Chapter Twenty

“They’re all flat,” said Garrett. He scratched his head and frowned.

“ All of them?” I stepped closer, peering at the passenger side tires. The front was flat and the rear was shredded. I moved around to the other side, spreading my arms to steady my balance on the small, grassy bank that bordered the length of the freeway before it descended into a dry ditch. The driver’s side tires were equally flat, the wheel rims exposed. “How can they all be flat? And two of them look shredded,” I said, stepping around to the trunk. The car was perched precariously where it came to an abrupt stop as the front thumped into the ditch. I was surprised the car hadn’t slipped and rolled down as we’d cautiously stepped out. I had no intention of tempting fate — and a ton of metal — now.

“They are. That’s what caused the noise before we started to spin. Someone tampered with the tires. One popped and two shredded. The other probably just leaked air and didn’t have time to rip. We’re damn lucky this wasn’t a lot worse!” Garrett glanced at the road. Only a handful of cars had passed in the last hour and we’d been fortunate that the highway was empty as we veered across the oncoming lane.

Steam rose from the engine and I stepped back. I privately agreed with Garrett’s sentiment. The car had narrowly avoided flipping. Even luckier, with the almost empty lane of traffic and a long stretch of empty road on the other side, we hadn’t hit anyone.

Stooping next to the flat tire, I examined it. The valve cap was missing. Just to be sure, I checked the next nearest tire. “This was deliberate,” I said. “The valve caps are gone. Someone wanted us out of the way.”

“Or me.”

Or me , I thought, but I didn’t want to hog my brother’s moment of being in the perpetrator’s crosshairs. “Where did you park the car before we met?” I asked.

“In MPD’s secure lot like I usually do but there’s no way it would take that long for the tires to go flat. They’d deflate long before we got to the prison. No, this was done either at the prison or after we left.”

“The gas station,” I said. “Anyone could have accessed the car there. The prison lot could only be accessed by someone who’d gone through the checkpoint. No one else knew we were going there so I don’t see how anyone could arrange to follow us inside. You only got the go ahead shortly before making plans and I didn’t know exactly where we were going until I was in the car.”

“Yeah. Damn it. We must have been inside the gas station for two minutes.” Garrett shook his head, frowning again. “I didn’t even clock a tail. I looked out of habit but… Huh.” He moved towards the trunk, then stopped.

“What?” I asked, wondering if this were a good time to mention how I’d been looking over my shoulder recently. Yet I’d also been remiss. I hadn’t checked for a tail on leaving the prison either.

“Why did you look at me funny just now?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I said tail?”

“I might have been a little on edge, looking for tails of my own. I just have the weird feeling someone’s been watching me.”

Garrett stilled. “Now?”

“No. Not now. I don’t feel it.”

“What does it feel like when you think you’re being watched?”

“Oily. It makes my skin prickle. But I haven’t seen anyone. I might just be paranoid.”

“Don’t discount the feeling. We have instincts for a reason. They’re there to keep us safe. When did you last get the feeling?”

“Outside the police station before I knew Gideon Black might be in town.”

“And since?” he asked.

“Not since, and not at the gas station either.” I sank into the grass and hugged my knees. Garrett stood over me, his hands on his hips. “What if it were just some stupid punks messing around?” I asked.

“And they happened to mess with our car and only our car?” he asked skeptically. “I’m not ruling it out entirely but I don’t buy it. Damn it. I’m going to have to take a look at the gas station’s camera footage. I noticed cameras over the door and inside. But before we do that…” He stepped towards the car, skidding slightly on the bank. He crouched down, moving around the car, then disappeared around the other side.

“What are you doing?” I called.

Garrett stood up, holding a small box. “Confirming another theory. We weren’t being followed. We were being tracked,” he said.

“Who by?”

“Good question.” He walked around the car to pass me a small, metal box. I opened it, looking at a tiny blinking device inside. “The box is magnetic. All you have to do is reach under the car and stick it onto a bit of metal. Plenty of options on that pile of junk.”

“Why does anyone want to know where we’re going? Or is it to know where we are?”

“Both is my guess. It does mean we’re on the right track. No one would bother about our whereabouts if we weren’t following the right leads.”

“Then my car is probably bugged too. Here’s the cavalry!” I raised a hand as a black SUV slowed and pulled to a stop beside us. I’d called Solomon as soon as we’d calmed down after veering off the road and he’d simply said he was on his way. I scrambled up the bank as the window rolled down, relieved to see him.

“Can I give you both a lift?” asked Solomon. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and surveyed us, then the scene. “I see you’re in satisfactory condition.”

I grinned. “That would be helpful but you have to work on your smooth talk.”

“You would not catch me telling my wife she’s in satisfactory condition,” said Garrett. “That would result in my being in un satisfactory condition.”

Solomon smiled. “Glad to see you’re both in fine health.”

“We should take that as a compliment,” I said to Garrett.

“Yeah,” said Garrett obligingly, “I don’t need to hear the kind of makeup talk he gives to my sister later.”

“I’ll text Traci and she can tell you,” I said, my mood lifting with the teasing.

“Please don’t.”

“Do you want me to send someone to retrieve your car?” Solomon called to Garrett.

Garrett opened the door, tossed the metal box inside, then locked the car. “Nope,” he said as he jogged up the bank. “I called it in and MPD are sending a pick-up for it. The car and the transmitter can stay here until they tow it.”

“Transmitter?” asked Solomon.

“I’ll fill you in on the way,” I said. “Shotgun.”

Behind me, Garrett tutted, then added, “We need to head back to the gas station at the next exit.”

“I have a full tank,” said Solomon.

“We need something else,” I said.

“I see the candy bar packet in your pocket.”

“We need to see some camera footage,” I said.

“Sounds like you have plenty to tell me,” said Solomon, sliding the sunglasses back over his eyes. “Let’s go.”

On the way to the gas station, Garrett and I filled in Solomon on the details that led to us coming off the road. By the time we pulled in, Solomon’s jaw was tense but he didn’t say much. I figured he was too busy thinking about all the ways he was going to hide Gideon Black’s body if it turned out he did tamper with our car, and all the ways he was going to do exactly the same to persons unknown if it were punks messing with us.

We trooped into the gas station and Garrett pressed his badge to the security screen. “Can I see your camera footage?” he asked.

“Why?” asked the cashier, barely looking up from the game he played on his phone.

Garrett pointed to his badge, and said, “There’s your reason.”

“Don’t you have to get a warrant or something?”

“Why don’t you call your boss and get them down here?!” shot back Garrett.

“Yo, Dave!” called the cashier without turning. A moment later, a man wearing pants two sizes too small and a shirt straining at the buttons stepped through the swinging door carrying a crate of packaged baked goods. “These detectives want to see the camera footage.”

“So why didn’t you show them?” asked Dave. “Never mind. Let me set this down and I’ll help you.” He set the crate on the ground and walked to the security door in the interior wall. He pulled it open and beckoned us through, asking to see Garrett’s credentials. “We haven’t called for any assistance so how can we help?”

“Just need to see the footage from the last hour,” said Garrett.

“Sure. There haven’t been a lot of customers. Is there anything going on in the area I should be aware of?” he asked, glancing in the direction of the prison.

“No, all’s good. We just need to check something, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“I’ll queue the cameras,” he said, waving for us to follow him into the back room. “We’ve got one covering the forecourt and one covering the stands in front. There’re two inside, one covering the shop, and one covering the cash register.”

“Smart,” said Garrett.

“The system’s easy to run,” said Dave, pointing out the controls, but not taking a seat. “I figure I’ll leave you to it but I would appreciate a heads-up if I need to take extra care for any reason. I’d like to make sure my employees are looked out for, even that one,” he added, thumbing towards the cashier on the other side of the wall. He stepped back, indicating Garrett could take the chair pushed up against the desk.

Garrett sat, rewinding until he saw our car pulling into the forecourt. Then he rewound another minute. The pumps were all empty. A blue sedan was in the temporary parking spaces. A man walked out of the gas station and over to the sedan and climbed into the driver’s side. He pulled out seconds before our car pulled in and we slowed to a stop at the pump nearest the shop.

I watched us discuss what we wanted as we remained seated. A red hatchback pulled into the pump opposite and a short black woman hopped out. Garrett got out and unhooked the hose, then I walked into the mini-mart. A moment later, the internal camera picked me up browsing the candy counter.

An SUV pulled into the temporary parking space and a couple got out and headed for the shop, then a motorcycle came in and parked at the pump the red hatchback vacated.

Garrett replaced the hose and headed inside.

Not seconds later, the motorcyclist walked over to our car, stooped and disappeared from view. I counted thirty seconds until he circled the front, taking moments to fiddle with each wheel before strolling back to his motorcycle, swinging his leg over and riding off.

“Can I send this to my email?” asked Garrett, looking over his shoulder at Dave.

“Sure, it’s all digital.”

Garrett tapped the keyboard, then stood. “Thanks,” he said. “Appreciate your time.”

“See what you wanted?” asked Dave.

“Someone tampered with our vehicle,” he said.

“Sorry to hear it. I don’t know if that’s ever happened here before. Is the jerk on the motorcycle still around? I don’t recall anyone wearing a helmet coming inside.”

“No, he’s long gone. I doubt he’ll be back,” said Garrett.

“Glad to hear it,” said Dave.

We trooped out, silent until we were inside Solomon’s SUV. “Any idea who that was?” asked Solomon.

Garrett looked at me.

“I don’t know,” I said, disappointed. “I thought it was a man. The shape, the way he walked, but beyond that. I don’t know.”

“Could he be Gideon Black?” persisted Garrett.

“I don’t know,” I repeated.

“Seems the right height and physique,” said Solomon. “But there are thousands of men in the city who match that.”

“So we’re back to square one. We know someone tampered with the car. We now know it was a man. We just don’t know who or why,” I said.

“The why has to be the case,” said Garrett. “This was clearly targeted. He rode in, knew exactly which car to target and did it quickly and efficiently. He’s done it before.”

“I didn’t see a motorcycle behind us at any point,” I said.

“Then we should assume we were being tracked before the sabotage.”

“That’s creepy,” I said.

“We should all be careful until we get to the bottom of this,” said Solomon. He got out of the car, walked around it, stooping, checking carefully and then returned to the driver’s seat. “We’re most likely clean but I’ll make a more thorough check at the agency. Lexi, are you open to carrying a tracker on your person at all times?”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

Solomon reached for his backpack in the footwell and pulled out a small box.

“You just happen to have trackers with you?” asked Garrett.

“You never know when you’re going to need one,” said Solomon, handing me a small device on a keychain. He pulled out his phone and fired off a text. “Attach that to a belt loop and keep it on you at all times. We’ll monitor you from the agency.”

“What about Garrett?” I asked.

Garrett pointed to the gun holstered at his hip. “I’m good,” he said.

“Where am I taking you?” asked Solomon.

“Police station,” said Garrett. “I’ll check us out another car and we can keep going with our leads. Hopefully, the perp thinks we’re tied up for hours waiting on the side of the road. We could get a jump on whoever it is.”

“I like that idea,” I said. “Let’s go.”

None of us felt much like talking beyond a smattering of questions here and there and I figured we were all wondering who placed the tracker, and when. It could be Gideon but that would mean he knew we were on the case. Garrett had been mentioned in The Gazette’s article but I wasn’t sure how anyone else could have known I was involved. Unless the Dugans told someone? Or my mom. Or Lily or Ruby. Or Bea. Or someone simply observing the Dugan house. That left infinite possibilities. It could even be a contact of Kelvin Huff, but I couldn’t see how he could have called someone and enacted such a plan so quickly after our visit, which ruled him out.

Solomon drove us to the police station, then excused himself saying he had several cars to sweep for bugs, starting with mine since I was parked around the corner. That was far more pleasing to hear than Garrett’s theory that we could all be carrying bugs transmitting our location to some unknown person.

“I have an uneasy feeling about all of this,” said Garrett.

“Me too,” I said.

“If there’s an undiscovered tracker on your husband’s vehicle, we can hope the perp thinks I’ve been dropped here and you’ve gone on with him. “Wait here. I’ll get us another car and we can go visit Amybeth Bell and check out the realtors and those other last few numbers.”

“I’ll research the numbers while I wait. I’ll be fine out here. No one’s going to try anything in front of a police station,” I said and Garrett nodded before he disappeared into the building. I perched on a bench and pulled out my phone and the call log sheet. There were only two numbers left to call. I tried putting them into a browser. The first returned the number of a store that sold recreational vehicles. Not just any old RVs but big, tricked out motorhomes a person could live in very comfortably. My eyebrows rose when I saw the starting price.

The second number was for a jeweler in Boston. What could Huff possibly want to buy there?

When a car horn honked twice, I looked up to see Garrett waving from a silver sedan. I jogged over and got in. “There weren’t a lot of options,” said Garrett when I wrinkled my nose at the scent of days-old takeout. I cranked the windows down, deciding I’d prefer fresh air instead of cold, stale aircon. When the blast of warmth came through the window I wondered at my choice.

“Huff called an RV sales company and a jeweler,” I told him. “You should see the prices of the RVs. There’s no way he can afford one right now. A ring is much cheaper if he’s planning to propose but even then, I don’t see how he can afford one of those either.”

“Unless he’s expecting a payday. An RV is not what I would buy if I expected to be imminently rich.”

“What would you buy?”

“A beautiful place on a corner lot with a big yard and I’d get a vacation place in the mountains somewhere. Maybe Calendar. Traci loves it there. We could ski in the winter and go on fancy hiking trips in the summer.”

“What’s fancy about hiking?”

“There’re wonderful excursions where they take you on the most beautiful trails until you get to your picturesque lunch spot where a gourmet picnic basket waits for you along with a cold bottle of wine, crystal glasses, and no kids.”

“I see the appeal.” Except the no kids. I could imagine Solomon wearing a baby strapped to his chest while I carried the sandwiches and bear spray. Would that be next year though, or the year after? We hadn’t had much chance to put the baby-making plan into action this week.

“The point is, I would not be getting an RV,” continued Garrett obliviously.

“A purchase like that suggests Huff isn’t planning to settle in town. He’s going on the run and doing it in style. He can live anywhere in one of those things. He could even go off grid and he wouldn’t lose any sleep on his memory foam mattress.”

“He’s not on the run if he’s a free man.”

“Correct. He would be free. All he would need to do is retrieve the jewels from wherever he thought Black stashed them, sell them, buy his RV, and the world is his oyster. Well, North America. And maybe Central America. And Mexico!” I added.

“I get the point.”

“Ah!” Another lightbulb went off. “He didn’t call the jeweler for a purchase. What if he’s scouting for a place where he can make a sale but since he’s not so smart, he thought a regular jeweler might buy the gems. What he really needs is a jewel merchant who doesn’t ask questions.”

“And until he can do all that, he shacks up with our girl, Amybeth. Let’s find out what she has to say.”