In a dark bedroom, a phone lying atop the nightstand buzzed loudly as it vibrated. It was answered on the third ring. Picked up with a sigh, it illuminated a portion of the bedroom from its screen.
“Who is it?”
“Burkhart.”
“Burkhart?” Who the hell was Burkhart?
“Out of Minnesota.”
It took several more seconds to place the name.
“Right. Right. What is it?”
“I think I found who you’re looking for.”
Beneath a mess of gray hair, two eyes widened. “Say again?”
“I said, I think I found who you’ve been looking for.”
A pause. “Are you sure?”
“Not positive, but I think it’s a match.”
“Where?”
“About an hour south of Minneapolis. In a bus accident. Plunged off a bridge about two hours ago. He was trapped inside.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
The man pushed himself up in bed, thinking before checking his watch. “I’ll be there in three hours. Don’t let anyone at him.”