“Will you tell us what’s going on now?” Kim asked again.
The second Officer Leach’s manner was professional and matter-of-fact. “Everything checks out with you two. GHP is aware of you now. We’ve got your rental in the system. We’ll be able to find you, wherever you are. You understand?”
“Mary needs to close up,” Leach continued. “She’s already late for her boy. She’ll feel better if we wait for her. So you two run along now.”
“Sure, no problem,” Gaspar said, hostility apparent. He gestured for Kim to precede him. They exited the diner, made it to the Blazer through the ceaseless rain. Gaspar unlocked the doors and settled behind the wheel and started the ignition. Kim bent inside the vehicle, reached into her bag and pulled out her camera. She ignored the deluge to snap pictures of the GHP cruiser, its plate, and both Officer Leaches. The burly brothers were braced side by side, facing the parking lot, watching through the windows. Mary stood dwarfed between them.
Before Kim entered the Blazer, she opened the hatch and pulled out her laptop case. She stowed it on the front floor, then climbed into the navigator’s seat.
“What the hell do you suppose all of that was about?” Gaspar spoke first, after he flipped on the heat, and pointed the Blazer’s nose toward the exit.
“You’re asking me?” she said, teeth chattering with cold and receding adrenaline. “I’m thinking this entire day is a crazy nightmare caused by too much schnapps.”
“Yeah, well, easy for you to say. You’re not out a hundred bucks.”
“Plus the eight dollars change from my twenty, that’s the best tip Mary’s had this week, I’m sure.”
He scowled at her. At the driveway’s exit, he asked, “Which way, Ace? Margrave or Atlanta?”
“I’m pretty tired of Margrave right at the moment. How about you?”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He turned the Blazer north and headed for the Interstate. Their wet clothes coupled with the Blazer’s blasting heat put fog on every inside window. Gaspar reached over to flip on the defroster. Cold air blew hard across the windshield and Kim started to shiver again.
“You could have asked for your hundred back, you know,” she told him, huddled into her wet jacket as far away from the blasting defroster as she could move.
“Oh, I’ll get my hundred back. Don’t you worry. Cubans are not as harmless as we look.”
“Drugs,” Gaspar said, after they’d put ten minutes of pavement behind them. “Meth, most likely. Black must have been dealing, at least. Maybe cooking, too.”
Kim took her phone out to check she’d terminated the recording application, and remembered her aborted internet search.
Gaspar said, “They’ve had a couple of big drug busts around here. I told you I’d been to Margrave before. I was on two busts that took down some Mexican cartel cocaine. Meth is a big problem in rural areas, too. More likely to be Meth.”
“Makes sense.” Kim pulled out her laptop. She didn’t need a secure connection now. Just normal service would do it. She opened a search engine, typed in “Beverly Roscoe,” and waited.
“Am I boring you?”
“Germans can do two things at once, Agent Gaspar,” she said. He laughed and some of the tension in her shoulders melted. “Drugs; meth; cooking; dealing. See? I was listening.”
“The place was too empty. Roscoe said Black had lived there twenty-five years. Even the most diligent minimalist would accumulate more stuff than that place had in it over that length of time.”
“You’re thinking someone ripped him off? Took everything out of the house before we got there?” The signal was weak and intermittent at first. She lost the connection a couple of times before one caught and held.
Gaspar continued, almost as if he was thinking aloud. “The guy who beat the crap out of that mailbox was having some fit of rage. Could have been a meth head. Hard to work up that level of frenzy otherwise.”
“True.” The search engine returned a surprisingly long list of articles containing Roscoe’s name. Several pages. Each page had to load individually, and the loading was slow.
After a while, Gaspar said, “And Mrs. Black.”
“What about her?” The connection was lost again. Kim tried four times before it reestablished.
“Way too hot for that house. And way, way, way too hot for that dude.”
Kim laughed for the first time since Officer Leach had pointed his shotgun at her. “Leave it to you to notice.”
He looked over, raised his right eyebrow, and adopted a fake Spanish accent. “The phrase ‘Latin Lover’ mean anything to you, Helga? Did I mention that I have four daughters, and a pregnant wife?”
“I got that, Casanova.”
“Damn straight.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re irresistible, even to the murderously hot babes. What else?” The long list of entries for her search terms was organized by the LIFO method: last in, first out. The articles at the top were shorter pieces with very little useful content. She flipped through the pages as quickly as the intermittent connection allowed.
“Besides the obvious, you mean?”
“One man’s obvious is another woman’s obtuse.” She was on page ten of the list. Nothing helpful so far, but she kept reading, hoping for a glimmer of something.
Kim felt the Blazer’s speed slow. Flashing lights proclaimed road construction ahead. Outbound traffic from Atlanta was barely moving. Inbound traffic moved slightly faster.
Then it stopped altogether.
“Okay, including the obvious, then.” Gaspar slid the transmission into park and moved his right leg as if cramping had returned. Again, Kim would have asked about the leg, but she didn’t want to go down another contentious road.
Gaspar said, “Whoever shot Mr. Black knew where to put the bullets. The two shots to the head would have done the job. The other five were pure vengeance.”
She looked up from the screen. “For what?”
He considered the question for a while. Finally he said, “Now that’s the sixty four dollar question, isn’t it?”
“That, and why the Leach brothers ran us out of town.”
“You think the two are related?”
“The Leach brothers?”
He shot her the O
“You think they’re not?”
“I see what you mean about being obtuse,” he said.
Traffic began to move again, but barely. Kim’s internet connection remained strong for five miles. Long enough to download four large articles before she lost the signal again. She scanned the pieces quickly, seeking new facts.
When the construction zone ended, the road widened to four lanes again, and Gaspar punched the Blazer back to eighty miles an hour. The cell signal cut out. Kim barely noticed, so engrossed was she in the
“Are you reading a novel over there or what?”
“Strictly non-fiction,” she said.
“Interesting?”
“Well, I think I know why Mary the waitress freaked out when you gave her that hundred dollar bill.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
They headed for Hartsfield Airport, south of the city. Gaspar chose a Renaissance Hotel and parked the Blazer within easy sprinting distance of a side entrance. He said, “Is this OK? They’ve got a bar and a restaurant, which
