Trailing a Killer

by Carol J. Post

  Finally, Cody straightened, brows drawn together and lips pressed tight. Sweat beaded on his face, likely from pain as much as the Florida heat. The handle of a metal box was clutched in one hand. “This has Pops’s keepsakes from his Air Force days.” He set it aside and returned to his search.

  A couple of minutes later he made his way down with what looked like an armload of photo albums and placed them on the hood of her Explorer. “There are a few of us in the top one.”

  “Really?” Her heart fluttered. He’d held on to them all these years. At least, his grandparents had.

  “I didn’t know Pops had them until I was helping him move. We were taking a break, and I flipped through them.” He gave her a half smile. “We have Gram to thank. She was the historian of the family.”

  He stepped toward the destroyed building. “I want to get their letters. Then I’ll be ready to go.”

  She glanced at the cops checking his truck and then down at the albums. “Do you mind if I look?”

  “Help yourself.”

  She picked up the album he’d indicated and turned back the cover. This one was devoted to Cody. The first page held a school picture, “first grade” in neat script below. Others followed, showing his progression in age.

  Baby pictures were absent. Those were the years before he came to live with his grandparents. His mother was obviously a poor picture taker. Based on what Cody had told her years ago, she’d been a sorry mother, too.

  After several photos of teenage Cody enjoying various activities, she turned the page to find her own face staring back at her. Cody was behind her, bent so his chin rested on her shoulder. He held her in a tight embrace, arms wrapped around her waist. The love in his eyes was obvious, even in a twelve-year-old picture.

  She’d been in love, too. She just hadn’t been ready to make it exclusive. Too many years of watching her mother give up who she was to accommodate a rigid, demanding man had made her gun-shy.

  Erin had thought she could put what she had with Cody on hold and have the option of returning to it at a later date, both of them unchanged. As if love was something that could be stored on a shelf, then taken down sometime in the future, dusted off and revived. Life didn’t work that way. Over the past twelve years a lot of water had gone under the bridge, and it only flowed in one direction—forward. Never back.

  She turned the page. In the next photo she and Cody were huddled together on a porch-type swing, her head tilted toward him, one leg extended. Everything about her, from her pose to her facial expression, shouted carefree.

  Carefree had been an illusion. In her determination to avoid the constraints that marked her mother’s life, she’d picked users and losers. One bad choice had almost gotten her killed. But sometimes it was the unseen wounds that bled the worst.

  Erin glanced up as a red Toyota Tacoma turned onto Boca Vista. She stiffened in alert readiness. But the driver didn’t show any interest in what they were doing beyond a brief glance in their direction.

  The tension fled her body. The man looked nothing like the guy at the hospital. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was dark and close cut. Probably a neighbor. Someone who belonged here.

  Cody made his way toward her with the box he’d retrieved earlier, along with a second one. After placing them on the ground in front of her, he straightened, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn together. “I just thought of something Pops said the night of the storm. A couple of days earlier the owner of the building told him he wanted everyone gone. No one was to wait out the storm in their apartment.” He frowned. “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he didn’t want the liability if something happened.”

  Erin finished the thought for him. “Or maybe he planned to have the place destroyed to collect the insurance money and didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

  It was possible, even probable. They’d know more after checking out the guy’s financial situation. The detectives were already on it. That was always the most logical place to start in situations like this.

  She glanced at the deputies who were now squatted at the two open doors of the Ram, apparently looking under the dash. “Did you not lock your truck?”

  “No. I was getting Pops and leaving right away. After my half-hour fight with him, I forgot about it.”

  She nodded, thankful the deputies were being so thorough. “Have you thought about funeral arrangements yet?”

  “I have an appointment with the funeral home tomorrow. Pops belonged to a church here, so I’ll get in touch with his pastor. When everything’s over, we’ll have his body shipped back to Illinois to be buried with Gram.” Sadness filled his eyes. “I’m going to miss him. I can’t tell you how often something crosses my mind and I think about telling him. It still doesn’t seem real.”

  Erin’s heart twisted. At one time she’d have drawn him into a comforting hug. Instead, she put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  She remembered Cody’s grandparents well. She’d even heard several of his grandfather’s stories. He’d been tough and crusty, what she’d always imagined an old military vet would be. But when it had come to Cody’s grandmother, the man had had a soft spot that Erin had found cute. He’d directed quite a bit of that softness Erin’s way, too.

  “Let me know when the funeral is. I’d like to come.” She wouldn’t miss this opportunity to pay her final respects to the man she’d liked and admired as a teenager.

  She’d be there for Cody, too, not because she’d broken his heart twelve years earlier, but because he looked grieved. Maybe even a little lost. And it struck a chord in her.

  One of the deputies approached wearing a frown. Erin’s stomach tightened. “Did you find something?”

  “Possibly. It looks like the dash might have been tampered with.” He tilted his head toward Cody. “Take a look at this.”

  They followed the deputy to the truck, and Cody slid into the driver’s seat. “You’re right. It’s like it’s not quite tight. It’s hardly even noticeable, but I know my truck.”

  Erin pursed her lips. “There’d be exterior damage if it was storm related. It sounds like someone might have removed it and didn’t get it reinstalled properly.”

  Cody frowned. “I have a tool kit in the back. If you have some latex gloves, I can open it up and let you guys have a look inside.”

  His eyebrows drew together and creases of worry formed between. He reached across the truck to check the glove box. After finding it locked, he opened it with the key. An envelope lay inside, along with the owner’s manual and some loose sheets of paper beneath.

  Tension fled his features. That envelope likely held the two grand he’d mentioned.

  After donning the gloves, he went to work on the dash, grimacing with the awkward movements. Soon he had the upper and lower portions removed. “I’m no wiring expert, but I’d say this isn’t factory installed.”

  Erin watched him loop one gloved finger around a small bundle of wires wrapped in black electrical tape. It had been tucked into the left-hand side of the dash, next to the door. Each end disappeared into a connector, attaching it to other wires.

  Cody backed away, and one of the deputies stepped forward. “I’m pretty sure I know what we have going on here.” He leaned down to look into the long, flat space directly beneath the top of the dash, then pried loose a thin rectangular box. He held it in one gloved hand for everyone to see. “This is a tracking device.”

  Erin grasped Cody’s wrist, an icy wave of dread washing over her. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to be able to find you at any given time. Is your personal information on anything in your truck?”

  “Just my registration and insurance information. And it was locked in my glove box.”

  She released a pent-up breath. At least Cody hadn’t made it easy for the creep. But the danger was far from over. In fact, it was just beginning.

 
“Now do you believe me when I tell you you’re in danger, that I’m not just blowing smoke?” He couldn’t deny it anymore. He’d have to face the truth and take her warnings seriously. She almost felt vindicated.

  But when she looked at his fear-filled eyes and drawn features, whatever satisfaction she might have felt fled. Cody had finally accepted the danger he was in. And it had clearly shaken his foundation.

  * * *

  Cody walked toward his truck, clipboard clutched to his chest. Yesterday Erin had escorted him home, along with two deputies. They’d made sure he wasn’t trailed and kept watch while he fed a wad of fifties and twenties into his bank’s ATM.

  No one had attempted to follow him. Of course, whoever was after him was probably counting on the tracking device to do the job. By now the killer probably knew the device led nowhere except the sheriff’s department.

  Erin had advised him to lie low. Law enforcement would be driving by his house regularly, looking for suspicious activity, but they couldn’t provide him a full-time bodyguard. To be totally safe, that was what he’d need.

  Remaining locked away inside his house wasn’t an option. While he’d been in the hospital, requests for hurricane damage estimates had poured in. Today he was taking care of the first half dozen. The meetings, note-taking and measuring were tasks he could handle. By the time he had to do any physical work, he hoped to be fully healed.

  The house behind him was one he knew well. Six months ago he’d completed a master bath addition. Saturday’s storm had sent an oak tree crashing through the middle of it. His customer’s brother owned a tree trimming and removal business, so the oak was already gone. And Cody had made arrangements from his hospital bed to have his own guys temporarily secure the opening to prevent further damage.

  He climbed into his truck and tore off the top two sheets from the legal pad attached to the clipboard. They held measurements, notes and rough sketches that wouldn’t make sense to anyone except him. After sliding them into the folder on the passenger seat, he put another address into the GPS.

  The folder beside him was titled Hurricane Estimates, but only two of the sheets inside were the completed pink copies of his forms. The rest were pages similar to the ones he’d just added—jobs that were too extensive for spur-of-the-moment pricing.

  So far it had been a productive day. Although the Gordons were longtime customers, the other people he’d visited were new. Hurricanes weren’t fun, but they were great business boosters for the construction industry.

  He wove through North Fort Myers, making his way toward Edison Bridge, which would take him south into Fort Myers. He’d started his day meeting a homeowner on Pine Island. Erin wouldn’t have been happy. But he’d stayed well away from Bokeelia, where his grandfather had lived.

  The island itself held four unincorporated towns, with Bokeelia at the far northern tip, Pineland below it, Pine Island Center below that and St. James City at the southernmost tip. If anyone had been watching for him to return to his grandfather’s apartment building, they’d have been disappointed since he hadn’t gone anywhere near there.

  Unless they were keeping an eye on the only bridge on and off the island. But that wasn’t the case, either. At least, not that he could see while driving. He’d looked. He had no intention of being reckless.

  Now that he was off Pine Island, spotting him wasn’t going to be so easy. In a large metropolitan area consisting of three good-size cities, it would be like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack.

  He eased to a stop at a traffic light. Three more estimates in Fort Myers and it would be time to get ready to meet Erin for dinner. He’d lined it up yesterday, after she’d followed him home. All that remained was choosing a restaurant. He was leaning toward his and Pops’s favorite place, which also happened to be dog-friendly.

  He wasn’t sure what an appropriate thank-you for saving his life was, but she’d have turned down anything too extravagant. Of course, she’d turned down dinner at first, too. She was clearly not in the market for a relationship. At least, not with him. Maybe she already had a significant other.

  That was fine by him. It had taken a few times of getting the foundation kicked out from under him, but he’d eventually gotten it—a quiet, stable life alone beat the emotional roller coaster he’d found himself on too many times. His mom, then Erin, then his ex-wife. For some reason the women in his life tended to not stick around.

  Cody clicked on his right signal and turned onto North Tamiami Trail. Getting Erin to finally agree to dinner had required his assurances it wasn’t a date and his insistence that Alcee accompany them. Erin hadn’t had a preference. Once she finished her shift, they’d meet at the pet-friendly Blue Dog Grill and enjoy a late dinner on the patio overlooking the canal.

  Soon, the wide expanse of the Caloosahatchee River lay ahead, sun sparkling off its surface. The road split into two separate bridges, northbound and southbound, a dual concrete-colored ribbon slicing through the view. He began his ascent in the farthest lane to the left. Past the lunchtime busyness and too early for the evening rush hour, traffic was moderate.

  The slope leveled out, and high-rises stabbed the sky in the distance. An abundance of palm trees covered the landscape, creating a floor of green, fronds standing out against the pale facades of the buildings. Fort Myers wasn’t called the City of Palms for nothing.

  When a vehicle roared up beside him, Cody slanted a glance in that direction. A gold-colored older Camry fell back to match his speed. He looked again, and the driver peered at him through amber-tinted sunglasses, blond hair brushing his shoulders.

  Cody’s heart leaped into his throat, and he jammed down hard on the brakes. At the same moment the Camry swerved into him.

  The crash of metal striking metal reverberated around him, and he fought to maintain control. The space between his truck and the concrete guardrail shrank. His front bumper’s left corner impacted with a bone-jarring crash that sent the rear end of the Ram around in an arc.

  He clutched the wheel in a steel grip, hoping all four tires stayed on the road. The world spun past him—water and sky, asphalt and oncoming vehicles, more water and sky, then roadway again, taillights in the distance.

  When he came out of the spin, the concrete guardrail loomed in front of him. A fraction of a second later the truck jerked to a halt, its hood crushed, steam escaping from beneath. Most of his side window was gone, dime-size pieces of it lying in his lap. An intricate road map of cracks spiderwebbed across the height and width of the windshield.

  Cody peeled his shaking hands from the steering wheel one finger at a time. Someone had just tried to kill him. Had the other driver hoped to run him through the guardrail into the Caloosahatchee River some fifty-five feet below? If the barrier had been metal instead of concrete, he’d have succeeded.

  Cody hadn’t seen the man’s eyes, but he’d recognized the hair. The glasses, too. Dark plastic frames with yellow-tinted lenses. They’d looked out of place in the driving prestorm rain. But they hadn’t been there to block out the sun’s glare. Their purpose had been to impede identification.

  Even so, the guy wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He was determined to eliminate his only possible witness.

  A figure stepped into Cody’s peripheral vision, and he turned toward the broken passenger window with a start. The guy was big, close to Cody’s age but with an additional thirty pounds of muscle. In the rearview mirror, two vehicles were stopped behind him and another man approached, a phone pressed to his ear.

  The large guy held up a hand. “Sorry to scare you. Are you okay?”

  “I think so.” He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t had a chance yet to take inventory. His side hurt, but it had been hurting before, along with several other protesting parts of his body.

  The other man joined them. He was older, maybe midfifties, and not nearly as large. “I’ve got 911 on the phone.
Do you need an ambulance?”

  “No, just police. Tell them to look for an older gold Camry with the driver’s side smashed in. Did either of you get a tag number?”

  The larger man shook his head. “All I can say is it looked like a temporary tag. I wasn’t close enough to read it.”

  “Me neither. But the police could still put out a BOLO for the car.”

  The man finished the call and pocketed the phone. Cody released his seat belt. Maybe he should have stood and made sure he could walk before he turned down that ambulance. He pulled the handle and pressed on the door with his shoulder. It didn’t budge.

  The first guy gave it three hard yanks from outside and finally had it open enough for Cody to squeeze through. After walking back and forth in the emergency lane a few times, he was satisfied. Nothing seemed to hurt any worse than it had before.

  He pulled out his phone. Both of the men had agreed to hang around and talk to the police as witnesses. But Cody had another call to make, one he dreaded. Erin would chew him out big-time. But he had to call her. He was supposed to meet her and Alcee for dinner and had no idea how long he’d be tied up.

  Before she’d left his place yesterday, they’d each programmed the other’s number into their phones. She had his so she could keep tabs on him, and he had hers so he could call at the first sign of trouble. He hadn’t planned for trouble to find him this quickly.

  Thirty minutes later the familiar blue Explorer made its way onto the bridge. By then the police had taken statements from the two witnesses and they’d left to go about their day. The wrecker was sitting behind his truck, lights flashing, while the driver worked with the cables.

  Erin stopped some distance back, well out of the way of the tow truck and police officer, who was just now leaving. She jumped from the car and walked toward him, gait fast and stiff. Was it concern he saw? Anger?

  “Are you all right?”