Cursed by S.J. Harper Page B

on the way to work in the morning, stop someplace for a quick lunch, and then it’s dinner alone at a restaurant or takeout.”
    “I’ve got a delivery service on speed dial. Hector is probably filing a missing person’s report as we speak because he didn’t hear from me tonight.”
    Zack smiles. “Hector? You’re on a first-name basis with the delivery boy? Please tell me the two of you don’t have a thing going.”
    “A
thing
? You, my friend, are watching too much porn.”
    “Can a guy watch too much porn?” Zack checks his watch.
    He tries to be subtle, but I notice—trained observer that I am. I glance at mine, too. We probably have a little over an hour before the moon rises and our evening has to come to an end.
    I stand up and start to clear the table. “I’ll do the dishes.”
    Zack follows me into the kitchen with the salad bowl and bottle of dressing in hand. “Just leave them. I’ll throw them in the dishwasher later. We’ve got about thirty minutes of tape to review.”
    “Mind if I make some coffee?”
    Zack is already on his way over to the flat-screen. “Help yourself. Beans are in the container next to the coffeemaker. It’ll take me a few minutes to hook this up.”
    I make short order of grinding the beans and within a minute or two the kitchen fills with the aroma of a dark French roast. Zack has hooked his laptop up to the flat-screen television. The display shows eight labeled views of Barakov’s offices divided into blocks: Lobby, OR, Recovery, Reception, Elevator, Stairs, Break Room, Hallway.
    “Mugs?” I ask.
    “Next to the sink.”
    I pour two cups, adding the requisite cream and two sugars to Zack’s, then join him on the sofa.
    “All set?”
    “I have this paused close to the time Isabella Mancini’s car went through that light. This way we won’t miss her.”
    I nod. “Hit it.”
    Zack presses PLAY and the various blocks on the screen begin to change. People walk in and out of the lobby. The OR and recovery room remain empty. We watch Silvia Barton move from her post in reception to the break room and back. Barakov walks down the hallway into what I guess is an exam room. A minute or two later he emerges and goes into his office. A woman comes out maybe a minute after him and then joins him. Her face isn’t visible, but her stature and hair color are wrong for Isabella. There are two elevators, and the block showing those images alternate between the two.
    “There’s no view inside Barakov’s office or the exam rooms,” I point out.
    Zack has been quietly sipping his coffee. “No. But we’ve got the stairwell and the hallway. If anyone were to go in or out, we’d know. Keep watching. I’ll be right back.”
    Zack gets up suddenly and heads for a door at the far end of the living room, past the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him go through it. I reach for the mouse on the coffee table in front of me and pause the video.
    “What are you doing?” I ask.
    Zack is already on his way back, a set of rolled-up papers in his hand. “I picked these up from the city. They were filed at the time of the renovation of Barakov’s office.”
    He spreads the plans out next to the laptop. “Unless you’re Spider-Man, there’s only two points of entry. The way we came in and the way we went out.”
    “So if we don’t catch Isabella in the stairwell or lobby . . .”
    “She didn’t enter the building,” Zack finishes.
    We resume play. Ten minutes go by, then another ten. It’s past Isabella’s appointment time.
    “What about the parking garage below? Any cameras there?”
    “No. I swung by there after picking up the plans. There are no cameras on or in the garage, so no visual records. But there’s also street parking and several nearby lots.”
    I reach over and click the mouse to fast-forward. Within a few minutes, the video comes to an end.
    I set my cup down on the coffee table. “How do we know she wasn’t late? Or maybe Barton or the doctor