just a bench by the side of the road, looking out over the ocean. Empty fields were on both sides. No one else was there. Jeff stood there a few minutes, then waved his friend away.
As the captain was driving off down the road, he passed an old white pickup truck, going the other way, driven by someone in shades and a hoodie. In his mirror, he saw the truck stop, pick up Jeff, and speed off.
The captain pulled off, and called in the plates. Jeff had insisted he not be followed, but the captain’s gut was telling him something, now. He turned around, and started following, but not too fast. The truck had already disappeared, but there were only a few roads out this way, and he wasn’t worried about it getting away.
The call came back on the plates. The truck was registered to one Frederick Page. Still going down the road, the captain got the number, and called the man.
The man did have a truck like that, but he had sold it, a couple of months back. When he described the fellow who bought it and promised to return the plates when he got around to switching the registration, the captain’s foot went to the floor. The man who had bought the truck was Gilbert Stevens. If Rachel Cortez was driving a truck bought by Gilbert Stevens, she had to be the killer.
If she was, then Jeff and the captain had both just made the worst mistake of their lives.
When he could not locate the truck in the next few minutes, the captain called in the cavalry, who cordoned off the entire area.
It took more than an hour to locate the truck. They found it parked behind an elementary school in Sausalito, in an empty parking lot. The lot was paved, so there were no tire tracks leading away, if they had switched cars.
Maybe they were still inside the cordoned area, and maybe not.
The Jumper Page 6
