“No. Why?”
Sean smiled. “Nothing. Just another name that came up. Thank you for your time.”
He placed the phone back in the cradle. That was that. He started to go talk to the PISTOL people when another idea came to him. This time he looked up the number for Juno Demolition.
“Juno Demolition, Peg speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hello, Peg. Michael Neese,” he said, combining his middle name with Maggie’s last. “I have a quick question. I saw a truck with Juno Demolition on the doors in Brunswick the other day. Are you the company taking down the old mill buildings?”
“No sir. Are you sure it was our truck?”
“Oh, yes ma’am. I walked right by it. It was sitting at the old North State Textiles buildings.”
“That’s really odd. I can’t imagine why one of our trucks would be there after the deal fell through. When was this?”
Sean felt a rush of excitement. “Oh, it’s been a while since I saw the truck. I jotted the name down at the time. I’ve got this old barn I need taken down. Anyway, I saw the mill buildings being demolished and it reminded me I needed to call. I was wondering if you did such small jobs.”
“Where are you located?”
“Brunswick.”
“I’ll have Harvey give you a call a little later. You can tell him what you want. He may need to come out and look at what you’ve got to give you a firm price. Can I get your number?”
“When do you expect him in?”
“Not sure. He’s out pricing another job. Probably sometime after lunch.”
“I’ll call back then. I’m going to be out and about and I don’t want to miss his call.”
“What was your name again?” Peg asked.
“Michael.”
“Okay, Michael, give us a call back after lunch.”
“Thanks, Peg. I’ll do that.”
He returned the phone to the cradle and stared at it a moment. Sometimes it was better to be lucky than good. He had one more call to make. He looked up Olentangy Development in the case file and then dialed.
“Olentangy Development.”
“Sean McGhee, chief of police, Brunswick, North Carolina, to speak with Reese Davenport. I have one quick question involving a case I spoke to Mr. Davenport about recently,” he said, trying to cut through the delays.
“Yes, sir. Let me see if he’s in,” the woman said.
It took only a moment before Reese picked up. “How can I help you, sheriff?”
“One question. Have you heard of Juno Demolition?”
“Juno… Demolition…” Reese said, clearly thinking. “The name rings a bell. Why?”
“It would be related to the Brunswick project.”
“Hang on a minute, sheriff,” Reese said and then was gone, a soft clunk indicating Reese had put the phone down on his desk.
Sean waited for several minutes before Reese returned.
“I have it right here. Juno Demolition was the low bidder for the demo work if we’d gone ahead with the project. Obviously, we didn’t execute the contract. Is this still about the fire?”
“I can’t say, Mr. Davenport, but you’ve answered my question. Thank you very much.”
“Anytime, sheriff.”
He hung up the phone and smiled. He finally had a suspect with motive, sort of, if he squinted really hard, and didn’t mind making a couple leaps with no evidence to back it up.
He spent the rest of the day working with PISTOL. Today was their last day of training and he wanted to make sure everything had been covered before they left.
After the training team left, he was sitting with his elbows on his desk, yawning and rubbing his eyes. When he didn’t get enough sleep his eyes really tormented him the next day.
He sighed. Beginning next week, he was going to start upfitting their cars with the computers. He would start with his own, to make sure there were no bugs, and then take the cars in one at a time until their fleet was done.
He also still needed to interview the candidates for the open positions. The brouhaha with Hags had put a hold on that, in case Tilley decided to execute the escape clauses in their contract, but that was looking less and less likely.
He checked the cheat-sheet he kept in Excel that told him who was working, and when. Kim was pulling the dreaded eleven to seven shift this week, and she would rotate back to mornings after four days off. He nodded to himself. When she rotated back to days, he’d set her to rescheduling the interviews. He considered having Terri do it, since she was working days, but decided to leave it for Kim. She’d set up the first interviews and had already talked to the applicants.
“I’m gone, Michelle,” Sean said as he walked through the lobby.
“I promise not to call you tonight!” she said while giving him a wave in parting.
He grinned and gave her a salute in return. He was going straight to Fat2Fit for a workout, home to feed Marmalade, and then over to Maggie’s for dinner and a movie. He started his car, wondering what crazy movie she’d picked out to educate him with tonight.
He’d finished his workout, showered, and changed into his street clothes. As he sauntered to his car he was feeling pleasantly tired and relaxed. Then he saw it.
Trundling past in the street was a green, flat-fendered, Jeep. The green, flat-fendered, Jeep. He quickly threw his bag into the back seat, started his car, and backed out of the parking space. He hurried across the parking lot but didn’t turn on his lights or siren. This time he would play it smart, and this chuckle-head was going down.
“Dispatch, McGhee. I need all available units to my location,” he said as he quickly checked traffic and pulled out into the road. “Heading south on Sparrow, approaching Mockingbird. Tell them no lights and no sirens.”
“Roger, chief,” Michelle said as she went to work.
“Turning right on Whippoorwill. I’m running silent on the flat-fender. I want a cordon set up. I’m going to stay on him until we’re ready, and then I’m going to drive him into a trap. Keep the cruisers clear of my immediate vicinity. I don’t want to spook him.”
The driver of the Jeep was apparently out simply tootling around in his toy. Because Sean’s car looked much like any other black Dodge Charger, at least until he turned on his strobes, the driver of the Jeep probably didn’t realize he had a cop on his tail.
Sean kept his distance, trying to keep a car or two between him and his quarry as Michelle directed traffic, rerouting units as Sean kept her informed of the Jeep’s twists and turns.
“McGhee, dispatch. We’re ready to close the noose.”
Sean grinned. “That sounds so dramatic. Okay, I’m going to hit the lights. Everyone stay ready. Here we go.”
He flipped on his lights and siren and matted the throttle, whipping around the car in front of him as it moved right. The brake lights on the Jeep flickered before it lunged away. Sean had a run on the Jeep, his car already gathering speed, and was right on the Jeep’s rear bumper as the flat-fender accelerated.
He glanced down and watched as the speedometer touched seventy, then eighty. Despite his car giving its all, the Jeep pulled strongly away. Someone was going to get hurt or killed if he kept hounding this guy, so he lifted and allowed the Jeep to speed away.
“I’m backing off. He’s still headed west on Garden.”
Sean continued the chase, but didn’t push the other driver as hard.
“He’s made a right on Brecken.”
Sean turned to follow. The Jeep had already opened up a sizeable gap when a BPD patrol car crossed the road in front of him. The Jeep skidded, it’s tires smoking as it slid to a stop. The driver slammed the Jeep in reverse and roared backwards before turning around and attempting to make his escape, but Sean was there, canting his car in the road, blocking his path and preventing him from reaching a side road.
Again the Jeep driver slammed to a stop, then after a moment’s hesitation raised his hands when another cruiser arrived, it’s lights and si
ren hot. Moments later, a third, then fourth cruiser appeared.
“Hands where we can see them! Keep your hands where we can see them!” Brady was yelling, his weapon trained on the driver.
The other officers were arrayed in a semi-circle around the back of the Jeep. No matter where he moved, Sean was going to be in someone’s line of fire, so he ducked to the back of his car and crouched in case the officers had to open up. The officers carefully approached in a crouch, their weapons trained on the man.
“I give up!” the man shouted.
“Remove your helmet!” Ruiz ordered, the officers keeping their distance. The man reached up and slowly pulled the helmet off his head. “Place the helmet on the hood then slowly step out of the vehicle! Turn and place both hands on the hood!”
The man did as he was instructed. Ruiz and Campbell moved in as the other officers took their weapons to high ready, then holstered them as the cuffs were snapped on the driver’s wrists.
Sean hung around for a few minutes as his officers went through the process of patting the man down and checking his Jeep. He was clean of drugs and weapons, and was sitting in the back of Brady’s cruiser, watching them with sad eyes.
The man couldn’t be much over thirty. He had no wants, warrants, or priors, and was by all appearances harmless. He was just a guy who’d built a hot-rod Jeep that he was out farting around in. If he’d stopped when Sean had tried to pull him over the first time, he’d have had nothing more than a verbal warning over the lack of a license plate, but now he was facing some stiff fines, and possible jail time.
What had started out as a game had become very serious. Sean shook his head as he headed back to his car. His officers didn’t need him hovering around, and Maggie was probably wondering where he was already.
Twenty-Seven
“There you are. I was wondering what was holding you up,” Maggie said as she opened the door and stepped back.
Sean stepped in and gave her a kiss. “Busy day. We finally caught the guy in the Jeep. You remember the one? The one we chased?”
“Yeah, I remember,” she said as she led him into the kitchen.
“I saw him as I was coming out of the gym. I followed him around for a while as we got everyone in position. He ran, of course, but this time we were ready for him.” He pursed his lip. “The guy was clean. No priors, no warrants, no nothing. He might get off without jail time, maybe.”
“If he goes to jail, it serves him right. He shouldn’t have run all those times.”
“Yeah, I know. That Jeep was something, though. That looks terrific, what is it?” Sean asked as Maggie pulled a dish out of the refrigerator full of brightly colored pasta.
“A pasta salad recipe I found online. It’s made with bacon, colored rotini, mayo with Ranch dressing, and grape tomatoes.”
“Well, it has bacon in it, so how can it be bad?” he asked as he began to set the table.
“So, who caught the guy? You?”
“Call it a team effort. I chased him into the trap, Brady blocked the road that forced him to stop, I arrived behind him before he could turn around and slip away, and everybody else arrived a few seconds later to convince him it was over. Brady gets the credit for the collar I guess.”
“Why was his Jeep so fast?”
“Because it wasn’t a Jeep, it just looked like one. The guy put a widened Jeep body over a shortened Chevy S10 frame, lowered it, tricked up the suspension, and put a blown Chevy big block in it. No wonder we couldn’t catch the damn thing. It’s a race car. Ruiz said it was probably making eight or nine hundred horsepower to the wheels and it certainly weighs a lot less than our cruisers do.”
“What happens to him now?” she asked as they began to eat.
“Unless he can make bail, he’ll spend the night in county. He’s going to face charges for at least speeding, felony evade, driving an unregistered, uninsured, vehicle, and reckless endangerment. He seemed like a nice enough guy. When he realized he was busted, he did everything we told him to do and didn’t give us any trouble. He was even a little chatty as he was sitting in the cruiser.” He gave his head a quick shake in disbelief, not understanding the man’s motives. “The guy built the thing himself. He was justifiably proud of it and told us a little bit about it while we performed a quick search on it. He works as a fabricator for Lambert Manufacturing in Raleigh. He was just out having a good time, screwed up, and now it’s going to cost him.”
“Serves him right.”
“Yeah. He wasn’t hurting anyone, but you pays your money and you takes your chances. He lost. This is really good,” he said, hefting a fork full of salad.
“Yeah. I think I’ll keep this one. Your job is so much more interesting than mine. Nothing exciting like that ever happens where I work. I just have to deal with shit all day.” She grinned.
“I seem to recall a dead body not long ago.”
She snickered. “Yeah, but that’s still your job, not mine. What about the prowler guy last night?”
“Interesting thing there. The night watchman was pretty sharp. He got a plate, and get this, it matches a truck registered to the company that had the contract for the demolition of the buildings, if another company that was looking at the property had won the deal.”
“You think they did it?”
“No, not really. Why would they?”
“Revenge for not getting the job?”
“Not likely, do you think? They didn’t get the job because the company that was going to hire them didn’t get the job. How would burning down Barns’ buildings make any difference? That’s like smashing up your spouse’s car because you’re mad at your boss.”
“I suppose, but you must have thought something was up to track them down.”
“I made a couple of phone calls. Having a plate made it a lot easier. I called the company to find out if they had any connection to the buildings and found out they’d bid the job. I thought I might be onto something, that Barns had screwed them over, but it turned out he’s never done business with them. It wasn’t like I had to put in a lot of effort.”
“So, you’re going to drop it?”
He grimaced, as if her words stung. “I wouldn’t say ‘drop it.’ That’s so final. How about saying, ‘I’m not going to spend a lot of time trying to prove they did it,’ instead?”
She snickered. “Oh, come on. Why not?”
He smiled. “Maybe on Monday I’ll pay them a visit, just so I can say I followed up. But honestly, I think this one is going down as unsolved.”
She smirked. “That’s too bad. However will you keep up your reputation of being Sherlock Holmes incarnate if you can’t solve every case that comes your way?” she asked, her voice teasing.
“Hey!” he objected. “Even Sherlock Holmes failed now and then.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.” He pulled out his phone and tapped on it a moment. “Here it is. From the book Five Orange Pips.” He began reading.
“I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard from Major Prendergast how you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal.”
“Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards.”
“He said that you could solve anything.”
“He said too much.”
“That you are never beaten.”
“I have been beaten four times—three times by men, and once by a woman.”
He looked up. “See? I have three more to go.”
She grinned at him as she stood, picking up her plate as she did and carrying it to the sink. “Well, okay then. I guess if Sherlock can’t solve every case…”
“Besides, I find expectations are a lot easier to meet if I keep them low.”
She snickered. “You’re not fooling me.”
“Not every case gets solved, you know.”
“I know. But you’ve already told me once you couldn’t solve the case and were marking it inactive, yet here you are, still picking away at it.”
�
��Well, yeah, something new came up.”
“See? Maybe something else will come up later to blow the case wide open.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It could happen.”
He was tired of this conversation. It was Friday night and the last thing he wanted to talk about was work.
“What’s the movie tonight?” he asked, changing the subject.
“No movie.”
He stared at her, his eyes squinted in comically exaggerated suspicion. “No movie? Who are you and what have you done with Maggie?”
“Oh, stop it! I don’t watch a movie every night.”
When he continued to stare at her, tipping his head slightly sideways and cocking one eyebrow, she giggled.
“Not every night.”
“Okay, so what are we doing instead?”
“I’m going to introduce you to another southern tradition.” She opened the refrigerator and sat out two, quarter-slices of watermelon. “Ever eaten watermelon by the slice?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
She pointed at one. “Then come on, it’s time you did.”
Carrying their red and green fruit, she led him to the patio. The sun had set behind her house, casting the patio into shade and making the temperature bearable. Balancing her melon in one hand, she dragged her chair to the patio edge, adjusted the chair slightly so it sat level on the paver stones, and sat down. He dragged another chair up beside hers and joined her.
“Any special technique to this?” he asked.
“Yeah. Try not to dribble on yourself too much and spit the seeds into the yard.”
He chuckled. “Complicated as all that, huh?”
She grinned at him. “Think you can handle that, city boy?” she teased before taking a bite out of the center of her slice.
He hadn’t said anything, but he could take or leave watermelon. He bit into the fruit and was surprised by how much more flavorful this melon was than any he’d had in the past. The melon was sweet, ice cold, and delicious. The sophisticates in Boston would probably be horrified, but even having to spit out the seeds became a bit of a game.
“Why is this melon so much better than the ones I’ve had before?” he asked.
Flashover Page 24
