She texted back: Dropping by a friend’s. Won’t take long.
Would he be content to stay outside? Or would he insist on coming in? Kira very much hoped not. She was accustomed to doing her job solo, and having her movements tracked made her feel claustrophobic. Everything made her feel claustrophobic right now. Emotions churned inside her—sadness, anger, disbelief—but they hadn’t bubbled to the surface yet. She hadn’t cried since Ollie died, and she didn’t know why. Her feelings, like everything else in her life right now, seemed to be on lockdown.
Kira opened the window to get some fresh air circulating. Hearing her car’s knocks and pings, she felt a wave of uneasiness. Trent and Jeremy had confirmed her suspicion that she needed to get her car looked at. Maybe next week she’d get her head above water long enough to think about it.
Sure. That would definitely happen. Brock’s trial started Monday, and she’d probably be running around fetching rocks for him all week.
Unless he fired her before that. Then she’d have all the time in the world to fix her car but no money.
Avoiding the freeways, Kira stayed at a comfortable forty miles per hour all the way to Ollie’s neighborhood. It was very much like hers. Small lots, big trees, a mix of single- and multifamily homes. Due to Houston’s crazy zoning, it wasn’t unusual to see business and residential mixed together in the older areas, and Ollie’s house was three doors down from a used-book store that offered tarot card readings.
Kira slowed and surveyed the area. No Trent, so maybe he was keeping himself invisible. Also, no pedestrians out tonight, only a cigarette-smoking man standing on the porch of the bookstore. Kira rolled to a stop in front of Ollie’s and waved at the man as she got out.
Ollie’s house was a one-story ranch that had a tidy lawn and could have used a paint job. Kira jangled her keys and strode confidently up the driveway as if she belonged there.
She scanned the garage and the covered breezeway leading to the back door. No sign of forced entry, no yellow police tape. She let herself through the unlocked gate and took a moment to look around.
It was a small yard, taken up mostly by a brick patio that Ollie had put down himself. Beside a neatly coiled hose was a gas grill protected by a canvas cover that was coated in pollen. Kira peered through the kitchen window, being careful not to touch the glass. Everything looked normal, and she saw nothing to suggest the place had been ransacked like Ollie’s office. It looked as though the police who’d been here earlier had been searching for clues in the homicide case, not responding to a break-in.
Kira reached under the grill and felt around for the magnetic box. She found it and slipped out the hide-a-key.
A dog barked. Kira froze.
The sound was high-pitched, like maybe a poodle, but it was persistent. Kira held her breath and listened. The dog sounded at least one house away, maybe two.
Kira replaced the magnetic box beneath the grill, then crept over to the garage. She discovered the door unlocked, so she slipped the key into her pocket for later.
The stuffy garage smelled of dust and grass clippings. Kira stepped around a tool bench and noted the old push mower parked beside the door. Half the garage was empty—just a brown oil stain where Ollie typically parked the Ford sedan that was still being processed by police. The other half of the garage was taken up by the gray Dodge minivan that Ollie jokingly called his cool car because he used it for undercover work.
The van was a soccer-mom mobile, right down to the BABY ON BOARD hangtag on the rearview mirror. It was versatile, though, and could be quickly transformed into a utility van or a delivery truck, depending on Ollie’s needs.
Kira walked around the back, casting a glance through the grimy row of windows at the top of the garage door. She stepped into the shadows along the driver’s side and unzipped her backpack. After tugging on a latex glove, she took out her slim jim, wedged it between the window and the rubber seal, and fished around until she heard the telltale click. Then she opened the door and slid inside.
The van smelled of French fries and Old Spice, and the familiar combination put a pang in her chest. Ollie would never sit here again. And whatever he’d been doing last time he sat here might have gotten him killed.
She couldn’t believe he was gone. Gone. The gray pallor of his face the last time she’d seen him was ingrained in her mind, and yet she still couldn’t quite believe it.
Kira switched on her mini flashlight. It emitted a soft red glow, and she swept it over the floor littered with newspapers, food wrappers, and drinking straws. She popped open the glove box and was surprised to find it empty. She would have expected him to keep a map there or an owner’s manual, or his insurance paperwork, at least.
Kira felt around under the seats and came up with a snack-size Snickers and a receipt for Whataburger. The purchase had been made five days ago in Channelview, which was forty minutes away. Kira slipped the receipt into her pocket and then climbed over the console into the back of the van.
Ollie had removed the back-row seating to make room for surveillance equipment, which he kept in a long plastic tub so that it wouldn’t attract attention from nosy passersby. Kira scooted over miscellaneous crap: a stack of orange traffic cones, a yellow hard hat, a collapsed tripod. She knelt beside the tub and held the flashlight in her teeth as she opened the lid. On top were several magnetic signs that could be slapped on the side of the van when needed. Underneath an AT&T sign, Kira found a jumble of photo equipment, including a Polaroid camera, a flash, and several boxes of film.
Beneath the Polaroid was a black nylon camera bag, and Kira’s pulse quickened as she lifted it out.
Ollie’s Nikon. He loved this camera. It seemed odd that he’d keep it back here, but maybe he’d been using it recently. She unzipped the case and pulled out the camera. Holding her breath, she popped the latch to check for the memory card.
Nothing.
Because that would have been too easy.
Deflated, she zipped the camera back into the bag. The side pocket had a spiral notebook filled with Ollie’s messy scrawl. She flipped through a few pages, then checked her watch and glanced at the garage’s back windows. She needed to hurry. She tucked the notebook into her pocket, then returned everything to the plastic tub and secured the lid.
The only other place of interest in the van was the tire well. Ollie had replaced the spare tire with a small generator, enabling him to work for hours in the van without running the engine. Kira searched the space but found nothing. She did a cursory search of the rest of the van, checking cushions and seat pockets, but that was it for clues.
Frustrated, she crawled back to the front and switched off the interior light before sliding from the car.
“Find anything?”
She jumped and whirled around.
A giant shadow loomed behind her.
“God!” She aimed her flashlight at Jeremy, and his face looked devilish in the red glow. “What the hell? You scared the shit out of me!”
“What are you doing skulking around here?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” He folded his arms over his chest. “I didn’t just watch you break into a dead man’s car?”
She jerked back. “I didn’t break anything. And what are you doing here? I thought you were off the clock.”
“Yeah, well, I’m back on as of midnight. Let’s go.” He took her arm, pulling her toward the door, and she felt the warmth of his fingers through her long-sleeved shirt.
“What are you doing?” She tripped over a paint can, and he caught her before she did a face-plant.