Chapter 29: Chapter Twenty Eight
Eros
The soft chime of the bell announced my entrance as I stepped into the jewelry shop. The polished counters sparkled beneath the bright lights, and the faint scent of cleaning polish lingered in the air. A middle-aged man with a warm yet professional demeanor emerged from behind the counter, his movements deliberate and measured.
“Good afternoon, sir. How may I assist you today?” he asked, his tone polite and welcoming.
I offered him a curt nod, my sharp gray eyes scanning the shop before settling on him. “Good afternoon,” I replied, my voice calm but carrying an air of authority. “I need access to your CCTV footage from last Monday.”
A flicker of confusion crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with professionalism. “Of course, sir. May I ask the reason for this request?”
“It’s related to an ongoing investigation,” I said evenly, my gaze steady. “I trust your records are thorough.”
“Certainly, sir,” he replied, hesitating slightly. “May I ask what this pertains to?”
“It’s a private matter. Let’s leave it at that,” I responded, my tone firm and final.
The man paused, his lips pressed into a thin line, before offering a nod. “Understood. Please, follow me to the back office.”
He led me through a narrow hallway to a modest office outfitted with a desk and a row of monitors mounted on the wall. A young technician sat at the desk, his fingers hovering over a keyboard. He glanced up as we entered.
“Paul,” the assistant manager said, gesturing toward me, “this gentleman needs to review the footage from last Monday. Can you bring it up for him?”
Paul gave a quick nod and immediately began typing. “Do you have a specific time frame in mind, sir?” he asked, turning slightly toward me, his tone professional.
“Start with the entire day,” I instructed, lowering myself into the chair beside him, my focus fixed on the screens ahead.
Paul’s fingers flew across the keyboard, and the footage from Monday began to play on the monitor. I sat silently, my expression carefully unreadable, as I watched customers move in and out of the shop.
My attention sharpened when a familiar figure appeared on the screen—a woman with an air of sophistication, her blonde hair pinned in an impeccable chignon.
Beatrix Sanderson.
My jaw tightened as I observed her interactions with the staff, noting the subtle authority in her gloved hand as she gestured toward a tray of necklaces. She eventually selected a pair of diamond earrings, her smile faint but calculated as the jeweler handed her the box. The footage ended shortly after her departure.
“Play that back,” I said, my tone firm.
Paul rewound the footage, and I scrutinized every detail again. Beatrix’s composed demeanor, the way she scanned the room, and her precise gestures—it all seemed deliberate. When the clip finished for the second time, I turned to Paul.
“Now show me the footage from the next day,” I instructed. “Around 11 a.m.”
Paul fast-forwarded through the recordings, stopping when the timestamp hit 11:00 a.m. The screen displayed a bustling store, with customers browsing and staff attending to them.
“There,” I said, leaning forward and pointing to the screen. “Pause it.”
Paul froze the footage on a man standing at the counter. Dressed in a black shirt and jeans, he leaned slightly toward an employee, his movements subtle yet deliberate.
“Play it again, but slower,” I ordered.
The footage rolled forward in slow motion. The man’s posture was relaxed, but his actions were anything but casual. After a brief exchange with the employee, he turned and walked out of the store, leaving empty-handed.
My brows furrowed as Athena’s description of the man who had robbed her replayed in my mind. The outfit, the mannerisms, and even the tattoo on his forearm—it all matched.
“That’s him,” I said, my voice low but certain.
The assistant manager, now standing beside me, glanced at the screen with a puzzled expression. “Him, sir?” he echoed, turning his head to me for clarification. I ignored him.
I straightened, my expression unyielding. I didn’t take my eyes off the monitor. “I need to see the footage from the same day, but from outside the shop,” I explained.
Paul raised an eyebrow but refrained from questioning me, quickly pulling up the requested footage. The screen displayed the usual activity outside the shop, with pedestrians moving about. It didn’t take long for me to spot what I was looking for. There, on the sidewalk, the man in the black shirt and jeans stood, his figure unmistakable.
“Stop,” I commanded, my voice cutting through the room.
Paul froze the footage, and I pointed to the figure on the screen. “Zoom in on him.”
Obliging, Paul zoomed in, and the grainy image of the man came into clearer focus. His posture was relaxed, but his movements carried a certain intention.
“Play it forward,” I instructed, leaning closer to the screen.
The footage resumed, showing the man glancing around before a sleek black car pulled up at the curb. The door opened, and another figure stepped out—a man in his late thirties, dressed in a sharp black suit. His stiff posture and air of servitude were unmistakable. I narrowed my eyes, studying his side profile.
It wasn’t until he turned slightly toward the camera that I recognized him.
“Alfred,” I muttered under my breath, instantly identifying Beatrix Sanderson’s long-time chauffeur.
“Sir?” the assistant manager asked, his confusion evident.
“Nothing,” I replied curtly, my attention fixed on the screen. “Keep playing.”
The footage continued, revealing Alfred discreetly handing something to the man in the black shirt and jeans. The exchange was quick and subtle, nearly imperceptible to the untrained eye, but I caught it.
“Pause it there,” I said sharply.
Paul froze the frame, and I leaned closer to the screen, studying the scene intently. The object Alfred passed was small and flat—perhaps a card or an envelope, though the details weren’t clear.
The man in black nodded once, then walked away, disappearing down the street. Meanwhile, Alfred climbed back into the car, which drove off moments later.
Turning to the assistant manager, I fixed him with a cold, precise gaze. “Do you recognize either of these men?” I asked, my tone sharp. “Maybe the one who came into the shop earlier?”
The assistant manager shook his head. “No, sir. The man in black isn’t a regular, and as for the older gentleman... I don’t recognize him either.”
I leaned back in the chair, my thoughts racing. This wasn’t just a coincidence. Whatever Alfred had handed to the man, it had to be connected to Beatrix. The timing was too perfect to ignore.
“Fine,” I said, my voice steady but firm. “Paul, show me the footage from 11:30 to 12:15.”
Paul nodded and fast-forwarded the footage to the specified time frame. My eyes narrowed as the recording began to play. There it was—Athena stepping out of the car and walking into the jewelry store. Less than ten minutes later, she emerged, a small bag clutched in her hand.
Just as she reached for the car door, the man in the black shirt and jeans appeared, sprinting toward her. He grabbed the bag and bolted down the street. Athena collapsed to the ground, visibly shaken, while Alfred took off after the thief. Moments later, Alfred returned, empty-handed.
My jaw tightened as I replayed the scene in my mind, piecing it together.
“This is it,” I thought, my gut twisting. “Alfred orchestrated the entire thing.”
"I need a copy of this footage," I said.
"Of course," the assistant manager stammered. "Paul, prepare the files for Mr..."
"Eros," I interrupted, my tone clipped.
Paul nodded quickly. "I'll transfer the clips to a drive for you. It’ll take a few minutes."
As the technician worked, I stepped away from the desk, my face betraying no emotion. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.
"Eros," a voice answered after the call connected.
"I need you to run a background check on someone for me," I said, my voice steady. "I only have a first name: Alfred. He’s Beatrix Sanderson's chauffeur."
There was a brief pause. "What happened?"
"I don’t have time to explain. Just do it," I instructed before hanging up. Turning back to the assistant manager, I fixed him with a hard stare. "This footage stays between us. No one else sees it."
"Understood," The assistant manager replied, his voice betraying a slight tremor.
Paul handed me a small USB drive. "Here you go, sir. All the clips you requested."
I tucked the drive into my pocket and gave a curt nod. "Thank you."
As I exited the shop, my mind already racing with my next steps, the bell above the door chimed softly behind me. Stepping into the busy street, my expression was grim. If Alfred was involved, it meant Beatrix’s hands were dirtier than I’d thought—and I was determined to find out just how deep the betrayal ran.