We had exhausted our search of all the white personal vans in Chatham County. None of the owners had police records worth taking a second look at. It was time to move on to the commercial vehicles, but first, we had to make sure none of their plates matched the ones on the personal vans. We didn’t want to work twice as hard for half the effort. After crossing off nine vehicles that were multiuse vans, we ended up with 126 white commercial vans to research, and between the four of us, we decided to utilize the conference room to do it.
I rubbed my forehead before we began. Since it was after six o’clock and Royce would kick us out any second, we could leave the chore for morning and continue then, or we could let the night shift do it.
I pondered that question, then a realization struck me. “This doesn’t work.”
“What do you mean?” Bentley asked.
“The van in the mall footage didn’t have any writing on the sides. How many white commercial vans have any of you seen that didn’t have one ounce of advertising on them? I mean, that’s why they’re white. The vehicle literally gets used like a whiteboard for their business. If the van was a personal one that gets used for work, too, then we’ve already eliminated them.”
“Humph,” Lawrence said. “Then I guess we’re done.”
“And we didn’t find any felons in that list or people who have spent a night in jail. I guess that angle went nowhere.”
“It did, but it wasn’t a waste of time,” Rue said. “Everything we do is a process of elimination, and that gets us one step closer to learning who the perps are and where to find them.”
I grunted. “If you say so. Come on. Let’s update the night shift and get the hell out of here.”
Royce and Bleu leaned against the wall of the conference room and listened in. We didn’t have anything outstanding to report, so there wasn’t an actual briefing between shifts. We told the night shift that the white van theory had been exhausted without any promising evidence to pursue, and it was time to move on.
With that said, Bleu told his detectives to go over Valerie’s case again starting with a review of all the police reports and interview statements. They would visit the bars, speak to everyone again, then reinterview the two girls who were out with Valerie on Friday, the last night she was seen alive. If time permitted, they would watch the bar and store footage along the route to her car. By then, the night shift would be over with, and ours would begin again.
Rue and I clocked out and said good night in the parking lot. I was ready to put my legs up on the recliner, give my right one a much-needed rest, and drink a beer. I would try to follow Rue’s practice of compartmentalizing things. Give everything that needed attention the attention it deserved then move on. I hoped by bedtime and with a couple of beers and a melatonin under my belt, my mind would be free of work thoughts, and I’d be ready for a good night’s sleep. I planned to see if Rue’s practice really worked or if I was too high-strung to actually follow through.
Once I got home and settled in for the night, I looked at the clock as I watched TV. I had two and a half hours before learning whether sleep would come easily and peacefully or not.
Breaking news interrupted the documentary we were watching about endangered species in the Serengeti. At first, I was irritated by the interruption, but I quickly sat up straight with my ears perked. The news report was about a missing state trooper in the Statesboro area. His patrol car’s GPS had pinged deep in the brush on a dead-end road not far from US Highway 80, but he hadn’t responded to numerous attempts to contact him. Since the Statesboro Sheriff’s Office was the closest law enforcement agency to the trooper’s vehicle, deputies were dispatched to the area.
“Oh my word,” Mom said. “That’s just terrible. Somebody probably killed the poor man.”
I wagged my finger at her. “Why would you assume that, Mom? The search hasn’t even begun, so don’t speculate. I’ve done it plenty of times myself and have eaten crow more than I’d like to admit.”
She grinned. “No, not you.”
“Yep, me.”
Marie piped in. “If the trooper’s car was located in a really secluded place instead of on the highway like his job description says, and he’s not responding to anyone, what could it be other than foul play?”
“Maybe it was planned and he wanted to disappear. Maybe he’s sick of his job. Maybe he and his wife aren’t getting along and he bailed on the marriage. Maybe he has a girlfriend that he left the state with. It could be anything.”
“Including foul play,” Mom said. “Aren’t all police cars equipped with trackers?”
“Nah. It depends on the county and their budget for law enforcement equipment, but apparently his had a tracker. Anyway, open your mind to other possibilities. I’m sure to hear more about it tomorrow through the law enforcement channels.” I smiled. “And I’ll keep you two busybodies posted.”