Chapter 41

FORTY-ONE

A plume of cold air shot down the back of Josie’s neck as she and Gretchen walked into Schock’s Auto Repair. The guy at the front desk didn’t even look up from his phone when they asked whether the owner was present or not, though his nose wrinkled as if he’d smelled something foul. “Nah,” he said. “He’s at lunch.”

“How about Edgar Garcia?” asked Gretchen. “He here?”

“In the back,” he mumbled, pointing to a glass door on their right. Neither Josie nor Gretchen questioned him. Instead, they pushed through the door and made their way down a hallway that smelled like old tires and motor oil.

“What are you thinking?” asked Gretchen. “We can’t put Garcia at any of the crime scenes. His prints inside Sheila Hampton’s car aren’t a surprise. If they’re in Greg Downey’s that won’t be shocking either since he works here.”

“I’m not trying to put him at any of the scenes,” Josie said. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the possible accomplice. That was the only angle they truly hadn’t explored, mostly because it had seemed like they couldn’t figure out who it was unless they figured out the identity of the killer. But that wasn’t true. All they had to do was put themselves in the killer’s shoes. What would he need help with? Getting away from his remote crime scenes. What would be the best way for a helper to go about doing that without getting caught, particularly in a geofence? The killer didn’t need to know what a geofence was to be able to avoid it. He only needed to understand that electronic devices were ubiquitous and that whether you consented or not, you were trackable at all times while in possession of any one of them.

“Well, since two of the stolen cars left at the crime scenes were worked on here,” Gretchen said, “maybe we should be trying to put him at the scenes.”

Josie hadn’t met Garcia before but he hadn’t gotten so much as a parking ticket since he got out of prison. She’d checked his social media before they left the hospital. It was locked down pretty tight, but she was able to view a few posts of him with his daughter. Josie guessed she was about four or five years old. She had the same black hair as her father except hers was curly whereas his was straight. The same eyes, too, and when she looked at her father, they brimmed with adoration.

“I don’t think Garcia would knowingly get involved with murder,” Josie said. “There’s nothing in it for him, but he might be helping the killer some other way.”

“I hope your hunch is right,” Gretchen said as she pushed open the door to the repair bays. “Because right now all we have is speculation and another shitty polaroid—at least until Jared Rowe is out of surgery and can tell us something helpful.”

Somehow, Josie didn’t think the boy was going to have anything to tell them that might help them find the killer.

The air inside the large bay area felt at least ten degrees hotter than the rest of the building. Music filtered through Bluetooth speakers mounted in the four corners, playing a song Josie didn’t recognize. Someone whistled along with it. There were three vehicles lined up. One of them was on a lift, its tires at eye level as Josie and Gretchen passed. A Jeep sat in the next slot, its hood open. In the last bay, a pair of heavy boots stuck out from beneath an old Pontiac. Their owner stopped whistling and started singing along with the radio.

His feet jerked when Josie said, “Edgar Garcia?”

There was the loud clank of metal, a muttered curse, and Garcia began to emerge, dark blue pants and then a lighter blue shirt, both splotched with stains. A slick of grease ran down one of his forearms as he slid completely out from beneath the car on his creeper. Dark eyes glittered with suspicion as he eyed them. Josie watched his gaze catch on their pistols for a beat longer than necessary.

“I already talked with someone earlier this week. I told him my prints were in that car because I work here. Just because I got a record don’t give you the right to keep harassing me.” His face twisted in disgust. “What’s that smell?”

“It’s us,” Josie said. “Occupational hazard.”

He waved a hand in front of his face. “Damn.”

Gretchen said, “We’re not here about that car or your prints.”

He sat up, keeping the creeper still using the heels of his boots. He produced a rag from one of his pockets and wiped the grease from his arm. “I know you ain’t here for my sparkling personality.”

A new song filled the bays, up-tempo with a heavy bass. “A car was stolen from your lot last night,” Josie said. “You know anything about that?”

He rested his forearms across his knees, the rag dangling from his fingers. “Sure. I usually lock up at the end of the day. You see out back?”

“The fence,” Gretchen said. “Yeah. Chains and padlocks?”

“Old-school, yeah, but my boss isn’t trying to afford something more high-tech than that. Asshole cut right through the chain. I told my boss. He said he was handling it, so why are you here talking to me?”

Edgar’s boss had made a report while they were pulling the pulpit off Jared Rowe. It just hadn’t made its way up the chain to the investigative team.

Instead of answering his question, Josie walked around to the front of the Pontiac, trailing a finger along its hood. “How old is this thing?”

Edgar laughed softly. He knew what she was doing. “It’s a 2003 GTO. What do you really want to know?”

“You guys work on a lot of these kinds of cars,” she said, pressing her index finger into the red Pontiac symbol in the center of the grille.

“Older cars, yeah. I got a few on the lot right now. You wanna hear something crazy? Cars from the nineties are considered classic now.”

Changing the subject, just like Josie.

Gretchen laughed. “Were you even alive in the nineties?”

He arched a brow at her and used the rag to swipe at a stain between his knuckles. “Like you didn’t check my sheet before you came in here. Yeah, I was alive in the nineties.”

“Barely,” Josie said. “Whose car is this?”

“No one’s,” Edgar said. “My boss buys old junkers and I restore them so he can sell them. He gives me a cut. As long as I get the regular work done on time.”

“You stay late to work on these,” Gretchen said.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Yeah. Or I work during my lunch, which is now. I only got another half hour, so whatever you got to say, just say it. I don’t think I can stand that smell much longer.”

“You’re a single dad, aren’t you?” Josie asked.

“Yeah, and it ain’t easy. Never thought I’d be having tea parties with stuffed unicorns and shit, but I do what I gotta do.”

“Including taking on after-hours projects to make extra money,” said Gretchen.

Edgar hauled himself to his feet and took a step back, likely trying to avoid their odor. “Yeah. I’d do anything for my kid. I ain’t ashamed of that. What do you want to ask me?”

Josie walked back over to him. “You said you lock up at night. Are you the only one with the key to the lot? Besides your boss?”

He didn’t answer.

“Do you ever leave the padlock open? In case someone needs to borrow a car?”

Something flared in his eyes. It looked a lot like fear. “I told you. The chain was cut. I had nothing to do with that dude’s car getting stolen.”

“I’m not talking about his car.” Josie pointed to the Pontiac. “I’m talking about cars like this. Older cars with no GPS, and I’m not talking about ones that have been stolen. I’m talking about ones that get borrowed. For a price.”