Not really.
"Is that a Japanese face?"
She shook her head. "There's not enough detail in the original."
"You can't bring it out?"
"I'll work on it later. But I think, no. It won't ever be there. Let's go on."
The images snapped back into full movement. Cheryl suddenly shoved the man away, pushing his chest with the flat of her hand. The face disappeared from the picture frame.
We were back to the original five views.
The couple broke and she complained, pushing him repeatedly. Her face looked angry. Now that I had seen the man's face reflected in the frame, I wondered if she had become frightened of what she saw. But it was impossible to tell.
The lovers stood in the deserted room, discussed where to go. She was looking around. He nodded his head. She pointed toward the conference room. He seemed to agree or accept.
They kissed, clinched again. There was a familiarity in the way they joined and parted, joined again.
Theresa saw it, too. "She knows him."
"Yes. I'd say."
Still kissing, the couple moved awkwardly toward the conference room. At this point my monitors were no longer very useful. The far camera showed the whole room, and the couple moving laterally across it, from right to left. But the figures were tiny, and difficult to see. They were moving between the desks, heading toward—
"Wait," I said. "What was that?"
She went back, frame by frame.
"There," I said.
I pointed to the image. "See that? What's that?"
As the couple moved across the room, the camera tracked past a large Japanese calligraphy scroll hanging on the wall near the elevator. The scroll was encased in glass. For a brief moment, there was a glint of light in the glass. That was what had caught my eye.
A glint of light.
Theresa frowned. "It's not a reflection from the couple," she said.
"No."
"Let's look."
She began zooming again. The image jumped toward the hanging scroll, growing grittier with each step. The glint enlarged, broke in two fragments. There was a fuzzy spot of light in one corner. And a vertical slit of light, running almost the length of the picture.
"Let's rock it," she said.
She began to make the image go forward and back, one frame at a time. Flipping from one to the other. In one frame, the vertical slit was missing. In the next frame, it was there. The vertical bar lasted for the next ten frames. Then it was gone, never to reappear. But the fuzzy spot in the corner was always present.
"Hmmm."
She pushed in on the spot. Under ever-increasing magnification, it disintegrated until it looked like a cluster of stars from an astronomy picture. But it seemed to have some kind of internal organization. I could almost imagine an X shape to it. I said so.
"Yes," she said. "Let's sharpen."
She did that. The computers worked on the data. The fuzzy cluster resolved itself. Now it looked like Roman numerals.
I IX?
"What the hell is that?" I said.
She kept working. "Edge trace," she said. The outline of the Roman numerals appeared more clearly.
Theresa continued to try and resolve it. As she worked, in some ways the image seemed to get better, and in some ways, less clear. But eventually we could recognize it.
TIX?
"It's the reflection of an exit sign," she said. "There's an exit at the far end of the room opposite the elevators, is that right?"
"Yes," I said.
"It's being reflected in the glass of the scroll. That's all it is." She flipped to the next frame. "But this vertical bar of light. That's interesting. See? It appears, and is gone." She ran it back and forth several times.
And then I figured it out.
"There's a fire exit back there," I said. "And a staircase going downstairs. That must be the reflection of the light from the stairwell as someone opens the door and closes it again."
"You mean someone came into the room," she said. "From the back stairs?"
"Yes."
"Interesting. Let's try and see who it is."
She ran the tapes forward. At this high magnification, the grainy image spattered and popped like fireworks on the screen. It was as if the smallest components of the image had a life of their own, their dance independent of the image they assembled to make. But it was exhausting to watch. I rubbed my eyes. "Jesus."
"Okay. There."
I looked up. She had frozen the image. I couldn't see anything but erratic black-and-white dots. There seemed to be a pattern but I couldn't tell what it was. It reminded me of the sonograms when Lauren was pregnant. The doctor would say, The head is here, that's the baby's stomach there. ... But I couldn't see anything. It was just abstract. My daughter still in the womb.
The doctor had said, See? She wiggled her fingers. See? Her heart is beating.
I had seen that. I had seen the heart beating. The little heart and the little ribs.
Under the circumstances, Lieutenant, don't you think–
"See?" Theresa said. "That's his shoulder. That's the outline of the head. Now he is moving forward – see him getting larger? – and now he is standing in that far passageway, looking around the corner. He is cautious. You can see the profile of his nose for a moment as he turns to look. See that? I know it's hard. Watch carefully. Now he is looking at them. He is watching them."
And suddenly, I could see it. The spots seemed to fall into place. I saw a silhouetted man standing in the hallway by the far exit.
He was watching.
Across the room, the lovers were wrapped up in their kiss. They didn't notice the new arrival.
But someone was watching them. It gave me a chill.
"Can you see who he is?"
She shook her head. "Impossible. We are at the limits of everything. I cannot even resolve eyes, a mouth. Nothing."
"Then let's go on."
The tapes snapped back, full speed. I was jarred by the sudden return to normal size and normal movement. I watched as the lovers, kissing passionately, continued to cross the room.
"So now they are being watched," Theresa said. "Interesting. What kind of a girl is this?"
I said, "I believe the term is torigaru onnai."
She said, "She is light in her bird? Toriwhat?"
"Never mind. I mean she is a loose woman."
Theresa shook her head. "Men always say things like that. To me, it looks like she loves him, but she is troubled in her mind."
The lovers were approaching the conference room, and Cheryl suddenly twisted away, attempting to break free from the man.
"If she loves him, she's got a strange way of showing it," I said.
"She senses something is wrong."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Perhaps she hears something. The other man. I don't know."
Whatever the reason, Cheryl was struggling with the lover, who now had both arms around her waist and was almost dragging her into the conference room. Cheryl twisted once more at the door, as the man tried to pull her in.
"A good chance here," Theresa said.
The tape froze again.
All the walls of the conference room were glass. Through the outer walls, the lights of the city were visible. But the inner walls, facing the atrium, were dark enough to act as a black mirror. Since Cheryl and her lover were near the inner glass walls, their images were rejected in the glass as they struggled.