window was called up, displaying the image from an identical webcam, permanently mounted in the rear window. It peered through a small square, cut out of the tint on the window, but had a wide-angle lens so Rainey’s back was always covered.
Rainey settled into the seat and began reviewing the pictures she had taken earlier. She reached for the thermos of coffee and prepared for a long night of vigilance.
CHAPTER FIVE
The final rays of the sun slipped below the tree line and only then did the heat begin to relinquish its grip on the day. Katie Wilson had retreated into the house when JW’s car pulled in the driveway. Rainey, knowing JW was in the house, took the opportunity to drive around the neighborhood, with the webcams sending the images to the laptop. She would do this drive once an hour, throughout the night, recording each trip. Later she would compare the videos, looking for vehicles and people moving in the night.
Twice she had to drive over to Franklin Street to locate a restroom and get more coffee, but for the most part, Rainey remained in front of the Wilson house, watching. She sat in silence, windows rolled down just enough to catch the breeze and so she could listen to the sounds of the neighborhood. As the hours grew later, the streets around her quieted. Chapel Hill was a college town, so it never completely went to sleep, but the pace slowed and parts of the town, not occupied by bars or athletic venues, took on a hushed, studious mood. It was summer, which meant the student population had taken a significant dip. Rainey thought she could almost believe she was in a quaint little southern village, if she did not know the mighty Tar Heel basketball team resided right next door. People either loved them or hated them, but even non-basketball fans knew what that tar heeled foot represented.
You could not live in North Carolina and not know something about basketball. With Carolina, Duke, Wake Forest and North Carolina State all within its boundaries, this state worshipped basketball, like they do football out in Oklahoma. Ask anybody where Michael Jordan played college ball. Rainey laughed at the old joke, “Who is the only person who could stop Michael Jordan? Dean Smith.” Dean Smith, the man who built the Dean Dome. Rainey was a closet Tar Heel fan, but had refused to attend the University under her mother’s nose.
Rainey heard two girls approaching and watched, as they laughed and talked, passing right in front of her, never once looking around them, not aware of her presence. She wanted to get out of the car and scare them. She wanted to shake them both, telling them how stupid it was to walk out here, in the wee hours of the morning, without once looking around to see who else might be there. She wanted to rip off her shirt and show them what happens when you do not pay attention. Instead, she peered into the darkness, at who might be watching them, the silent guardian of this tiny block.
Rainey checked the cameras, stopped the recording, saved it to a file and started another recording. This way she could review the earlier recordings while she waited in the car. She opened the file she had just saved. Using the fast forward key, she scanned the video for any vehicles that drove by more frequently than others did. She looked at the foot traffic for anyone repeatedly passing the Wilson house. From her position, the camera had a clear view of the front door and boxwood hedge on the right side of the property line. Even with the night vision, the tall shrubs cast dark shadows the camera could not penetrate. If this was her house, Rainey thought, those bushes would be down. It would not be pretty, but it would be so much safer.
Rainey reviewed five hours of video, stopping the playback to listen and look around her every few minutes. By the time she finished, it was deep into the night. Rainey raised her eyes from the laptop and listened. Traffic sounds from a distance where punctuated
Rainey settled into the seat and began reviewing the pictures she had taken earlier. She reached for the thermos of coffee and prepared for a long night of vigilance.
CHAPTER FIVE
The final rays of the sun slipped below the tree line and only then did the heat begin to relinquish its grip on the day. Katie Wilson had retreated into the house when JW’s car pulled in the driveway. Rainey, knowing JW was in the house, took the opportunity to drive around the neighborhood, with the webcams sending the images to the laptop. She would do this drive once an hour, throughout the night, recording each trip. Later she would compare the videos, looking for vehicles and people moving in the night.
Twice she had to drive over to Franklin Street to locate a restroom and get more coffee, but for the most part, Rainey remained in front of the Wilson house, watching. She sat in silence, windows rolled down just enough to catch the breeze and so she could listen to the sounds of the neighborhood. As the hours grew later, the streets around her quieted. Chapel Hill was a college town, so it never completely went to sleep, but the pace slowed and parts of the town, not occupied by bars or athletic venues, took on a hushed, studious mood. It was summer, which meant the student population had taken a significant dip. Rainey thought she could almost believe she was in a quaint little southern village, if she did not know the mighty Tar Heel basketball team resided right next door. People either loved them or hated them, but even non-basketball fans knew what that tar heeled foot represented.
You could not live in North Carolina and not know something about basketball. With Carolina, Duke, Wake Forest and North Carolina State all within its boundaries, this state worshipped basketball, like they do football out in Oklahoma. Ask anybody where Michael Jordan played college ball. Rainey laughed at the old joke, “Who is the only person who could stop Michael Jordan? Dean Smith.” Dean Smith, the man who built the Dean Dome. Rainey was a closet Tar Heel fan, but had refused to attend the University under her mother’s nose.
Rainey heard two girls approaching and watched, as they laughed and talked, passing right in front of her, never once looking around them, not aware of her presence. She wanted to get out of the car and scare them. She wanted to shake them both, telling them how stupid it was to walk out here, in the wee hours of the morning, without once looking around to see who else might be there. She wanted to rip off her shirt and show them what happens when you do not pay attention. Instead, she peered into the darkness, at who might be watching them, the silent guardian of this tiny block.
Rainey checked the cameras, stopped the recording, saved it to a file and started another recording. This way she could review the earlier recordings while she waited in the car. She opened the file she had just saved. Using the fast forward key, she scanned the video for any vehicles that drove by more frequently than others did. She looked at the foot traffic for anyone repeatedly passing the Wilson house. From her position, the camera had a clear view of the front door and boxwood hedge on the right side of the property line. Even with the night vision, the tall shrubs cast dark shadows the camera could not penetrate. If this was her house, Rainey thought, those bushes would be down. It would not be pretty, but it would be so much safer.
Rainey reviewed five hours of video, stopping the playback to listen and look around her every few minutes. By the time she finished, it was deep into the night. Rainey raised her eyes from the laptop and listened. Traffic sounds from a distance where punctuated
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