chapter Forty-three
Eric let the car drift farther back. “Why would we be going there?”
“A couple of reasons. He’s either going to hide or get something he doesn’t want us to find. He’s meeting the other guys to tell them about us. Or he’s leading us into a trap.”
“Lovely.”
Eric drove even slower.
“If they’re going to hide incriminating evidence we have to get there first.”
“Impossible. He knows where he’s going. We don’t. And they’ve had almost twenty years to get rid of whatever you’re imagining.”
Casey plugged the address of the boat garage into the GPS. The first route it offered seemed to be the one they were already taking. She asked for an alternate way. The one that came up would be less mileage, but was supposed to take seven minutes longer.
“We don’t have a choice,” she said. “You’ll just have to speed.”
Following Casey’s directions, Eric turned at the next intersection, then flew along the town’s streets, slowing at crosswalks and roads, but ignoring posted speed limits. They managed to get close to the boathouse without crashing or getting a ticket, and parked a couple of blocks away. Casey didn’t see Randy’s car, or anyone at all, except for an older couple walking slowly down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, arm in arm, so she got out of the car and began walking toward the boat garage, angling through people’s yards and hoping they didn’t have those big guns Chief Kay had been talking about.
They snuck up on the boathouse the back way, going as quickly as they could without calling attention to themselves. But when they got there, there was no sign of Randy Pinkerton’s car.
“Did we beat him by that much?” Eric asked. “Doesn’t seem possible.”
“Or we were just wrong about where he was going.”
“Crap.”
They watched the building for a half hour, but there was no activity, so they made their way back to their car.
“Didn’t you say we could have been going to his brother’s house?”
“Yes, the older one. Zeke.”
“Should we check it out?”
“I guess. Not sure what else to do. He’s obviously not going back to work today, where we could find him.”
They drove to Zeke Pinkerton’s house, but there was no sign of Randy or his car. Not knowing what else to do they looked up Randy’s house, but there was no action there, either.
“What about Les Danver’s place?” Eric said.
Casey felt as weary as Eric’s voice sounded. “I’ll look him up.”
But he wasn’t listed anywhere, not even in the database they’d paid to belong to.
“Thornville would know,” she said. “The little prick.”
Eric laughed. “I think it’s time for some food.”
“I don’t want another blueberry muffin.”
They found a quick Italian place between the Gulf and Whitley, and were almost done when Eric’s phone buzzed.
“Britney?” Casey said. “I suppose you managed to exchange phone numbers while you were at it.”
He ignored her and read the text. “You’re going to love this. Hometown Interiors? They’ve been around for ages.”
“You’re wrong. I don’t love that.”
“No, listen. They’ve been around, but they haven’t done anything. Just sat in the corporation listings. The last thing they did? Bought out a small business and took it over seventeen years ago. Since then they’ve done nothing but exist until last week, when they apparently did a few small jobs before the work on your brother’s house.”
Casey let that sink in. “How is he supposed to have found this business if they haven’t been active for that long?”
“Doesn’t matter, because we know he really didn’t. If the police would have dug a little farther they would have seen all this. Instead, they believed the voice on the other end of the phone, as well as the fake emails and phone calls they planted.”
“You can do that?”
“I can’t. Other people can, without breaking a sweat. Or, actually, without even waking up much, knowing those folks. But that’s not the part you’re going to love.”
“So tell me already.”
He smiled. “That little business they bought out? It just so happened to be owned by someone here in Texas, by the name of Cyrus Mann.”