“Bingo,” he called out and hit Pause. “There he is.” With one hand pointing to the screen, he gestured to Rob. “Look. At 6:27 p.m., he left the garage.”
“Got it.” Rob pulled the printout. “Each car registered has an identification sticker on the windshield, and it’s automatically scanned when they enter or exit the garage. Here’s Cartwright’s ID number.” Rob ran his finger on the page.
“When does it show him reentering? Is it after midnight?” Paul waited, barely breathing. He knew, just knew, Cartwright had his finger in this pie.
Rob flipped through the pages, then stopped. A grin broke out across his face. “Oh, hello. There you are, Mackenzie-boy. Looky here. Time of reentry: 12:23 a.m.”
Trying hard to contain his excitement, Paul placed his hands palms down on the desk. “Okay. It doesn’t prove anything. Not yet.”
“Guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Rob said. “You think Cartwright rented the truck Travis used to pick Wellie and Bear up the night of the fire?”
“Let’s check rental companies.” He swiveled his chair around to face the computer screen and tapped the keys. “There are three in Thornwood Park, and one is located at the Starrywood Hotel. “I’ll call them first. You take the next one on the list.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Paul punched in the number for Gold Key Car Rental.
“Good morning, Gold Key Rentals, this is Charles, how may I help you today?”
“This is Detective Paul Monroe of the Thornwood Park Police Department.”
“Oh. Yes, sir.” Immediately the perky, pleasant tone drained away. “Is anything wrong?”
“I need to know if a man named Mackenzie Cartwright rented a truck on or around July twentieth.”
“Oh, um, normally we don’t give out that kind of information, but of course since you’re the police…”
“Thank you, Charles.” Paul pretended politeness.
“It’ll just be a moment.”
While he waited for Charles to check his records, he glanced over at Rob, who was busy schmoozing whomever he had on the line. Rob shook his head, and Paul curled his hand into a fist.
“Detective? I’m sorry. No one by that name rented any vehicle from us. Ever.”
“All right. Thank you.”
He hung up before Charles had a chance to respond. Angry, he punched in the third number, Express Rentals. Again, no luck. No one by the name Mackenzie Cartwright had rented a truck.
“What do you think? It’s a bust?” Rob yawned and rubbed his eyes.
Paul stared at the screen. “I’m going to check the next town over. Maybe he’s slick and figured to go outside of Thornwood Park.”
The neighboring city, Silver Valley, had more than twice the population of Thornwood Park and over twenty car-rental agencies, mainly because of its proximity to the airport. Paul took ten names, Rob took the other ten, and they began the process all over again. Most people didn’t realize the behind-the-scenes, mundane work that went into solving a case. It wasn’t glamorous. It was long hours of tedious, repetitive phone calls and research to gather information. This was one such time.
After he’d exhausted seven agencies on the list, he took a break and got Rob and him each a cup of coffee. Rob had made it through five and was staring at the wall, his eyes crossed. When Paul approached with the coffee, his face lit up.
“God bless you.”
Paul chuckled. “I know you love me.”
“Better watch out, Rob.”
Paul jerked his gaze to Madison O’Leary, one of the new recruits in the precinct. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Rob spun his chair around, and after downing his coffee, crushed the paper cup in his hand and tossed it into the trash can.
“Yeah, O’Leary. Care to explain?”
Perhaps he was too new and had no clue how close the friendship between him and Rob was, or he was too stupid to see the warning sparks in Rob’s normally mild blue eyes. Whatever it was, he went forward blindly.
“I mean, he’s gay, right? And you’re married. You don’t want nobody thinking there’s anything going on between the two of you.” He smirked.
Paul’s face burned while inside he raged at his personal life being dragged out in his place of work.
“You fucking asshole.” Rob approached O’Leary, who stood frozen in place, the smirk fading from his lips. “If you hope to have any kind of career here, you’d be smart to apologize to Detective Monroe, because right now? You aren’t even good enough to tie his shoes.”
The precinct was one large, open space, divided into desk areas for the staff, with the detectives getting the benefit of the larger areas in the back. About twenty people were in the room, but aside from a few phones ringing, it was deadly silent.
O’Leary’s face flamed. “I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
“So you’re in the habit of saying stupid things you don’t mean?”
“N-no.”
Rob crossed his arms. “Then I suggest you do as I say.” When O’Leary still hesitated, Rob snapped. “Listen. I’ve barely had any sleep because I had three children puking on me all night long. I’m tired, hungry, and crabby as shit. So I’m telling you again, apologize to Detective Monroe, and then get your ass on the street and do your job, instead of standing here, pissing me off. Got that?”
By the time he’d finished, Rob had his finger in O’Leary’s face, and Paul had reached his limit. “Rob.” He put his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “He doesn’t have to say anything. Silence speaks volumes.”
O’Leary hung his head. “I’m sorry, Detective. It was a stupid thing to say,” he mumbled.
“Yes, it was.” Paul scowled. “You know nothing about me or Rob. As a matter of fact, as a rookie, you don’t know much of anything, period. You have a lot to learn about being a police officer and putting your life on the line for your partner. I would do it for him in a second, and I know he would do the same for me. That comes after years of working long, hard hours together, witnessing unspeakable things. Things you don’t go home and tell your family about because unless they see it with their own eyes, they can’t know. So my suggestion? If you plan to serve the people of Thornwood Park, then you had better make sure you’re serving all the people. Equally. There’s no room for ‘them versus us’ in police work.”
O’Leary lifted his head to meet his gaze. “I apologize, Detective. It was a dumb, insensitive thing to say. I spoke without thinking. I’m sorry.” He held out his hand, and Paul shook it.
“Accepted, and we’ll move on as long as you remember that no one’s personal life belongs in the workplace or should be the subject of jokes.”
“I’ll make sure not to ever do that again.”
“Then we’ll be fine.”
O’Leary hastened away from their desks and toward the front of the station, and everyone else went back to work. Paul sat down heavily in his chair, and Rob hitched his close.
“I’m sorry I went off, but he just got to me. Pissed me off that someone barely out of the academy had the nerve to think he was being funny, using you as the butt of his jokes.”
“I appreciate it. I probably wouldn’t have said anything, but in a way I’m glad it’s finally out there. Now everyone can move on.” At least Paul hoped so. “I wonder if he went to the locker room to change his underwear. You were on fire. Almost scared me.”
“I’m a pussycat compared to you.”
Paul snorted and picked up the phone to call the next rental company on his list. “Sure, Tiger. You keep telling yourself that.” He punched in the number on his list and sighed. Number eight out of ten. If they came up bust on this one, he’d expand to the next county.
“Jet Set Car Rentals. This is Marissa. May I help you?”
Forcing himself to sound reasonably friendly, Paul began his script. “I hope so, Marissa. This is Detective Paul Monroe of the Thornwood Park Police Department, and I need some information.”
�
�Oh. I’m sorry, Detective, but it’s company policy to ask for your shield number and the number of your precinct house so we can call and verify who you are.”
Impressed, Paul gave her the information, and less than five minutes later, he was on the phone with Marissa’s supervisor, Jessie Morales.
“Detective, Marissa transferred this priority call to me. What can I do to assist you?”
“I appreciate your help. We need to know if a Mackenzie Cartwright rented a vehicle during the week of July twentieth. A few days to a week after for the return.”
“Okay. If you can hold on, it’ll just take a few minutes to find out.”
“No problem. Take your time.”
He could hear the tapping of computer keys and trained his eyes on Rob as he leaned on his elbows, speaking into his phone. When Rob’s shoulders slumped, Paul knew he’d hit another dead end. His eyes burned, and he rubbed them, anticipating a similar negative response from Morales.
“Detective Monroe?”
The pads of his fingers pressed into the corners of his eyes. “Yes? No luck?”
“No. I mean yes. We have a rental.”
“You do?” He bolted upright and kicked the back of Rob’s chair. “You have a rental for a Mackenzie Cartwright?”
Rob’s eyes popped open. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed. “You were right.”
Paul nodded while grabbing his notepad and pen.
“Yes, sir. He rented a black Tahoe, license plate Alpha-Four-Five-Foxtrot-Yankee. Rental was on July eighteenth at 6:05 p.m. Return was July twenty-second at 8:38 a.m.”
“Good. Thank you. What are your hours?” Paul continued to scribble in his pad.
“We open at seven a.m. and close at ten p.m.”
“Okay.” Paul thought for a moment. “Let me ask you. Do you still have the vehicle in your possession, or is it rented?”
“It’s here. Sitting in the lot.”
“Has it been rented since that time? And what is your cleaning procedure?”
“One minute, Detective. That’s going to take a little time to find out.”
“Not a problem. Take all the time you need.” His mind raced with possibilities.
In less than three minutes, Morales returned to the call. “Detective, the vehicle has not been rented since Mr. Cartwright returned it. I see the exterior was washed, but I’m not seeing a log in for the interior cleaning, which should’ve occurred the same day.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“I’m checking my records, and I don’t see one. The employee who handles the cleaning isn’t in yet, but when he shows up, I’ll definitely ask him.”
“My partner and I would like to take a ride out and speak with you and get a look at the vehicle. Please make sure it’s not made available for rental, and hold off on any further cleaning.”
“Okay. I’m here until closing.”
“Thank you. We’ll be there within the hour.”
Rob peppered him with questions as soon as he hung up. “Is it the Tahoe? Was it rented since the fire?” Raising a brow, Paul crossed his arms and waited. Rob caught himself and grinned. “I sound like a rookie. Okay. I’ll shut up now.”
Paul laughed at him. “I’m excited too. Seems there’s no record of the interior being cleaned, and it hasn’t been rented since that night, so potentially, any evidence would still be intact.”
“Wouldn’t that be a fucking break for us for once.”
Paul hooked his finger into his jacket, slung over the back of his chair. “We can be in Silver Valley in less than thirty minutes. Ready?”
“When you are.” Rob jumped out of his seat and grabbed his phone. He snagged the keys to the car from the peg, and they left the station.
Forty minutes later they stood in the parking lot of Jet Set Rentals, squinting against the sun as they gazed at the black SUV.
“This is the one,” Morales said.
Around forty, Morales stood about five-foot-six, with a mop of dark, wavy hair, hazel eyes, and a mole on his right cheekbone. His teeth flashed very white in his deeply tanned face.
“Do we know if the truck was cleaned? Have you managed to speak to your employee?”
Morales’s lips thinned. “No. Seems he finished most of the cars that had returned from rentals, when he received a call from his girlfriend and they had a fight. He left around twenty minutes before his shift was over and didn’t return until the next day, when he started up again with the returns from the new day, leaving four cars from his previous shifts unfinished.”
Elated didn’t begin to describe Paul’s mood, and he and Rob shared a smile. “Mr. Morales, I know it was wrong, but his mistake is our gain.”
Morales’s brows drew together. “What’re you talking about?”
“This car might’ve been involved in the commission of a crime in Thornwood Park on July twentieth. We can’t be sure until we impound it and have our forensics team make a thorough search of it, since our closed-circuit camera showed the license plate was covered.”
As he spoke, Morales’s eyes grew wider. “Impound? B-but this is one of our most expensive vehicles.”
“And this is a felony murder investigation,” Paul snapped out, then recovered quickly, not wanting to antagonize Morales. “I’m sure you want to assist in the capture and conviction of these criminals. Detective Gormley and I will make sure to advise your manager that you were extremely helpful to us in our investigation.”
The reassurance settled Morales down. Paul made the call, and within half an hour, a flatbed arrived. After thanking Morales, Paul and Rob returned to the station. Nothing could be accomplished until the truck was dusted for prints and Forensics went through it.
“Manny,” Paul said when the chief of Forensics picked up the phone.
“Bulldog, I know you’re not calling me to tell me to prioritize that truck.”
He chuckled. “I’m not?”
“Sheesh. Next time I see you, you owe me a drink.”
“Manny, you find what I’m thinking, and I’ll buy you dinner. Better yet, you come over to my house, and I’ll make it for you. Steaks on the grill.”
“You got it. By the way, I don’t think I said it, but that’s one nice house. You got lucky.”
He smiled into the phone. “Yeah. It is. And I know. Thanks.”
So damn lucky.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Cliff pulled into his driveway, Mr. Rasmussen, his neighbor from across the street, waved and slowly limped toward him, leaning heavily on his cane. The day had been incredibly stressful, with reservations not processing and loyal customers not receiving credits for their stays. Driving home, he had one thought on his mind: a nice glass of wine and relaxing on the deck with his book until Paul came home.
Unfortunately, all that had to be put on hold until he spoke with his neighbor. Paul had told him that Rasmussen defended the two of them at a neighborhood-watch meeting he couldn’t attend. He hadn’t spoken much to the elderly veteran in the years he’d lived on Magnolia Circle, and it was encouraging to know they were accepted, at least by some people. So he put on a smile and waited by his car.
“Cliff. Thank you for waiting. Is Paul home yet?”
“No. He probably won’t be until after seven. I haven’t seen you around lately, Mr. Rasmussen. How’ve you been?”
“Well, I had a bad cold that turned into pneumonia. Lasted almost two weeks. Damn nurses said I had to stay in bed.” He cleared his throat. “Today’s the first time they let me out, and I had to come and talk to Paul.” He turned his head and coughed.
Cliff dug into his pocket and handed him a few tissues. “Is something wrong?”
Rasmussen seemed to be working something out in his mind, and Cliff kept a pleasant smile on his face even as he wished he could get inside his house and relax.
“I overheard something troubling. Very troubling. I wanted to tell Paul when I heard, but I woke up sick, and then it all went to hell afterward. But now I’m bette
r, and I think Paul should know because it has to do with the fire at that club.”
Shocked, Cliff stared at his neighbor. “Mr. Rasmussen, what have you heard?” Realizing this wasn’t a conversation for outside, Cliff pulled out his house keys. “Why don’t you come inside with me, and we can wait for him. I can get you a cold drink if you’d like.”
“That’s kind of you, but don’t go to any trouble.”
There went his peaceful evening, but Cliff was now too interested in hearing what Rasmussen had to say. “None at all. Follow me, sir.”
Taking the stairs at a slow pace to accommodate Rasmussen, Cliff walked behind him, just in case he needed to assist him, and sighed with relief when the man made the last step. Rasmussen leaned on his cane while Cliff opened the door and followed him inside.
“Nice house. Glad to see nothing was damaged from that shooting.”
“Thank you. Have a seat in the living room, please. Would you like an iced tea or something else?”
Rasmussen’s eyes brightened. “Well, let’s just say around this time is when I enjoy my daily Scotch.”
Laughing, Cliff picked up a tumbler and pulled down Paul’s bottle of Scotch. “I’d never deny you that, Mr. Rasmussen. How do you take it?”
“Straight and on the rocks. And call me Sid, please.”
Cliff poured a hefty splash on ice cubes and filled a wineglass for himself as well. Armed with both drinks, he joined Sid in the living room.
“Here you are,” Cliff said, handing the glass to Sid, who took it and raised it in the air.
“Cheers.”
Cliff took a sip of his chilled rosé and set the glass on the coffee table. “It shouldn’t be too long before Paul gets here, but why don’t you tell me what you heard?”
“I don’t sleep much. Ever since the war, I haven’t had more than five hours. Most nights I’ll sit out on my screened-in back porch, stretch out on the lounge chair, and catch some winks. During the day I’ll be out there, listening to the radio, watching the birds at my bird feeder.”
Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3) Page 19
