Sharp shook hands with the man and moved to his car. Once inside, he reached for a cigarette. He fumbled with the rumpled package, cursing when he realized it was empty. Crushing it, he tossed the packet onto the passenger seat and started the engine. He promised to give the damn habit up before it killed him. Soon.
He drove across the small town to the Quick Mart on Route 1. The store appeared to have been a part of a larger chain store at one point and then converted into a local business. A couple of cars filled the small parking lot.
Inside, Sharp moved to the register and showed his badge to a tall gawky kid. “I need to see the manager.”
“Yeah, sure.” The kid rushed around the counter toward the back of the store. Seconds later a heavyset man in his late forties ambled out. He wore a short-sleeved shirt emphasizing arms covered in tattoos.
As the kid returned to the register, Sharp again showed his badge. “I’m Agent Sharp with the Virginia State Police. I’m investigating a murder, and I was hoping you have surveillance footage from Sunday night at about eleven.”
The manager gave Sharp a long, pondering look as he slowly shook his head. “Tell me it ain’t Miss Edith’s grandson. She’s been looking for Terrance since Sunday.”
“We found him. He’s dead.”
The manager jabbed thick fingers through thinning hair. “Shit.”
“The surveillance tape?”
“Yeah, sure. We keep the recordings backed up to a hard drive for thirty days. Come on back in the office.”
The office was piled high with boxed inventory. In the corner was a small desk covered with papers huddled around a computer screen. The manager sat and typed a few keys. Black-and-white images appeared on the screen. The time stamp was 9:00 p.m. He tapped the screen as Terrance entered from the right of the computer screen. “That’s Terrance. And I’m working the register.”
The two watched as the boy, who was wearing the same jeans, white T-shirt, and school jacket as when Sharp saw his body, made his way into the store, chose two items near the counter, and paid for them with coins and rumpled bills.
After sharing a laugh with the clerk, Terrance left and crossed the lot as a white sedan drove up. Terrance leaned toward the passenger-side window and spoke to the driver. At first his face was blank, almost stoic, but soon he was laughing. The driver got out and hugged Terrance, who nervously glanced around. Sharp thought about the boy’s father, Jimmy, fresh out of prison and lurking around town.
As the car pulled away, the camera caught a partial shot of the license plate. “Can you freeze that and enlarge it?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Sharp removed a small notebook and recorded the four visible plate numbers. “Thanks. Can I get a copy?”
“I can e-mail the video.”
Sharp gave him his card. “Thanks. That would be a help.”
After the manager copied and sent the footage, he turned back toward Sharp. “Still can’t believe the kid is dead.”
Death of a youth always struck the core. “Know anyone who didn’t like Terrance?”
“No. He was in here a lot, like most of the locals. Nice kid. Never made a fuss.”
“Seen the boy’s father around?”
The manager looked surprised. “I didn’t know he had a father. Lived with his grandmother. Mother’s dead. He’s got a lot of cousins in town. It’s a big family.”
“Right. Thanks. If you think of anything, call.”
The manager blinked nervously. “Sure. Will do.”
On his way out, Sharp bought a packet of cigarettes and got in his car. As he opened the packet, he dug out his phone, found the number of his DMV contact, and dialed. She picked up on the second ring.
“Samantha Davis,” she said.
“Samantha, this is Agent Sharp, VSP. How’s my favorite lady?” He leaned back in his seat.
Soft laughter trailed through the phone. “I’m doing just fine. Been a long time since you called. I miss you.”
“Sorry about that.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. They’d gone out a couple of times before he’d met Tessa. “It’s been crazy.”
“Who are you kidding? It’s always crazy for you. You live to work, Agent Sharp. One day they’ll find you hunched over your desk, a withered old man with a case file in your cold dead hands.”
The lighthearted comment hit a nerve. “Let’s hope the case is solved. I’d hate to leave this world hanging.”
He could imagine her curling her dark hair around her index finger like he’d seen her do before. “Anybody tell you that you’re a workaholic?” she said.
He traced a scratch in his steering wheel with his index finger. “Once or twice.”
“So why’re you calling? It’s been two years, so this can’t be a date.”
He leaned back. “I need a partial plate run.”
“You didn’t call to see how your favorite lady was doing?” Her tone echoed a mock pout.
“I could have called someone else, but I called you.”
“Because no one works the magic like I do.” She sighed as paper rustled in the background. “Let me have it.”
He read off the partial plate as well as the car’s make and model.
“What am I looking for?”
“I need the name of the car’s owner. He’s wanted for questioning in a homicide investigation.”
The tap of computer keys clicked in the background. “I have a car that matches your description and the partial plate. That car was stolen,” she said. “Six months ago.”
That wasn’t a surprise. He scribbled down the owner’s name and the entire license plate. “Thanks. I owe you.”
She laughed. “Yes, you do.”
After he hung up, he put out a BOLO on the stolen car and the boy’s father.
He checked his watch, knowing he had until three to catch Terrance’s friends in school before sports practice began. He put a call into the parole board and got hold of Jimmy Dillon’s parole officer.
“This is Jeff Taggart,” a gruff voice barked over the line.
“Agent Sharp, Virginia State Police. What can you tell me about Jimmy Dillon?”
“What’s he done?”
“He’s broken no laws that I know of yet. But his son was murdered sometime over the weekend.”
A heavy sigh huffed over the line. “Jimmy Dillon is a career criminal, and it’s a matter of time before he finds trouble.”
“Has he kept his meetings with you?”
Keys tapped in the background. “Yes. He’s made the first three. The fourth was supposed to be yesterday, but he missed it.”
“Does he have a job?”
“He said he interviewed for a janitorial job, but he hasn’t told me if it worked out.”
“Do you know where he was trying to get this job?”
“Dobbins Maintenance.”
The same place where Terrance worked.
The parole officer rattled off the information as Sharp noted the name and address of the local maintenance company.
“Have you tried to track Jimmy down?” Sharp asked.
“I’ve made a few calls. I’ll issue a warrant for his arrest now.”
“Did he give you a phone number or address?”
“Gave his mother’s home address and phone.”
“She’s not seen him since his release.”
“Great.” A pause. “If I get any fresh tips or he’s picked up, I’ll call you.”