Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [85]
Mitch slammed the pint on the table with more force than he intended. Beer sloshed over the sides. “It was more than the job.”
Mitch wiped up the spill with cocktail napkins and drained a third of the glass.
“You’re in love with her,” said Steve.
What did Mitch know about love? You don’t lie to those you love. You don’t manipulate them, use them, hurt them.
“You’ll get through this, Mitch. Focus on the job. Hell, that’s the only way I can go home to an empty house some nights.”
Steve motioned for another pint. What a pity party, Mitch thought. Steve hadn’t had it easy in the relationship department. He’d married his high school sweetheart, had a kid, then left, ostensibly because of his job. Steve, like Mitch, took risks. To save lives, sometimes you had to risk your own. Now his ex was remarried to a doctor—same long hours, but less risk of being killed. Steve saw his son every other weekend.
“I’ll take you back to Nolan’s. First thing tomorrow we head down to Isleton and canvass for information about Oliver Maddox. He met someone there. That someone may know more about whatever got Maddox killed.”
“Maybe he met his killer down there,” said Mitch.
“I don’t follow.”
“He goes down there, starts questioning the wrong person. That individual follows him, runs him off the road.” Mitch frowned.
“Sounds plausible. You don’t think so?”
“But if he was being chased down River Road he’d have both hands on the wheel. Would he think of swallowing the flash drive? Either he was nervous when he left his house in Davis and swallowed it as protection, or he saw someone he recognized who was a threat, and swallowed it to protect the information.”
“And then was run off the road.”
Mitch shook his head. “There was no damage to his Explorer to suggest that he was run off the road.”
“You just said you thought he was run off the road. And someone can be run off the road without their car being hit.”
“I was thinking out loud. Maybe he was but that doesn’t explain the contusion on the back of Maddox’s head. You know what I think?”
“No.”
Mitch visualized a probable scenario. “I think he stopped his car for some reason on Delta Road after leaving Isleton. Maybe to let a car pass. Maybe to help a stranded driver. Maybe someone set a blockade and he had to stop, or he felt sick or needed to take a leak. Whatever, he stopped. He got out of the car and someone attacked him from behind.”
“Why would he turn his back on someone he didn’t know?”
“He must not have thought the person was a threat.”
“So when did he swallow the flash drive?”
“I don’t know.” Mitch rubbed his face. “But he had to have had a reason, unless swallowing computer chips is the nerd equivalent to frat boys swallowing live goldfish.”
“Okay. It’s plausible. So then you’re thinking the killer somehow got Maddox to stop his car and clocked him. The killer puts him back in the car and pushes it into the river?”
Mitch nodded. “That week in January was wet. The river was running high. It wouldn’t have been too difficult. The Explorer was in neutral, making it easier to push.”
“But wouldn’t it have gotten stuck in mud? Wouldn’t there have been tracks of some sort? We didn’t find anything.”
“Four months ago?” Mitch shook his head. “Not a chance. Between the rain, sleet, heat, and ebb and flow of the river, any sign of major disturbance would be long gone after four months. If we had gotten there a couple days after Maddox went in? Yes, there could have been tire marks and other signs in the mud. But remember, most of the shoulder on River Road is gravel.”
“I say I take you to Nolan’s and we both get a good night’s sleep. It’s nine o’clock and we’ve had two full days. I’ll pick you up at seven, okay?”
Mitch relented, though there was nothing more that he wanted to do except sit here and drink away his guilt. But he had to be sharp in the morning. Having a hang-over wouldn’t help anyone—him, Claire, O’Brien, or Maddox.
He paid for the beers they’d drunk and left. If he hadn’t had two pints, he would have seen the sucker