Cory watchedIzzy disappear around the corner toward the imposing Knight Tactical hangars, noting how she checked her surroundings every few seconds. Andrew had her spooked, and for good reason.
He wished there was more he could do, but at the moment, he had his own problems.
The FAA hangar hummed with activity. Investigators clustered around a laptop balanced on a maintenance cart, their voices carrying that particular tone of people who thought they'd found their smoking gun.
"Chief, you need to see this." Reed Osgood straightened from the screen. "We pulled security footage from last night."
Tom Morrison stood to the side, frowning. His wife hovered at his elbow with a legal pad, already covered in her tidy handwriting. Two other investigators Cory didn't recognize made room for him at the laptop.
He positioned himself where he could see everyone's faces as well as the screen. "What am I looking at?"
"Evidence." Reed clicked play with the satisfaction of a man about to close a case. "Watch this. Someone had a key card. Knew exactly where to go."
The footage was grainy but clear enough. Timestamp in the corner read 20:17. The camera angle showed the side entrance to the hangar, with a partial view of the helicopter beyond.
A figure entered the frame, moving with purpose. Small build, wearing a distinctive dark jacket.
"That's Izzy Reyes' jacket." Reed's voice carried triumph. "Everyone knows that jacket."
Cory leaned closer. The jacket's back showed custom embroidery—"FIRECRACKER" in flame-styled letters, with smaller text reading "Mountain Angel Air Med Evac" underneath. Even in the poor light, the orange and red threads caught the camera.
"Martha had it made special," Reed continued. "Some joke about Izzy being small but explosive. I've seen her wear it dozens of times."
"Me, too," Janet added, her pen tapping against her notepad. "Very distinctive."
Tom squinted at the screen. "Are we saying the Reyes woman...?"
"Just watch," Reed said.
The figure approached the helicopter without hesitation, went straight to a specific panel. No fumbling, no searching. They opened it with practiced ease and worked for approximately six minutes. Then came the moment that made Cory's instincts scream.
The figure turned, almost posing for the camera, but stopping just before actually revealing their face.
"Build's right," Reed narrated like he was presenting to a jury. "She's what, five-four? This person's about that height."
"Run it again," Cory said. "Watch how they move."
Reed sighed but complied. This time, Cory focused on the gait, the shoulder set, the way the figure held their arms. Something was off. The movements were too deliberate, toomeasured. Like someone trying to walk a certain way rather than their natural stride.
"Freeze it there, when they turn."
The image stopped. Cory studied it, pieces clicking into place. The jacket pulled across the shoulders, bunched at the waist. The sleeves seemed to bind at the arms.
"This person's bigger than Izzy," he said carefully. "Look how the jacket fits."
"People layer up in winter," Reed countered. "She could be wearing something bulky underneath."
But Cory had seen Izzy in that jacket just last week at the volunteer appreciation dinner. It fit her perfectly, like it was made for her—which it was. This person filled it out wrong, shoulders too broad, arms too thick.
"This was at 20:17 last night?" Cory kept his voice neutral.
"Security system is synced. Timestamp's accurate." Reed crossed his arms, clearly not liking the questions.
Cory had driven past the church around 2030 on his way home from the department. The parking lot had been packed—Christmas pageant practice. He specifically remembered seeing Izzy's truck there because of the Knight Tactical decal.
"Half the town was at that pageant practice," he said.
Janet's pen stopped tapping. "Not everyone. Some people clearly had other priorities."
