Becca answered the door a moment before I touched the doorbell. “Wow! Somebody really did a number on you.” Her energy level sounded low.
“Yeah, you could say that. How’d you know we were here?”
Becca offered a weak grin and pointed at a small white device mounted above the door. “Camera sends a feed to my tablet when the motion sensors are tripped.”
“I should get something like that for my folks.”
“They having problems with prowlers?” She led Conor and me to her dining room table on which sat three computer screens surrounded by a debris field of computer parts, empty cardboard boxes, dirty dishes, and discarded snack wrappers.
I cleared off a chair and handed her the surveillance video thumb drive from the motel. “Just some asshole stalking me and spray-painting bigoted graffiti on
