Michael quickly flicked through to different cameras, checking if they’d all gone black. It didn’t take him long to work out that they all lost visual at exactly the same time – 11.58 am. Two minutes to noon. It made no sense, as there wasn’t a power outage – the surveillance system was still recording, just the cameras weren’t working. He scanned through the footage until blackness exploded into colour again. 12.47, almost an hour later.
The first thing the footage recorded was Laura, leaving the security guard’s office. Her bag on her shoulder, she closed the door and strode out of the building with a smile on her face. The crowd of people in the foyer didn’t notice her – they were all clustered around someone lying on the tiled floor.
Fuck. The terrorist did it. What in hell happened in that hour that she didn’t want anyone to see? Why take the risk of turning all the surveillance off so we’d know to be suspicious?
Michael clicked right back to the original foyer footage, stopping it at 11.30 before he cycled it forward again. He watched Laura slip into the security guard’s office and she didn’t reappear before the footage went black.
He zoomed in on the 12.47 crowd. He couldn’t see who was lying down – he had a good view of the bottom of a woman’s shoe, but that was about it. He scanned the crowd for familiar faces. Faces he might recognise from the earlier footage.
The woman with the big boobs.
Michael realised what he’d written. It was pretty damn accurate, but it wouldn’t look good in the report. With a sigh, he tore the page out and lobbed it into the coffee-scented bin. He started again.
The woman in blue.
She stood by, one of the clustered group, but watching. She was the first to move away as the security guard tried to clear the crowd.
The woman in white.
The woman in white leaned over the prone body, her face an anguished picture of concern, with a hand over her mouth as if she were shocked by what she saw. She was reluctant to move away, reaching out to help if she was needed.
The sporty woman.
Her badminton racquet carelessly dropped on the tiles behind her, the sporty woman knelt on the floor beside the body, her dark hands contrasting with the white t-shirt the body wore. She looked as concerned as the woman in white. Her eyes weren’t on the body, though – they were on someone on the other side of the body, obscured from view by the security guard and the woman in blue.
The security guard.
He knelt over the prone body, then climbed to his feet, waving his arms to clear people away. He wouldn’t look at the body, keeping his face toward the people in the crowd. As he moved back, his arms spread like the wings of a pelican landing on water, the other standing people moved with him, revealing more of the body and the focus of the sporty woman’s attention.
The doctor.
The red-haired man didn’t have a stethoscope or any form of uniform, but the way he touched the body and directed the sporty woman like a subordinate looked like a scene out of a medical drama. If that wasn't enough, the security guard took off at a run and returned quickly with a large first aid kit in one hand and a defibrillator in the other. The doctor dismissed the defibrillator as he reached for the first aid kit, popping it open on the floor. The security guard backed away, as if he didn’t want to be anywhere near the body.
Between the doctor and his sporty assistant, the body was still half-hidden. The woman’s jeans and shoes were visible, though, with a little of the hem of her white shirt.
Until she sat up, surging to her feet so quickly both the doctor and the woman reached out to steady her.
The angel girl.
Her long hair falling half over her face, her elbows supported by the dark sporty woman on one side and the doctor on the other, the girl shrugged them off. A little unsteady on her feet, she bowed her head a little as she spoke to them, then shouldered her bag and took off.
Instead of following her or protesting, the doctor suddenly smiled.
What the hell?
Michael wasn’t smiling. He was pissed off.
What the hell happened in that hour to make her turn the cameras off? And how in hell do I find out?
He knew the answer, but it still annoyed him.
I’ll have to hunt down those six people and find out what the hell they saw. Fuck.
YOU ARE READING
Going Down (Nightmares Prequel)
Mystery / Thriller“Find Al Himar. That’s one terrorist who’s going down!” After a dead terror suspect’s body is found, anti-terrorist operatives search her house. The only clue she left was a handwritten diary. Cryptic references to Al Himar and six people are all th...
