Leighton paused, as he became consumed by his own dark memories.
‘Did he die?’
‘No.’ Leighton shook his head. ‘Tony got around the passenger side, and pulled him out that way. He was a good cop. After that, I was a pariah in Highway Patrol. Nobody wanted to work with me, and I couldn’t blame them, either. Anyway, that’s how I got transferred to homicide, but the force occupies a small world, and my reputation reached Homicide before I did. Most of the guys thought I was some kind of white elephant to drag around murder scenes with them.’
‘That must’ve been tough.’
‘Yeah, for me, and them. But, I’m a decent worker, and I slowly got results earned some respect … I think that pissed Gretsch off even more.’
‘Gretsch?’
‘The chief at Oceanside, and my boss for seven long years. He’s a determined career cop, who resented my presence there from the start. That was the reason I got pushed to retire early.’
‘You mean, it wasn’t your choice?’ Vicki asked, her eyes widening.
Leighton shook his head. ‘A few months back, Gretsch invited me into his office. He put his feet up on the desk and his hands behind his head. He smiled, and asked me how things were going. I remember noting it was the first time the man had ever smiled at me.’
‘What did you say to him?’
Leighton shrugged. ‘I said while dealing with murder could never really be described as enjoyable, I liked my job, and felt I had helped solve a number of cases, including the Black Mountain Ranch fiasco that got him the promotion to chief.’
‘Reno?’ Vicki frowned. ‘Not that thing about the meatpacking guy that was all over the news.’
‘Yeah, my noble chief got the credit for that one.’
‘What did he say, in the office, I mean?’
‘He said I had got lucky on that case, that I was over the hill, and my pyro-phobia made me liability.’
‘What an asshole.’
‘I asked what my options were. He told me I could choose to retire, or he could initiate a psych assessment and competency requirement. He already had the papers drawn up for either eventuality. He had them rubber-stamped and ready to go.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I signed the application for early retirement, and I left.’ Leighton sighed.
‘Why didn’t you fight it?’
‘The system’s bigger than one pain in the ass.’
‘But, surely, you could have done something!’
‘Maybe,’ Leighton said softly, but did not sound like he believed it. ‘I guess I just didn’t fancy having some stranger taking a walk through my head.’
The beeping noise from Vicki’s tablet broke the tension with a shrill alert. She swept her finger across the screen, and tapped an icon to life.
Frowning as she read the text, Vicki turned to Leighton. ‘It’s an email from a full-time hacker I know from my student days. I asked her to dig into any data linked to the phrase Route Kings – she’s scraped up the name and address of the person who set up Route Kings site - and it’s local.’
‘Looks like the train trip’s off,’ Leighton said, and got slowly to his feet.
29
At 7:45 a.m. the bright sun was already rising on the car that pulled to a gentle stop outside the two-storey apartment block in a residential area of Midway. The air being drawn through the car’s air conditioner carried the greasy stench of frying meat mixed with cigarette smoke.
‘Okay.’ Leighton turned to Vicki, as he switched off the engine. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Officer Sarah Anderson,’ she said resolutely.
‘Where’s your badge?’
Vicki pulled the jacket of her dark trouser suit open to reveal a metal star in a leather wallet folded over her waistband. She had to wear it that way, because the other side of the badge, pressed against her stomach, revealed a dated photograph of Leighton in his Highway Patrol uniform.
‘Excellent.’ Leighton smiled. ‘Now, remember, this might be nothing, but he could be dangerous. Don’t say anything, unless you have to - impersonating an officer is a criminal offence, but can’t be proved if you don’t actually speak. Just take out the notepad, and write down anything you think important. Okay?’
Vicki smoothed her hair back. For the first time in weeks, absurd as the situation was, she finally felt she was helping to find Laurie.
‘Right, then. Let’s speak to the man,’ Leighton said, and climbed out of the car.
The scuffed door of the apartment was opened by a short scruffy man in his early twenties. His hair was sticking up, and he was wearing three quarter length pants and a faded Pacman t-shirt.
‘Billy West?’ Leighton asked, as he slid one foot into the doorway - ensuring it could not be closed.
‘Yeah,’ the young man yawned. This was something Leighton had come to associate with guilty people - attempting to appear so relaxed they were sleepy.
‘I’m Detective Jones.’ Leighton held up his badge. ‘This is Detective Anderson. May we come in?’
‘What?’
‘We have some questions we’d like to ask you,’ Leighton spoke slowly. ‘To avoid your neighbours hearing, and perhaps drawing a false impression of you, I suggest we speak inside?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ the young man said. He tried, unsuccessfully, to remain sounding casual, as he ran a hand through his tangled hair.
Leighton noticed before he turned to lead them inside their host had glanced momentarily at Leighton’s belt, where his Glock 17 was located. He made a mental note to keep his body out of the other man’s reach.
Billy led his visitors through to a sparse living area consisting of bare orange walls, a black sofa, and a wooden table, on which sat a can of Sprite, a half-empty glass, and a tin ashtray with the remnants of a joint in it. West wandered over to the table, and picked up the glass.
‘So, what’s this about?’ he said, taking a small sip of juice.
‘You design websites?’
‘Yeah, I do a bit. Not a crime, is it?’ He raised his chin, as if to challenge Leighton.
The older man was not intimidated and continued with his questions. ‘What do you know about a website for a company called Route Kings?’
West frowned, and moved his eyes upwards in a deliberate thinking pose. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘That name doesn’t ring any bells.’
‘That’s strange,’ Vicki said. ‘Because the Regional Internet Registry has verified that the named person who originally registered the domain name for Route Kings,’ she checked her black notepad, ‘is one Mitchell Webster, which we have discovered is the alias you have used to purchase thirty domains.’
Leighton stared at West, hoping to hell Vicki knew her stuff.
‘So,’ Leighton said steadily, ‘I’ll ask you again. What you know about the Route Kings website?’
In one frantic gesture, the young man threw the glass and its contents into Leighton’s face, and darted towards the open door. Whilst Leighton clutched his stinging eyes, Vicki grabbed out at West. He responded by thrusting a half made fist into her face, knocking her to the floor. As he broke away from her, he punched Leighton in the kidneys, then vanished out of the room. Leighton staggered against the sofa, gasping for air, then, somehow, righted himself.
‘You okay?’ Leighton blinked at Vicki, while rubbing his eyes.
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, and waved a hand at him, holding her bleeding nose with the other.