Berit was momentarily lost in thought. “Who do you think these guys are?”
“I don’t know. But you’re right. I need to pass this on. Now.”
She nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
“No,” he said. “I should do this alone.”
She locked eyes with him. “Jake. Think about it. They’re more likely to listen to two of us than just one.”
“But it’s all based on a hunch that I can’t explain,” Jake said.
“A hunch that’s looking more and more like it was right,” she countered.
“That may be, but I can’t be responsible for harming your career. Let me do this on my own. If it goes well, I’ll make sure they know you were a big part of it, but I’m not going to let you take any of the blame. Besides…” He paused and gave her a smile. “I don’t want you to be mad at me later for making you come in on your day off.”
She glared at him. “Quit trying to be funny. It’s not one of your stronger suits.”
She settled back in her seat, not looking happy, but she made no further protest as she started the engine and pulled into the street.
14
Durrie exerted all of his control so as not to turn pale in front of Larson.
Smart taking plates from the same kind of car they were driving.
Holy shit.
Before dawn, he had planted bugs in both Officer Oliver’s Civic and Officer Davies’s Charger. It was the only way to know exactly what was going on, and he hoped that once he heard their conversation he’d be able to honestly say they were no threat.
The two cops had remained relatively quiet on the drive from the diner to what turned out to be a logistics place of some kind. Neither of them said anything that hinted as to why they were going there. But when they came back out, that’s when the bomb dropped.
A black BMW. Plates stolen from a different car. “Who do you think these guys are?” the woman had asked.
Who the hell are you guys? Durrie thought.
“Well, I guess we know where things stand now, huh?” Larson said.
Durrie wished he’d been listening to the conversation alone, but because of Peter’s mandate, the freelance assassin had to come along. To leave him behind would have brought an angry phone call, and Durrie’s immediate removal from the mop-up job.
“I’m not sure we’re ready to call this one yet,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” Larson asked. “Did you not just hear that? They know about the car, which means they probably know about us. The guy’s going to report it, for God’s sake.”
“I can take care of that. No one will listen to him.”
Larson stared at Durrie as if the cleaner had lost his mind. “Do you not understand what’s going on here? We have a breach that needs to be closed. No wonder Peter sent me back.”
Durrie turned on him, his face suddenly full of rage. “We have a breach because you got sloppy! If you did your job the way you were supposed to—”
“Oh, don’t even go—”
“Shut the fuck up! I’ve got seniority here. And, no matter what, I’m still in charge. If you have a problem with that, you can call Peter. In the meantime, we’ll take care of things as I see fit.”
Neither of them said anything for nearly a minute. Just down the street, the Charger pulled away from the curb. Because he no longer needed to keep them in sight due to the location transponders in the rear fenders of both the Charger and the Civic, Durrie gave it a bit of a lead, then pulled into traffic.
“Are these people friends of yours or something?” Larson asked. “I mean, what’s the deal?”
“There’s no deal.”
“Then why are you protecting them?”
“I’m not,” Durrie said. “I’m just trying to make sure we know everything first.”
That sounded good, but Durrie knew it wasn’t really the truth. Larson was right. He was protecting the cops. More specifically, he was protecting Oliver. The kid had achieved a whole hell of a lot with very little, and Durrie wanted to know how. That would be pretty hard to find out if Larson put a gun to the kid’s head and pulled the trigger.
They followed the two rookie cops all the way back to the diner. There, Officer Oliver got out and climbed into his own car.
“Maybe we should split up,” Larson suggested. “You can take the girl. I’ll take the guy.”
As much as he didn’t like it, Durrie knew it was a good idea. “You take the girl,” he said, then tossed the tracking receiver tuned to the beacon in the woman’s car onto Larson’s lap.
Larson shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
When the assassin didn’t move, Durrie said, “I’m not giving you this car. Get out and find your own.”
A quick derisive laugh escaped Larson’s lips. “That attitude of yours is going to come back and bite you someday.”
“Maybe. But you’ll never know. Your ego will get you killed before then.”
All humor left Larson’s face. Durrie could tell the guy was contemplating offing him right there. He almost wished Larson would try. Durrie was a lot faster, and stronger than most people gave him credit for. Any gun aimed at him would soon be pointed back at its owner.
But Larson finally opened his door and climbed out.
“You’re only observing,” Durrie called out. “Anything else, you consult with me first.”
Larson looked back, his face blank, then shut the door and walked away.
15
Jake gave himself a couple of hours to think everything through again in case he’d missed something, but he had no new revelations. Knowing he could put it off no longer, he took a shower, got into a fresh uniform, then headed to work.
The detectives handling the Goodman Ranch Road murder were partners named Young and Hubbard. Jake found them in the detectives’ room they were using, in lieu of their downtown office, because of its proximity to the murder scene.
“We’re a little busy right now. What the hell did you say your name was?” Hubbard asked.
“Oliver.”
“Right. Sorry, Oliver. You’ll have to catch us later.”
Both men were pulling their jackets off the backs of their seats, apparently getting ready to leave.
“I…ah…I might have a lead for you,” Jake said.
That stopped them.
“A lead for what?” Young asked.
“The Goodman Ranch Road murder.”
Jake’s phone vibrated in his pocket. It was the second call he’d received in the last few minutes. The first had come in as he was walking into the room where the detectives were, and he’d ignored it as he tried to steel himself for the task ahead. Whoever was trying to reach him was being persistent, but they were going to have to wait until he was done.
“What could you possibly know about that?” Hubbard asked, surprised.
Jake froze for a moment, wishing suddenly he hadn’t come in here at all. In his pocket, his phone stopped vibrating.
“Are you going to tell us? Or are we supposed to guess?” Young asked.
“I, ah, found something…then did a little…checking, and, and, I, uh, think I might know who’s responsible.”
Hubbard’s eyes narrowed. “You did a little…checking?”
“Yes, sir.”
The two detectives exchanged a look, then Young said, “Maybe you should have a seat.”
Berit grunted in frustration as Jake once more didn’t answer his phone. Unlike her previous attempt, she left a message this time.
“You’re not going to believe this. I found the BMW. At least I think I did. It got towed into an impound yard yesterday. Same description, same license plate number.” She glanced at her watch. The yard would be closing in an hour and a half, and it would take her at least twenty minutes to get there. “Look, I’m going to go check it out and see if it’s the same one. I’ll call you once I’m there.”