"There is nothing as deceptive as an obvious fact."

- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

It was dark, but the tail lights of his SUV were unmistakeable. They were shaped like a downward facing telephone outlined in neon red. Felicity was thankful. Vehicles with unique tail lights are much easier to follow at night. She made sure to always keep at least twenty meters and another vehicle between her and her target. Only amateurs let the reassuring cover of night lull them into a false sense of anonymity.

The SUV made a right turn into the east side of a Motel 6 parking lot. Passing that turn, and rounding the nearest corner, Felicity entered via the south entrance and parked adjacent to the outdoor staircase, just in time to see the other driver walk into the lobby. She turned off the engine and headlights. It wouldn't be long now. Her hunch was correct. It always was.

The motel's lobby door was off to the right, just within her line of sight. She grabbed something out the glove compartment and held it ready in her lap. It was cool to the touch. She sat with her head tilted back, resting against the head rest. Her eyes were half closed, but still focused. For five minutes, she sat there motionless, peering out from the shadows of her car. Her brow began to glisten with sweat. Although, it was nearly ten, it was still eighty five degrees in Phoenix, Arizona. turn

"Anytime now," she whispered.

Without shifting her gaze, without even blinking, she pulled a hair clip from the center console. Although her dark, chestnut hair only fell an inch below her jaw, it was still long enough to get in the way. How long had he been in there? She glanced at the time. It's only been ten minutes, but it feels like hours. "We have to take these little jobs to stay in business," her partner was always reminding her. But where was he now? Wasn't this his kind of job?

Finally, her target emerged from the lobby. Was her hunch correct once again? She turned on the digital camera sitting on her lap. He wasn't wearing his neck brace. She smiled. The sloven man sauntered to the trunk of his SUV. Without hesitating, he hauled a huge suitcase out. Snap. "That's an awfully big bag for a man suffering from whiplash. He headed for the stairs. Jackpot. Effortlessly, Jim Gallagher toted his suitcase up the stairs with one hand. Snap. So much for disability insurance, Jim.

She reviewed the photos, the bright screen illuminating her features from below. They were probably good enough, but a little grainy because of the poor lighting. "Good enough" was never good enough. She decided to get a shot of him hoisting the suitcase onto his bed. That can't be done from ground level. Obviously, she couldn't just follow him up the stairs and press the camera lens against the window of his room.

She gently closed the car door, camera still in hand. There wasn't anyone else around. Good. She darted across the parking lot and stopped at the base of a tree. Its branches were spaced evenly and looked sturdy enough to support her five foot two frame. It had been nearly two decades since she'd climbed a tree, but the muscle memory kicked in fast. Perched on a branch level with the second floor of the Motel 6, she was  just in time to see Jim Gallagher yank his suitcase through the doorway. He flicked the light on. Thankfully, his curtains were open. Felicity was far away, but the angle is perfect. She adjusted the long-distance lens, and it was as if she was standing in the room with him. She could almost smell the sweat and stale cigarette smoke. She was poised for the final shot, but Jim just dropped his bag and headed to the bathroom.

She was bored. Nights like these, she felt more like a peeping tom than a detective. There's no real skill in just sitting and waiting and watching. She'd much rather be conducting interviews, examining evidence and identifying patterns. Even riffling through a dumpster for clues would be preferable to this. Where's the fun in just watching a mystery unravel? A puzzle is only fun, if you get to put it together yourself.

Jim came out of the bathroom. The bum yawned and scratched his armpit before shuffling to the bed. Felicity started snapping as soon as his hand made contact with the suitcase. As predicted, the supposed whiplash victim tossed the case onto the bed as easily as he would a pillow. That should do it.

She pressed the left arrow button on her camera to review her work, then sighed. They were ruined! A couple walking arm in arm had passed between Felicity's lens and her subject. All of the pictures were partially or completely obstructed. Useless.

Quickly, Felicity looked back through the lens at Jim. Maybe she could get another shot of him moving the case. No, he just plucked a pair of pajamas pants out. He closed the curtains.

That was it. The dimly lit staircase picture would have to do. Right before the camera dropped from her face, the light in the next room flickers on. She panned over in time to see the door close on the backs of the intrusive, photobombing couple.

The heavy, blackout curtains were open but the sheer ones were drawn closed making the figures inside little more than silhouettes. The man disappeared from view. The woman, a fiery redhead in a dark trench coat, appeared to be digging through her purse. Abruptly, she yanked something out and adopts a stance, pointing the object forward. There's something familiar about that posture. Felicity recognized it too late. It's the same stance used when aiming a firearm! The tip of the unusually long barrel flashes silently, but Felicity flinches anyway.

She was frozen. What should she do? Call it in. She reached for her cell phone, but finds an empty pocket. It was still in the car. She'd sprint to the car and dial 911. What if the shooter sees her? No, she'll stay hidden in the tree and snap a picture of the suspect. That will be more helpful to the police. If she makes a break for her phone, the shooter could escape before the police reach the scene. Yes, it makes the most sense to stay put. She focused on the scene again, calming her trembling hands. She couldn't see anyone. Where did the redheaded suspect go? Could she have missed the killer's getaway? She almost started for the car when the suspect entered the frame once more. Now what was she doing? She tugged something toward the door. Felicity's finger was poised over the button. The suspect exited back first, struggling to get something over the threshold. It's a trunk on wheels. It looked heavy. Finally, she got it onto the outdoor walkway. She turned in Felicity's direction. Snap.

Felicity had captured the killer.

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Author's Note: Thanks for reading the first chapter! You'll get a chance to meet David in the next chapter. If you liked it, click on the little star at the bottom of the page. Don't forget to comment. I'd love the feedback!