Captain Finch said nothing. He turned to Myron Dickerson, the forensic technician seated at the computer beside him.
Myron kept his eyes on the screen as he reported: "We're pulling surveillance from every storefront and municipal camera within a two-mile radius of the crime scene. We've gotten through about seventy percent so far, but we haven't found the man from the video."
The words had barely left his mouth when Captain Finch's phone rang.
"Captain, we just spotted someone during our street canvass — a limping man whose build and clothing are an exact match for the figure in the video."
Finch shot to his feet. "Stay on him. I'm on my way with a team."
Silas and I followed Finch to the car.
They moved fast.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up outside a run-down apartment complex.
Several officers were already waiting downstairs. The moment they saw Finch, they approached.
"Captain, we asked around the neighborhood. The guy goes by 'the Limping Man.' He makes a living collecting scrap and recyclables — people see him wandering the streets all the time."
"He lives on the ground floor. Went inside and hasn't come back out."