Chapter Thirty-One

Friday, early afternoon

  

Crome watched from an empty chair in the next cubicle as Wilson ran the plate in the police database. It came back to a stolen car, the same make and model as the Toyota Camry the man had gotten out of at the drug store. And the car was still missing.

It also didn’t help that the picture sent to Crome was from the hotel in Charleston, meaning the man had transported Maureen from Myrtle Beach.

Crome leaned against Pelton’s Mustang outside of the Myrtle Beach Police Headquarters deep in thought. The man must have already reserved the room in Charleston before he abducted Maureen. That required some serious planning as did stealing the car.

The Camry had a Myrtle Beach address. Wilson wanted to check it out next but Crome could tell he didn’t want their help.

Pelton, either not sensing the same thing or not caring, tried to strong arm Wilson into letting them go with him but he didn’t budge. Crome had to step between them and that surprised him. Normally he’d have been the hothead getting in the cop’s face. But Pelton needed to be refereed. He stood nearby, fuming.

Crome respected the kid even more after that.

“You believe that crap?” Pelton asked.

“Yep.”

Pelton leaned against his car next to Crome and sighed.

“Don’t take it personal, Brack,” Crome said. “He’s just doing his job.”

“He’s got the hottest case in town now thanks to us and he cuts us out.”

Crome said, “Didn’t you tell me the last time you two went out on a mission together he lost his job?”

He couldn’t tell for sure, but Crome thought Pelton might have let his chin drop a bit but then recovered.

“You know what we need to ask Wilson, don’t you?” Crome said.

Pelton pushed away from the car. “No.”

“Where was the car stolen from and when?”

“Because,” Pelton said, finishing Crome’s thought for him, “if it’s a business, we can check the security cameras there, too.”

“Yep.”

Reaching into his pocket and retrieving his phone, Pelton said, “Hot damn.”

  

The lot to the large retail store where the Camry was stolen was not too far from the drug store where Maureen was snatched. Wilson said the owner had left the car, and its AC, running with their dog in it and came out to find the Camry and Fido gone.

The dog, a Yorkie, wouldn’t have put up much of a fight as the owner had said it was friendly. Fortunately for everyone involved, animal control picked up the chipped pooch and, after a gladly paid fine, returned him to his owners.

This time, there was no friendly Marge to shortcut the legal system and allow them carte blanche access to the security camera footage. The manager of the retail store, a pleasant man named George, explained that he would honor any court order request.

That didn’t help them. But sharing space next door to the big box store in the shopping center strip mall was a locally-owned Chinese restaurant. The owners also had security cameras including one with an exceptional view of the parking lot.

And they were big fans of the police department. Apparently an off-duty officer stopped vandals from defacing their storefront the previous year and the owners were forever grateful.

They had a teenage son who worked the computer system for Crome, Wilson, and Pelton. The video, grainier than the system Marge worked with, panned a good portion of the lot.

Crome pointed at the screen. “Is that our Camry?”

“By golly you’re right,” Wilson said. To the teenager, he said, “Can you go back to when the car first parks?”

The restaurant owner’s son, David, moved the mouse and made a few clicks. He timed it just right and hit play seconds before the car pulled in and parked.

A woman, David’s mother, brought in a tray of egg rolls for them. Pelton offered to pay but she vehemently refused, saying they were honored to help.

Crome munched on an egg roll covered in hot mustard and watched the driver of the car park, get out, lock the door with a key, and walk into the store. They had told the police they left the car running, so they must have had a second set of keys.

The dog could be seen peeking through the window.

Five minutes passed and then someone else—the man they’d observed kidnapping Maureen—approached the car, looked around, popped the lock, let the dog out, and drove off.

Crome watched the dog, now obviously confused, wander around the lot, narrowly avoiding getting run over more than once. It was a miracle the pooch made it out alive.

Pelton said, “At least the dog survived.”

“No kidding,” Wilson said.

After another five minutes, the dog no longer in the picture, the car owner returned to find his car gone. They watched him look around panic stricken, take out his phone, and make a call.

Crome had a hunch the car owner wasn’t involved and now he was convinced of it. No real dog lover would do what was done to the Yorkie, letting it roam free in a busy parking lot.

Wilson asked, “Did you guys see where the man showed up from?”

They didn’t, and had David rerun the footage several times before giving up. The man had come from the side and they could not determine how he got there or from which car.

Wilson asked David, “Are you friends with any of the other business owners here?”

“We know a few of them,” David said. “You want me to see if they have any cameras set up?”

It was a good thought. Maybe they could trace the man back to his car from another section of the lot. He couldn’t be that far away since he’d have to know the Camry’s engine was running. He’d have to be close enough to hear it.

Two doors down was an electronics store. David, with his glasses and teenage acne, was a regular shopper there. It was this relationship, above all the others, that gave Crome, and by extension Blu, the break they needed. The abductor had parked directly in front of this store. The camera system, given that the store sold electronics, was better than Marge’s. The video was crystal clear, and viewed on the thirty-two-inch flatscreen in the manager’s office, gave them a perfect shot of the license plate.

Wilson said, “Gotcha.”

Crome could taste the blood of his enemy.