to the left turned red, the cars stopped and waited. When she had finished her comparison of the chin and nose shapes and positions, she looked at the screen. The cars had stopped again, and the man she could see in the lane headed from the right side of the screen to the left was the same one. She paused and held him there.

He must have retrieved his car from the back of the bank and now he was leaving. She let his car inch forward and then expanded the image. The logo in the center of the trunk was a horizontal winged oval. She couldn’t make much of that, but the number to the right of it was 300. He was driving a blue Chrysler 300 sedan.