What did it say that my K-9 partner was smarter than me?
Kadunk. Thirty feet into the bay the twirling sprayers dropped down in front of me, spinning like the blades of an airplane propeller. No way could I make it safely past them. I had to turn around or risk a concussion.
Arghhhh!
I emerged, drenched and humiliated, but still undeterred. I untied Brigit, ordered her to stay by my side, and stepped to the corner of the building where I could keep an eye on the entrance yet watch for action at the exit, also. A hundred and twenty feet away, Derek crouched next to the building, his gun held at his shoulder.
As I watched, a freshly cleaned forest green pickup pulled out of the exit, gleaming in the sun, leaving a wet trail as the remaining water dripped from it. The black man at the wheel cast a glance my way as he drove past. He had no idea how close he’d come to Fort Worth’s three most wanted.
Derek stood and gestured frantically. “Get down here, Luz!” he shouted. “The Accord’s coming out!”
I ran as fast as I could to the exit, leaving my own wet trail, Brigit galloping along beside me. I reached the exit to find Derek staring slack-jawed at an empty white Accord that had rolled off the conveyer. The car remained in neutral and the engine was still running, the keys in the ignition.
“What the hell?” Derek growled. “Where are they?”
“Help! Help me!” came a voice from the car’s closed trunk, the desperate cry followed by a bang-bang-bang as the hostage pounded on the inside.
I ordered Brigit to stay where she was. Running around to the driver’s side, I hopped inside and steered the car to a stop where it wouldn’t be hit by the Cadillac now emerging from the bay. I turned off the engine, yanked the keys from the ignition, and leapt from the car, running around to the back and pushing the trunk release button on the key chain.
Pop!
The trunk flew open to reveal a middle-age man as wet and soapy as me.
“Three men came at me in the car wash!” he bellowed, his eyes wide. “They had a rifle and forced me out of my truck!”
Truck?
Holy hell! The guy who’d just driven the pickup past us must have been one of the robbers. The other two had probably hunkered down on the seat and floorboards or laid low in the bed, out of sight. I mentally chastised myself for not having the foresight to check the truck before allowing it to depart the premises.
You screwed up, Megan.
The guys we were after were either incredibly clever or incredibly lucky. I wasn’t sure which. But either way it looked like I wouldn’t be taking them in, after all. Everything in me told me go home, clean up, and meet Seth for that margarita. But, no. My dogged determination refused to let me turn the case over to the evening shift. Besides, I had some leads to follow up on.
We obtained the truck’s license plate from the man and I had dispatch issue an all-points bulletin.
Derek shoved his gun back into its holster. “I’m done running in circles after these assholes. They’ve probably ditched the truck already. I’m going home.” As he opened the door of his patrol car, he cut a glance my way and paused. “Why are you wet and soapy? You didn’t do something dumb like go into the car wash on foot, did ya?” He issued a nasty cackle and had his phone out before it could register with me. Click.
Great. Derek was sure to share the embarrassing photo with everyone on the force. But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how ridiculous and inept I felt.
“I do whatever it takes to get the job done,” I spat back at him. “I’m a dedicated cop.”
He snorted. “You’re an idiot is what you are.”
I looked down at Brigit. Her expression said, Sorry, partner. I’m with Derek on this one.
After Derek left, I turned back to the man who owned the truck. “The men who stole your car robbed a bank and a convenience store earlier today. Started a couple of fires, too.”
His brows shot up. “Really?”
“Mm-hm. Stole three cars, too, including yours.”
“My truck’s got OnStar,” he said. “Should I call them?”
Hell, yeah! “Right away,” I said. “See if they can g-get a location and slow it down.”
He nodded and pulled out his cell.
As he contacted OnStar, I radioed for a crime scene tech to come to the car wash and check the Accord for possible prints. Any on the outside had likely been eliminated by the brushes and bubble-gum spray, but it was possible one of the men had left a print inside.
Brigit and I returned to our cruiser. I moved it from where it blocked the entrance to the car wash and took a parking spot along the side of the building before placing a call to the pregnant woman and her husband. “We found your car,” I told them. “It’s intact. Baby seat’s still in it, too. Believe it or not, the car-jackers even washed it for you.” Of course the inside was a little wet, too, but it would dry out eventually.
“Thank goodness!” the husband said, his wife hoo-hoo-hah-hahing in the background. “I’ll send my in-laws over to pick it up.”
I told them I’d leave the keys with the attendant, whom I’d spotted returning with a bag from the taco place next door. “The crime scene tech will want to check the vehicle for prints before it’s released, but that shouldn’t take long.”
I went to the office, explained the situation to the car wash attendant, and handed him the keys. The stolen Accord dealt with and the truck owner still on his phone with OnStar, I used my radio to check in with the officer handling the accident the robbers had caused on their way to the car wash. “Any injuries?”
“Nothing serious,” he reported. “Only a few cuts and scrapes.”
“Good to hear.”
Again, the bad guys had gotten lucky. If anyone had been killed, they could have found themselves facing charges for criminally negligent homicide.
The loose ends now tied up, I logged onto my laptop to follow up on my theory that Christopher Vogel and Lewis Blakemore might somehow have a connection via trains. I typed in their names and the word train.
Bingo.
A site popped up for the Tarrant County Model Train Association. Vogel was noted on the site for his recent award, while Lewis Blakemore’s name appeared among current board members.
I whipped out my cell phone and dialed Detective Jackson.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello, Meg—”
“I figured out who robbed the bank and stole the bus!” Well, I’d figured out who two of the three men were, anyway. With a little more time and digging, I could probably discern the identity of the third member of their criminal enterprise.
After I’d told her what I’d found out and where I’d found the information, she pulled up the same website on her computer to take a look. “Good work, Megan. I’ll send teams to keep an eye on Vogel and Blakemore’s houses in case they return home.”
The wet man who owned the pickup stepped up to my cruiser and waved a hand.
“Hold on a second,” I told the detective. “The owner of the pickup may have some information from OnStar.”
I unrolled my window.
“The guy at OnStar says my truck is heading south on McCart. It’s just north of Berry Street right now.”
I relayed the info to Detective Jackson.
“Gotta love technology,” she said. “I’ll radio dispatch and get cars there pronto.”
With that, we ended the call.
I started my cruiser. “We’re going after them,” I told the truck’s owner. “Tell OnStar to slow the car. I’ll be back in touch.”
With tires squealing, siren wailing, and lights flashing, I pulled out of the car wash. Chances were another unit would reach the pickup before me, but if nothing else I wanted to witness the guys being cuffed and hauled away. I’d busted my butt on this case all day. I deserved some closure, the satisfaction of seeing my work pay off with a bust. If nothing else, I’d like to blow the men a big old in-your-face raspberry. Pfffft. Maybe I’d perform a little victory dance, too, force them to watch.