At five-ten a.m., a figure walked toward the back of the building where the storage room was located. Bulky coat, knit cap pulled low, moving with purpose—not hurrying, but not dawdling either.
“That’s Stanley,” Nans said quietly.
“How can you tell?” Helen leaned closer to the screen.
“The walk. Stiff. Purposeful.” Nans tapped the screen. “Like a man on a mission.”
At five-eighteen a.m., a second figure arrived—shorter, slighter, moving faster—and went inside through the same back entrance.
Ruth paused the video and zoomed in on the second figure.
“That one is Vivian,” she said, her voice certain. “I recognize the coat. Red with that distinctive fur-trimmed hood. She wore it at the last committee meeting.”
“So Vivian was there early,” Helen said.
“She said six,” Ida corrected.
“Close enough,” Nans murmured. “But are we sure the first one is Stanley?”
Ruth rewound and zoomed in on the first figure. The resolution degraded into pixels, but the outline was visible—broad shoulders, deliberate stride.
“Could be Stanley,” Helen said.
“Could be Noah,” Ida offered.
“Could be anyone in a winter coat,” Ruth said, frustration creeping into her voice.
Nans leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. “Play it again.”
Ruth rewound and played it again. At five-ten a.m., the first figure disappeared into the storage room.
At five-eighteen a.m., Vivian rushed in.
At five-twenty a.m., Vivian ran out, moving fast, looking panicked.
“She found him,” Ruth said.
“Or killed him,” Ida added
Nans shook her head. “Not enough time to kill him, I don’t think.”
“And then what?” Helen asked.
They kept watching.
At five-twenty-nine a.m., a third figure appeared—taller, wearing work boots and a different coat.
“That’s Eddie. I recognize the walk.”
“So Eddie comes in after Vivian runs out.”
“Which means he’s lying about going in there.”
Ruth’s eyes widened. “So Stanley goes into the storage room at five-ten. Vivian arrives at five-eighteen.”
“So, she found him dead?” Helan asked.
“Or killed him,” Ida suggested.
