Then he stopped. He restarted the Barnard feed and watched the Chrysler meander back and forth on the early morning footage. The video quality wasn’t amazing, but he could make out some of the license plate. It was the woman behind the wheel, though, who held his attention. He didn’t recognize her, and he could just see enough of her hunched over the wheel to give a basic description: dark hair, a big woman. But something about her tickled the back of Hazard’s brain. Switching over to the second camera’s footage, Hazard scrolled forward until he saw the Chrysler convertible again. The time stamp said 08:01:00. The car was pulling out of the lot at Dulac’s apartment building.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

But she had looked lost in the first camera footage.

Still, a part of Hazard’s brain argued, it could be a coincidence. It’s early, she’s still waking up, she’s coming to help her sister or her daughter or her friend. Maybe she hasn’t been there before. Maybe it’s a mild emergency.

But.

He watched the footage, slowing it, watching it again, slowing it even further, watching it again. When she left, she drove up the street, straight towards the corner market. The camera captured her head-on, but the quality still wasn’t ideal. Yes, the dark hair, the shoulders, something about the face—Hazard could almost place it. He still couldn’t get the full plate number. She was still draped over the wheel, like she was sick or hurt.

And then it clicked. He remembered this woman. She was the nurse from Wahredua Regional, the one who had been taking care of Cynthia right before Cynthia killed herself with poison that someone had smuggled into the hospital. An inside job, Hazard had been almost certain.

He worked his way free from behind the desk and sprinted for the door. He was pretty sure she was doing some smuggling again, only this time, she was smuggling Dulac to safety.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

JULY 5

FRIDAY

1:53 PM

SOMERS’S STOMACH WAS a gurgling, grumbling mess by the time he stepped inside Dynamo Dill’s. He’d tried to go before the breakfast rush, but he’d been too late. He’d waited for the crowd to die down, and then, just when the breakfast rush had ended, a patrol car had pulled into a disabled parking spot. He’d been walking toward Dill’s when he spotted the car, and he recognized Carlson and Nickels from a distance. Nickels looked up and swept her gaze down the street, and for a second all Somers could do was keep walking, keeping his attention on the middle distance, just a normal day, just a guy in a panda shirt taking a walk. Nickels and Carlson went into Dill’s, and they were there for the rest of the morning. By the time they left, the lunch rush was happening, and by the time the lunch rush was over, Somers’s stomach was eating him from the inside out.

The bell jangled as Somers stepped inside, and he was met by the smell of fresh-baked bread, hot meat, and pepperoncini. And, of course, dill pickles. Somers wasn’t sure if the owner, whose name was Dill, had decided to feature pickles in his sandwiches because of the connection. The store had two parts: a grocery area up front, and a sandwich counter in back. As far as Somers was concerned, it was one of the best places in the city to get a sandwich, although Hazard refused to try it. For a long time, it had just been called Dill’s; then, when Somers has been working Smithfield on patrol, Dill’s third wife had convinced him to add Dynamo. The third wife had gone, but Dynamo had stayed.