“Well, that’s interesting, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
We stared at each other.
“Is there any downside here?” I asked.
“There’s a longer delay. So if we run out, it could be a couple weeks,” Nate said. I held out my hand again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement across the quad. “And we are adding a third party—” I shushed Nate and pointed. The almonds he was pouring hit the floor. “Hey.”
“Nate,” I whispered. As if we could be heard. I slid down in my seat.
Aryan crossed the courtyard. The shadows surrounding him melted away as he approached the building entrance. The moon was blinding against his hair.
“Oh, shit,” Nate whispered. He slid down too.
At the building entrance, he paused long enough to swipe a keycard, then pulled open the door.
“This is happening. We found him,” I said.
“Duh. What did you think was going to happen?”
I shrugged and watched the windows. I knew there wouldn’t be any movement, but my sudden vigilance needed a focus. “I kinda thought he would never show up again. Or it would be like weeks.”
“Shit. Yeah. He was just here Wednesday. How much product is this asshole blowing through?”
“A fuckload.”
“Okay, so we need to follow him.”
“Yeah, but he will probably be up there for a while. How long until dawn?”
Nate checked the time. “An hour.”
“So we chill.”
Chilling proved to be very difficult. It was very tempting to just call Kallen and Reyes and tell them to arrest this asshole. Or go punch him hard in a soft place. But Laurel had driven her point home about evidence. I didn’t want this guy to get off on a technicality. We’d make sure it got done right. And that meant patience.
With fifteen minutes to go, Nate pulled on a gray hoodie and zipped it up. He climbed into the back of the van and carefully opened the back door. I followed him and helped him lift his bike out. He set the bike down, gave me a thumbs up, and rode toward the line of trees at the edge of the parking lot. I pulled the doors shut as quietly as possible.
Two minutes later, my phone rang. I put in an ear bud and answered.
“Hey, I’m in place,” Nate said.
I scanned the trees that spilled from the lot into the courtyard to make sure he wasn’t visible. “I can’t see you.”
“Good. I’m going to circle the building, see if the light is still on.”
“Cool.”
I could hear faint white noise of the breeze in Nate’s mic as he rode. A few minutes later, he spoke again. “It’s still on.”
I pulled up my weather app. “We have ten minutes until sunrise.”
“I’ll be here. Keep the line open.”
“If you’re going to say shit like ‘keep the line open,’ we’re going to need call names.”
“We do not need call names.”
“You’re a real downer, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know.”
We waited. Nate whistled. The light slowly shifted to the watery blue of dawn. The abundance of light felt overwhelming after straining to see in the dark. I caught movement behind the wavering glass.
“He’s heading out,” I said.
“Is he coming my direction?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Aryan pushed open the door. His purposeful steps echoed across the quad. Or maybe that was the unnecessary combat boots. It was the end of summer. Who was this guy kidding?
“Cash?” Nate whispered.
“He’s going back the way he came. You in position?” I lost sight of our target.
“Mmm-hmm.”
If he was resorting to noises, that meant he was close to Aryan. After a couple minutes, I could hear the air movement again. Aryan was well out of my sightline. I climbed into the back of the van and properly closed the doors. Then I properly closed the passenger door Nate had left partially open on his first sweep of the building. I waited. I really didn’t like waiting.
“He just went into a parking structure. I’m dropping a pin.”
“Cool.” I opened Nate’s text as it came in. They were halfway across campus. I hit navigate and started up the van. “Are there multiple exits? What if he leaves and you can’t see him?”
“No, I used to park here. Both exits put you on the same road.”
“What if someone else is in there and leaves?”
“Stop asking questions and get your ass over here.”
I turned the final corner. A quick glance at my phone showed that I was on top of the pin. “Where are you?”
“Here.” Nate emerged from a walkway and waved.
I crawled in the back and opened the door. He lifted the bike in. I heard an engine and turned. A light gold minivan pulled out of the lot. Not the vehicle I was expecting, but okay. “Time to go.” I left Nate to deal with the bike and climbed back in the driver’s seat. The minivan turned. I glanced back at Nate.
“I’m fine. Drive.”
I pulled onto the road. At the intersection I turned to follow the minivan. Nate dropped into his seat. “Any idea where we are heading?” I asked.
“There are a ton of neighborhoods out here. Hopefully, he’s going home.” He tugged off the sweatshirt and pulled on a baseball cap. “Here.” He handed me the Massey Ferguson cap I’d tucked into our duffel bag.
“Thanks.” I put it on.
We turned on a main road, then got on the freeway. There were some early risers on the freeway, but not enough for any sort of decent cover.
“He’s getting off the freeway,” Nate said.
“I see it.” I took the West Sacramento exit and wondered who chose to live in West Sac when Sac was right across the river. It was like diet soda. It tasted like ass, was worse for your health, and cost just as much.
We merged onto a main road. There were a few cars out. We weren’t the only van, which was a plus. It was clearly the time to make deliveries.
“He’s switching lanes.” Nate pointed.
“I see it.” The van turned into a neighborhood, just like Nate had predicted. Suburban mostly, but older. It was that strange blend of a neighborhood built in the middle of a semi-urban area. The type of place that didn’t quite know how to define itself. We followed Aryan through one turn, but on the second Nate pointed straight.
“Just pull over and I’ll grab my bike again. He’s driving slow.” He climbed into the back.
I didn’t love that plan, but it still had merit. I pulled to the curb. “You have your phone?”
“Yeah.” He jumped down and hauled the bike out.
“Be careful,” I said, but he was already gone. I shut the doors and climbed back behind the wheel. The neighborhood was starting to wake up. I could hear cars starting and see lights flicking on. Nate would have coverage. I put my ear bud back in and called him.
“Hey, I’m still following him, but he’s driving slower than I’m riding, which is an issue.”
“Can you stop and adjust something on your bike?”
“Yeah, I guess I could throw the chain. I’m sending you a pin to track me. Don’t follow me though. We’ve been on the same street for half a mile. I don’t want him to spot you.”
“Okay.” The text popped up at the top of my screen. I punched the pin to see where Nate was. Almost exactly a half a mile away. He was weirdly good at spatial relationships.
“All right. I’ve played with my chain enough. And he just put on his blinker.”
“At least he’s a responsible driver. The blinker usage really makes it easier to track him,” I said.
“Yeah. He probably killed five guys with his lack of foresight, but at least he uses a blinker.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, he just pulled into a driveway. I’m riding past. It looks like he’s heading up the driveway. Yeah, he just went inside. Come get me. But try not to drive down his street.”
&n
bsp; My phone lit up with another pin. I shifted navigation to avoid the road connecting Nate’s two pins. A few minutes later, I pulled up across from Nate. He walked the bike over and took his time lifting it into the van.
“Is he still inside?” I asked when he got in his seat.
“Yeah. I’m guessing he’s home for now. What do you want to do?”
“Well, if he does live there, he’s probably going to bed. If he’s making a delivery or anything, then he will leave soon. I think we should park and watch for a while.”
“Works for me.” Nate ditched his cap and pulled on a new sweatshirt. This one was bright blue. “Take off your hat too.”
I tossed the cap back in the duffel. Nate handed me sunglasses. It was barely sunny enough to warrant them. We pulled back onto the street Nate had just left. “Which house?”
“It’s that seventies style ranch house. The lower half is red brick. The top is eggshell. There.” He pointed. “The minivan is parked out front.”
I parked about five houses down. There was plenty of movement on the street itself, but the house we were watching was still. The windows were covered by standard white blinds. There was a two-car garage, but he had parked in the driveway. Did that mean someone else parked in the garage? Or was something else in there?
A guy emerged from the place two houses down. He grabbed the newspaper off the lawn and went back inside. These people were up way too early for a Sunday. Aside from that, there wasn’t much information to be gleaned here.
We wrote down the address and his license plate. Not that we could do much with that information, but it was better than nothing.
“I’m exhausted,” Nate said.
“Yeah, same. Bedtime?”
“Yes, please. If he’s been up all night, he will want sleep too.”
I started the van back up. “We can come back around noon. Plenty of time to catch him and follow, right?”
“Totally. If you’re really feeling crazy, we could order another one of those trackers. You know, the ones we put on Jerome’s boys.”
“Yeah. I like that.”
“Okay.” Nate got out his phone and typed a bit. “It will be here Tuesday.”
“Cool.”
We escaped the awkwardly suburban neighborhood and got back on the freeway. I got off in Davis and headed toward Nate’s much more imaginative neighborhood. The traffic held steady. I wondered when church started. People still went to church. I was sure of it. At Nate’s place, we decided to keep the bike in the van. It had proved more than useful. He climbed the stairs to his apartment, leaned over the wrought iron railing, and waved before going inside.
I got back on the freeway and headed home. I was way too old for all-nighters. At best, I was about to get four hours of sleep and I was pretty damn happy about it. Nate and I were going to need to work out a better system now that we had figured out where Aryan lived.
Robin’s car was parked out front. She’d be on her way to the hospital soon. I parked the van behind my SUV. I was almost to the porch when I saw the Crown Vic at the curb. The doors flung open. Gibson and Michelson got out. This was bad.
“Can I help you guys?” I asked.
Michelson stopped in front of me. His face was carefully neutral. Gibson was grinning as he stepped into my space.
“Cash Braddock, you’re under arrest.”
Chapter Twenty-five
The good news was they didn’t bring me to County. The bad news was they brought me to the station and stuck me in an interview room. Not one of the nice ones with a couch and an unlocked door. My ass was sore from sitting and doing surveillance all night. My back was sore from lack of movement. My eyes were gritty and itchy. So I put my head on my arms and fell asleep. I woke up to an even more sore back and a grumbling stomach. Without my phone, I had no concept of how much time had passed, but it felt like a while.
I stood and stretched. Stretching was awesome. When I finished that, I knocked on the glass.
“You guys mind calling my lawyer?” Shockingly, there was no response. “Okay, great. That’s very kind of you. I’ll just wait here.” I pointed at the chair I’d just vacated, then gave my reflection a thumbs up.
An indeterminate amount of time later, the door opened. Gibson and Michelson let themselves in.
“Ms. Braddock.” Michelson nodded at me.
“I assume my lawyer is on her way,” I said.
“Oh, do you want a lawyer?” Gibson smirked.
“Yeah, that’s kind of why I told you guys on the drive here that I wanted a lawyer. And also why I told whoever is behind the glass that I wanted a lawyer. And also why I literally just said, ‘I assume my lawyer is on her way.’ All of that was to indicate that I want my lawyer. Was that unclear?”
Gibson achieved a look that was half smirk and half scowl. It was very impressive. Michelson nodded and sat across from me. Gibson hesitated, then sat as well.
“Of course. I’ll make sure we contact your lawyer.” Michelson motioned at the glass. “May we ask you some questions?”
“Not without my lawyer present.”
“Okay.” Michelson stood back up. Gibson reluctantly followed suit. They left.
I was tired. And hungry. I had a slew of other needs, but those two were really duking it out for the top place. I put my head back down and tried to sleep. My stomach grumbled. Eventually, I dozed.
The door opened again. This time it was Joan Kent in a suit and tie.
“Hey, favorite lawyer.” I grinned. “Don’t you love when I call on weekends?”
Kent smiled. “I think these guys only arrest you on weekends to make you sweat. They aren’t very nice.”
“I agree. Any idea what time it is?”
She looked at her watch. It was a hefty leather number and I immediately decided to start wearing watches. “Just after eleven.”
“Damn.”
“You have somewhere to be?”
“I’m supposed to pick Nate up at eleven,” I said.
“Well, that isn’t going to happen.” She set her briefcase on the table and sat across from me.
“Any chance you have food in there?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. I’ll ask an associate to bring you something.” She picked up her phone.
“I’d sell an organ for a cup of coffee.”
“Let’s hold off on that. You may want all your organs.”
“So they are charging me with manslaughter, which is neat,” I said.
“You’re being very calm about it.”
I shrugged. “I haven’t killed anyone so that helps a lot. Plus, I’ve got a super lawyer. But mostly, I’ve only gotten like three hours of sleep. And all three hours were in this very room.” I spread my arms wide. “At this point, if they want to give me a bed, they can charge me with whatever the fuck they want.”
“I thought you hated partying all night.” Kent took a notepad and pen out of her briefcase.
“I really do. Cameras and audio are off in here, right?”
“Yep.”
“Cool. Nate and I are pretty sure we found the guy making pills that are killing people. We spent the wee hours of this morning following him.”
Kent stared at me wide-eyed. She wasn’t taking notes. “Is there any reason you haven’t told the detectives that?”
“Our evidence isn’t remotely solid.”
“Expand, please.”
“Long version? Short version?”
“Cash, tell me what is happening.” Oh, lawyer voice. That was scary.
I launched into the long version. Mateo, Aryan boy, Gibson. I neglected to mention my make out session with Laurel. It wasn’t relevant. Probably.
Kent started taking notes. There was something rhythmic and comforting in the glide of her pen. I was reasonably certain my words started to slur halfway through, but she kept prompting me with little questions until we had the whole story out.
“What are you going to tell them when they ask about your whereabout
s between leaving the detectives last night and arriving home this morning?” she asked.
“I’ll stick to the truth and leave out the good bits.”
“Meaning what?”
“I’ll tell them we had a lead, but we followed the guy and it was nothing,” I said.
Kent nodded. “You realize the longer you wait, the higher the possibility that someone else will die?”
“Yes. But that’s why we gave Kallen and Reyes the description of our guy. Now I’ll give them his address and license plate.”
“Kallen and Reyes aren’t the lead on the case as of this morning,” Kent said.
Blood rushed in my ears. The rapid pounding made it hard to concentrate. “What?”
“I couldn’t gather much information, but I got the impression that the sixth death forced Ionescu to make some changes in the investigation.”
“Sixth death?” My vision got spotty. Everything was loud.
“You knew another young man died this morning, right?”
“What? No. How would I know that?”
“They charged you with his death.”
I couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. I understood the words, but they didn’t make any sense. “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”
“No. You didn’t kill anyone.”
“Yeah. True. That’s good.” I was straining for the surface, but coming up with lungfuls of water.
There was a knock at the door.
“They are waiting to interview you. I need you to get it together for that,” Kent said. I nodded. “Cash.”
“Huh?” I looked at her.
“Can you keep it together for an interview?”
I blinked. “Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
Another knock before the door opened. It was Michelson. “Ms. Kent, Mr. Thompson is here. Can I let him in?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Michelson stepped aside and a young black guy entered. He was dressed much the same as Kent, except his tie was more conservative.
“Cash, this is Rory Thompson. He’s a junior associate at my firm. Rory, Cash Braddock.”
Rory set a large cup and a paper bag on the table before reaching across to shake my hand. “Good to meet you.”
The Price of Cash Page 20