Forty-Six

FORTY-SIX

THE PASSENGER-SIDE DOOR FROM Jimmy's Jetta is on the ground next to the car when I get to the dirt road just past the entrance to Napeague Harbor.

When I walk around to the front of the car, Glock in my hand, I see that the windshield is mostly gone and when I look inside, I see the broken glass on the front seat.

The tan-colored leather is bloodstained.

I yell Jimmy's name and wait.

Nothing.

I walk up the road, dunes on either side of me.

"Jimmy Cunniff, you told me to come, now where the hell are you?"

I often get mad when I'm as scared as I am right now.

"Jimmy?"

I turn around and look at the car. Windshield gone. Door on the side of the road. Bullet holes in the door.

If Jimmy has been shot, it would be the third time since we took on Rob Jacobson as a client, which has to be some kind of record.

Where is he?

I jog back to my car and get the flashlight that I keep in the glove compartment along with my gun, and go back to his car, pointing the flashlight at the ground near the detached door.

The trail of blood begins there.