Story code: ST-001325
Part 2: The Drift Path
Todd cleared his throat, his quick smile returning, though his eyes remained fixed on the blue tape. “It’s just a contact number. For lost property. I work with a lot of local clients on aerial photography. It’s just business.”
Brenda reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her phone. Her thumb swiped across the screen. She didn’t make a call; instead, she held the screen out toward Todd. The display showed a contact page for Allison Miller, the neighbor who lived four doors down. The numbers matched digit for digit.
“Allison doesn’t own a drone business, Todd,” Brenda said, her voice rising slightly before she forced it back down. “And her husband is out of town until Friday. Why is her private cell number taped to your battery pack?”
“I was helping her,” Todd said, his voice dropping an octave. He gripped the top of the fence, his knuckles turning white. “She thought she had a roof leak near her chimney. She asked me to fly up and take some high-res shots of the flashing. I put her number on there because she was keeping track of the drone while I calibrated the flight path. It’s that simple.”
Mark stood up, holding the drone by its landing gear. The device hummed quietly, its camera lens tilting upward to follow Mark’s chest. “You told us the GPS glitched during a return-to-home flight from your own yard.”
“It did,” Todd said, his eyes darting to the remote screen clutched in his hand. “I was doing the inspection, finished up, and was flying it back to my pad when the signal dropped. That’s why it drifted.”
“The chimney on Allison’s house is on the west side,” Mark said, his voice calm, deliberate. “But you didn’t come from the west. The broken lilacs are on the east side of our fence. To get here from Allison’s roof, you would have had to fly through three closed yards, under the tree canopy, at eye level.”
Todd’s jaw tightened. “You’re misinterpreting the flight path, Mark. I’m the one with the flight log on my controller. I know where the craft was.”
“Show us the log, then,” Brenda said, stepping closer to the fence.
Todd pulled the controller closer to his chest, his elbow blocking the screen from view. “I don’t have to show you my personal flight logs. This is expensive equipment, and you’re holding it host-”
He cut off as Mark turned the drone over in his hands. On the underside of the main housing, next to the camera gimbal, a small rubber flap hung open. Beneath it was the gold-rimmed edge of a MicroSD storage card.
Todd took a step toward the fence line, his chest pressing hard against the wood. “Mark, don’t. That card contains proprietary software. If you corrupt the files, you’re looking at hundreds of dollars in damages.”
Mark didn’t look up. He placed his thumb against the edge of the card and pressed inward. A sharp, mechanical click broke the silence of the backyard.