“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He pulled into traffic and floored the accelerator. “What matters is I got a hit on that name from Cole.”
“What do you mean, a hit?”
“I tracked the guy down. He’s a slippery son of a bitch, but I finally found him.”
“Who is he, and why does he matter?”
“Name’s Vincent Planter. Works at a pawn shop over on Richmond.”
She braced her hand on the dashboard as he took a sharp right.
“I have good reason to believe he sold Matt Palicek all his hardware recently.”
“Okay.”
“And he might have sold stuff to Matt’s girlfriend, too.”
“So where are we going?”
“To talk to him.”
She looked at her watch.
“Planter’s background raises red flags,” he said. “For one thing, he’s former Army. Fort Hood. Dishonorably discharged five years ago.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know what his file says, but this guy was a unit supply specialist. Rumor is some supplies went missing under his watch.”
She got a sinking feeling in her stomach. “What kind of supplies?”
“You know, MREs, boots.” He cut a glance at her. “Guns, ammo, hand grenades.”
“If that really happened, why isn’t he serving time?”
“They didn’t have enough evidence, from what I hear.” Derek picked up the freeway and quickly merged into the left lane. “I also hear he’s still got connections in uniform, which helps his business. Guy’s popular with the local preppers. People who are busy stocking up for Armageddon.”
Elizabeth looked out her window, absorbing everything. Should she call Gordon or not? She wanted to keep him updated but not if this lead turned out to be nothing. She looked over at Derek. It didn’t feel like nothing. He seemed worried—not exactly his usual state.
They sped down the freeway, weaving in and out of traffic. He was in a hurry, and he hadn’t really explained why.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
“There’s more to this lead. What is it?”
He didn’t say anything, and her anxiety ratcheted up a notch.
“Derek.”
“Let’s just see what we see, okay? You have any luck with the witness this morning?”
Nice change of subject. “We got a drawing,” she told him. “Actually, we got two. Omar and a woman who I now believe is Fatima Rasheed.”
“His sister.”
“That’s right.”
“Good work.”
“In other news, we’re firming up the theory that their brother Ahmed Rasheed actually survived the drone strike.”
He shot her a look.
“I’m predicting fingerprint evidence from the gas can will confirm that he’s the one who hitched a ride on that narco sub and then murdered Matt Palicek,” she said.
“Damn, this news just keeps getting better and better. Next you’re going to tell me bin Laden’s back from the dead.”
Derek cut across three lanes of traffic and exited the freeway. Elizabeth looked out the window as he maneuvered aggressively down Richmond Avenue, flying through intersections and running yellow lights. Finally, the sign came into view, and he turned into a lot.
Ed’s Easy Pawn shared a pitted parking lot with a strip club and a brake shop. Burglar bars covered the store’s windows, and a neon sign proclaimed WE BUY GOLD. Derek swung into a space out of view of the front door.
“Stay in the car,” he said.
“Like hell.”
“You’re obviously a cop. He might not talk in front of you.”
“Then why’d you bring me along?”
He smiled. “You look good in my truck.”
She rolled her eyes and shoved open the door. He’d known full well she wouldn’t stay behind. Whatever plan he had for this was bound to include her.
“I’ll do the talking,” he said, leading her to the door. “You have that picture on you?”
“Of Fatima? Yes, it’s on my phone.”
“We might need it. But keep quiet. Don’t talk unless I give you the cue, all right?”
“Let’s just see what we see.”
He shot her a glare as he pulled open the door.
Elizabeth stepped inside and looked around. The shop was warm and musty. Guitars lined the wall to her right. The middle of the store was devoted to stereo speakers, amps, and other electronic equipment. Straight ahead was a jewelry counter, and to her left was a long glass display case filled with handguns.
Two men stood behind the gun counter, one with a buzz cut and the other with a shaved head and a full beard.
Derek approached them. “Vinnie! Wazzup, man?”
The shaved head snapped up. Derek reached across the counter and grabbed his hand in one of those cool guy handshakes. Vincent looked confused.
“Mendoza says hi.” Derek held his grip. “We need to catch up, bro. Come on out back, take a break.”
“But I—”
“Take a break.”
His look of confusion morphed into a pained grimace. Derek was still gripping his hand. “Sure, fine.” He darted a look at the heavyset woman eyeing them from the jewelry counter.
Derek let go, and Vincent led him through a door into the back. Elizabeth followed. As they made their way down the dingy hallway, she studied the suspect and tried to imagine him in uniform. She couldn’t. Whatever shape this guy had been in by the end of boot camp was long gone.
He pushed through an exit door and into an alley, where he turned to face them. He dug a pack of cigarettes from his cargo pants and glared up at Derek.
“I been talking to your clients, Vinnie.” Derek folded his arms over his chest. “Lot of unhappy customers around town, I gotta tell you. Mendoza says you ripped him off.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I’m a guy with some questions.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck off.”
Derek sighed and gave Vincent a look of disappointment. Then he exploded, jabbing him in the jaw and sweeping his legs out from under him. Elizabeth jumped back as the man landed on the concrete beside her.
“Shit!”
“On your feet,” Derek ordered.
Vincent writhed on the pavement, clutching his mouth.
“On your feet!”
He rolled onto his side, then pushed himself to his feet, scowling. He shot a hostile look in Elizabeth’s direction as he spit blood on the asphalt.
Derek stepped closer, backing him up against a Dumpster. “Matt Palicek. When was the last time you saw him?”
“I don’t know.”
Derek jammed his arm against his windpipe. “Listen up, Vinnie. I’m punching a clock today. Know what that means? Means I don’t have time for some fat fuck like you giving me shit. When did you see him?”
Derek stepped back and waited.
Vincent darted another look at Elizabeth. She took out her phone and scrolled through her photos.
“Last week,” Vincent finally said.
“When last week?”
“Tuesday.”
“He alone?”
“What?”
“He come to see you alone, or did he have someone with him?”
“He had a girl with him.”
Elizabeth eased closer. “Name?” she asked.
“How should I know?”
Derek motioned for her to hand him the phone. He showed Vincent the photo of the composite drawing. “This her?”
He shrugged. “Could be.”
Derek eased closer.
“Yeah, fine. That looks like her. What the hell’s this about, anyway?”
“What did Palicek buy?” Derek asked.
“Guns. What do you think?”
“What kind?”
“A couple nines and a shorty shotgun.”
“What about an AR-15?”
“That was the time before.” He looked at Elizabeth, obviously not liking the fact that she was a cop.
A cop who hadn’t identified herself. A cop who was—for all intents and purposes—assaulting a suspect in an alley. She looked at Derek.
“What else?” Derek’s voice was tight.
“What do you mean?”
“What else did you sell them? C-4? Det cord? Willie Pete?”
“No way.”
Derek slammed him against the Dumpster. “Don’t lie to me, you piece of shit.” He shoved his arm against his throat and pressed until the guy’s face turned red.
“Detonators,” he choked out.
Derek backed off, and Vincent clutched his neck, wheezing.
“He wanted some detonators, okay? I sold him some.”
“Where’d you get them?” Derek demanded.