wasn’t sure he had the luxury of extending kindness or mercy. He had no doubt McDonough had a list of trackers he could and would call if Morgan didn’t bring her back.
He took the off-ramp, racing to beat the cops to Jade’s. Since no one had been hurt, the Troopers might take a little time getting there. Good news for Morgan. That would keep the crime scene fresh.
There it was, the bar, seedy and run-down, and an older man in a ball cap stood hunched out in front, waving at him from beneath an umbrella.
Morgan pulled up. The man jogged into the lot as Morgan rolled down his window.
“Did you call in a hit-and-run?”
The man nodded. “I’m Andy Nelson. I own the bar. Are you a detective?”
“Yeah. Can you tell me what happened?”
“This woman in a black car ran into Hunter’s truck.” He pointed to the truck, which featured a good-size dent dead-center above the wheel. The tire looked to be losing air. “Happened about fifteen minutes ago.”
“What did she look like?” Morgan asked him, because if she was a blond or a redhead, he was history.
“Well, before I go into that, I gotta tell you something else,” Nelson said conspiratorially, glancing over his shoulder, in the direction of the bar entrance. “I was, you know, walking the perimeter while I was waiting for you, and I found some blood in the alley behind the parts store.”
“I see,” Morgan replied, cool and collected, even though his heartbeat picked up and he was sure his eyes had widened. “And do you believe that is connected with the hit-and-run?
“Maybe,” the man replied. “Listen, I ain’t told anyone in the bar about the blood. I gave Hunter—it’s his truck—a shot of tequila on the house. He’s mad enough to kill somebody. It’s all he got in the divorce settlement. Bitch took his house. Let me show you the blood first. It’s back there.” He surreptitiously jerked his head. It was clear that he was thrilled to be of service; he was splashing around in drama and he liked it that way.
“All right,” Morgan suggested, rolling the window back up and easing away. There was no way he was going to invite Andy Nelson to hop in out of the rain. One glance at the lack of police computer and comm system, and Morgan’s jig would be up.
Morgan drove past the bar and slowed at the alley. A row of large upside-down U-shaped buildings made of corrugated aluminum faced the back entrance of the bar. He slowed, glancing in the rearview window at Nelson, who gave his head a shake and gestured for Morgan to keep going.
The rain pummeled his windshield as he complied, rolling slowly to the other side of the aluminum buildings and stopped the car. They were faced by low brick buildings and beyond them, towering evergreen trees whipping in the storm.
Morgan stashed a few manila envelopes containing some routine NSA business under the spotless passenger seat and glanced around for other evidence of his true identity. Then, as Nelson caught up with him, he grabbed his broad-beam flashlight from his glove compartment, and his umbrella, and got out of his car.
“Can you walk me through the evening?” Morgan asked, pressing the umbrella open.
“Well, this guy came through the bar like he was looking for someone. He left the front door open and it was pissing off my regulars. Bobby’s girlfriend was in the back talking to some lady, and she went out of the bar in a hurry. The lady, I mean. Lee remembers a black car in the alley because the lady asked her if she was blocking her.”
Morgan’s sixth sense tingled again. “Lady?”
“Yeah, I guess she was pretty. I didn’t see her. Bobby and Lee took off for the movies. If you want to interview them later, you can call the bar. I have a business card.” He had been holding it the entire time he’d been talking, waiting to hand it over to the law, prove that he was helpful.
“Thanks,” Morgan said, placing it in his coat pocket.
“I was going out to look at the Dumpster. Bobby came to tell me the trash guys didn’t empty it again. I swear, I’m going to sue the management company, they raise the rent and then what, they stop collecting my trash?” He shook his head importantly, a businessman weighed down by the ineptitude of others.
“I hear you,” Morgan said, clicking his teeth sympathetically.
“And I saw the door to Fred’s Parts Supply was open. So I went in to check. There’s mud tracked in and the back door was open. Fred’s coming by to see if anything was taken.” He shrugged. “I didn’t realize you guys would come this fast, or I would have waited to call until Fred got here.”
“That’s okay, Mr. Nelson. You did the right thing. Do you have Bobby and Lee’s home phone number?”
Nelson shook his head. “They’re in the middle of moving in together. He hasn’t updated his W-2 paperwork. I gotta get on him about that. Lee has a cell but I don’t know it.”
“Okay.” He looked at the open door halfway down the alley. “Did you go through the parts supply store when you walked the perimeter?” Thereby contaminating a possible crime scene?
“Yep. That’s Fred’s store. Let me show you the blood. I almost didn’t see it.”
Pulling a flashlight from his pocket, Nelson led the way down the alley, past the open door. There, beside the jamb, dark spatters rode the accordion folds of aluminum. Morgan was curious why the man thought they were blood; as Nelson shone his common flashlight over them, they washed to dark gray in the yellow light.
Morgan got closer and aimed his stronger light at the spatters. Sure enough, he saw a red tint. In the strange ways of the universe, an overhang had protected the evidence from the rain. Which meant that there may have been a trail the rain had erased. He ran his flashlight over the aluminum folds, then down onto the blacktop, washed clean by the pounding rain.
“Okay, thanks. This is very useful. It would be better if I worked alone here,” Morgan said. “I’ll come down and talk to the hit-and-run victim in a few minutes.”
Nelson nodded knowingly. “Collect the evidence, secure the scene. Sure thing. It was just Hunter’s truck. He wasn’t hit. He’ll sit tight for a few more minutes.” He winked at Morgan. Actually winked. “Especially if I give him a few more shots of tequila.”
“Good plan,” Morgan assured him.
“Glad to help,” Nelson said. Then he jogged up to the open door, and hesitated. “If I go in there, I’ll contaminate the crime scene,” he ventured. Then he winced. “I probably already did, huh.”
“It’s no problem,” Morgan lied. “But it might be better to go around the way we came.”
“Gotcha.” The man smiled. “I watch CSI.”
Morgan smiled back. “So do I.”
“I’ll keep Hunter from getting too drunk to talk.”
“Good.”
Nelson jogged back into the alley. Once Morgan was sure Nelson was gone, he returned to his car. He grabbed a pair of latex gloves out of a kit in the trunk, put them on
