were parked in the far corner with several step vans next to them. As he followed the small road toward the rear loading dock he saw a blue Suburban backed into a spot.
Stallings pulled the Impala directly in front of the car as Patty jumped out and trotted to the rear of the Suburban. A few seconds later she was back in the car and said, “Wrong tag number. But the registration says the company owns six Suburbans. Only one has a tag that starts with the letter A.” Patty pointed toward the loading dock and said, “Let’s go ask someone.”
Lynn liked being driven. There were a few times, when she was a kid, that her parents used a driver. Back then she’d had no idea there was a security consideration. Her father tried to do business with the same people over and over, but occasionally he had to work with people outside the normal, polite, marijuana industry. She could envision Leon being one of their drivers.
She also felt like she could trust Leon. Maybe more than she could trust anyone else in the world. She certainly couldn’t tell any of her brothers what she had been up to. But Leon asked few questions and obviously kept his mouth shut. As they were coming up to the exit in Daytona she said, “Leon, do you have any idea what you’re helping me with?”
“I’m not an idiot. I know it has something to do with your brother, right?”
Lynn nodded. She was surprised he was so accurate on this first guess. “How’d you know?”
“I saw who you were watching the night I found you in the bar. I heard rumors that someone set your brother up and they listed his cause of death as an accident. I’m sure your father blames himself. He never wanted any of you kids to go into the business or be touched by it in any way.”
“You’re very insightful.”
Leon shrugged and turned his weather-beaten face toward her. “You have to be to survive in this world. If I didn’t know it before, four years in the federal pen in Atlanta and a year in a halfway house taught me how to read people.” He looked back on the road and said very casually, “It wouldn’t hurt if you give me some details. It’s not like I’m going to blab to anyone.”
“Let’s say I’m dealing with it because the cops won’t.”
“The old street justice. I’m very familiar with it. And it’s as good a reason as any to help you.”
Lynn didn’t answer. She was so impressed with his grasp of the situation, she realized how valuable he could be. She also realized he still had contacts in the law enforcement world. He wouldn’t have been able to set up Dale as easily as he did if he wasn’t trusted by someone in law enforcement. That made him a liability. Maybe one she could live with.
But probably not.
FORTY-NINE
Now that they were inside talking to a manager, Patty took the initiative. She didn’t want to risk Stallings getting annoyed or impatient and threatening an employee of a big company like this. But the fleet manager, Larry, was very accommodating. He immediately invited them behind his counter to sit and have a cup of coffee and ask him any questions they wanted. Larry was the kind of guy who looked older than he really was. His thin face and bald head and unfortunate choice of plain white short-sleeved shirt made him appear closer to forty- five, but Patty realized he was only about thirty.
Larry said, “We only have one other blue Suburban and it’s on the road right now.”
Patty said, “Where is it?”
Larry looked down at the clipboard and said, “Volusia County.”
Patty said, “Was anyone driving it Tuesday afternoon?”
Larry flipped through a couple of pages on his clipboard and said, “Yeah, it was gone from eleven until three- thirty. It may have been on the lot before that if the guy who checked it out might have washed it too.”
Stallings said, “Did the same person check it out both days?”
Larry didn’t need to look at his clip board for that. “Yes, sir. A guy named Leon Kines. He does general stuff and maintains the grounds and vehicles.”
The name rang a bell with Patty. She ignored the manager for a moment while she opened the lid to her metal notebook case and shuffled through some of the pages the DEA had provided Stallings. She froze when she saw one profile under the name Leon Kines. She pulled the sheet of paper with the photograph in the corner and silently showed it to Stallings, who displayed no emotion but gave her a slight nod.
She held up the photograph to the manager and said, “Is this the man who checked out the Suburban both days?”
The manager took a closer look, then appeared stunned. He just nodded and mumbled, “Yeah, that’s him.”
Now Stallings stepped in and said, “Where exactly in Volusia County was he going?”
“We have a warehouse in New Smyrna Beach. He said he had to pick up some fencing material stored down there.” Then the man snapped his fingers and added, “He also said he was going to visit a friend in the hospital in Daytona.”
Patty looked at Stallings and knew exactly what he was thinking. Alan Cole, the victim from the hit-and-run, was still in the ICU in Daytona.
They were going to have to move quickly.
Lynn gave Leon a quick wave as he dropped her off at the front of the hospital, then pulled the Suburban to the rear of the parking lot. Lynn knew there were several issues facing her, mainly slipping into the hospital without having to give any identification or being noticed.
She stepped through the front door and saw a bored-looking woman with a Tammy Wynette hairdo looking down at a copy of the
Lynn rushed up to her and said, “I’m sorry, this is embarrassing, but where’s your nearest restroom?” She hopped up and down a little bit to emphasize the urgency of the request.
The woman didn’t hesitate to point down the hallway and say, “Down there and to the left, sweetheart.”
Lynn didn’t wait for her to ask if she’d be back. She just walked quickly and slipped into the restroom. That had been much easier than she’d thought it’d be. She knew from her conversations with the nurse over the phone that the ICU was on the second floor and that Alan Cole was in room 201. She waited a full three minutes before quietly slipping out of the restroom and turning toward the elevators instead of the security checkpoint. The female security guard never even looked in her direction.
She stepped out of the elevator on the second floor and followed the sign to the intensive care unit. The security door was propped open. She slipped past and took a moment to survey the nursing station. She could tell 201 was in the next hallway to her left. This hallway had even numbers on the right side of the wall. There were three nurses and a dark-skinned doctor at the station, but no one noticed as she walked past confidently to the end of the hallway, then turned to her left and her real objective.
She felt the excitement course through her as the room numbers counted down until she could see 201 a few doors ahead. She had to make this fast and neat. Her only real concern was setting off an alarm that might draw the nurses. She’d work that out when she was in the room.
John Stallings had already called ahead to the Daytona Beach Police Department as he and Patty raced south on I-95. He had given a description of the Suburban and Leon Kines to the patrol sergeant on duty and advised him that there was a chance he was going to the hospital to deal with a witness in ICU. He made sure he added that Leon Kines was a convicted doper.
In the seat next to him, Patty was trying to get a photo sent over to the Daytona Beach Police Department to help identify Kines.
Stallings hated these situations, but the one bright spot was that it was Saturday morning and traffic was
