Survival Clause: A Savannah Martin Novel (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 20), стр. 21
“Probably taking her to see the crime scene,” I said. “That had to be why she’s here. The serial killer case.”
Unless she, too, had seen the video of Rafe. And—still believing he was a criminal—had rushed to Columbia to tell Tamara Grimaldi that she was employing an imposter.
That would have been an interesting conversation to sit in on, if so.
But more likely she was here to consult on the serial killer case, and hadn’t known Rafe was here until he walked in.
I wished I could have seen her face when that happened, too.
“What serial killer case?” Charlotte wanted to know. “You didn’t say anything about a serial killer.”
“I didn’t? Must have been an oversight on my part. The body that was dumped yesterday is the last, or the latest, in a series of eighteen victims this guy has claimed.”
“God,” Charlotte said, and shuddered. The little hybrid did, too. Compared to my sturdy Volvo, and Rafe’s even sturdier SUV, I felt like I was riding in a tin can.
She shot me a look. “You said ‘claimed.’ How does he claim them?”
“Oh.” Not sure I wanted to go into the details of that, because it was unpleasant and because Charlotte, like me, was a gently-bred Southern girl, who was supposed to be ladylike and squeamish. “He numbers them.”
“How?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” I admitted. “I haven’t seen the body, or looked it up.” The information was probably online. Unless this was one of those pieces of info the police hoarded, to use against the bad guy when they caught him. Although if that were the case, surely Grimaldi wouldn’t have told me about it. “The word Grimaldi used was ‘carved.’”
“God.” Charlotte turned a shade paler.
“I know. It’s icky.”
She didn’t say anything else, and I added, “They’re signaling. Better slow down.”
We watched the Chevy zip out of sight on the right. The hybrid came to a crawl as we approached the spot where the Chevy had vanished.
And yes, it was as I’d thought. We were near the interstate, and the SUV had taken a turn into the parking lot of the truck stop. As we crept closer, we saw it come to a stop toward the back of the lot, near an overflowing dumpster.
“Go over there,” I told Charlotte, waving my hand in the opposite direction. “Find somewhere to stop where we can still see what they’re doing.”
She rolled off in that direction, obediently. I kept my eyes on the Chevy, and saw both doors open. Rafe and Agent Yung got out, and headed for the dumpster.
And then disappeared behind the dumpster.
My eyes narrowed. Not—I swear—because I thought they were doing anything untoward behind it. If Rafe wanted to make out with Agent Yung he wouldn’t do it behind a smelly dumpster. Nor would he make out with anyone but me.
But I couldn’t see them, and that was annoying.
Still, there wasn’t much question about what they were doing. He was showing her the crime scene, or more accurately, the dump site. The place where the body had been found. Most likely not the place where she’d been murdered. I didn’t they had any idea where that had happened.
A few minutes later, they came out and got back in the car. The Chevy swung around and came back toward us.
“Duck!” I told Charlotte, and tucked up into a ball in my seat. Next to me Charlotte did the same. We watched the Chevy cruise by through strands of hair, kind of like an ostrich believes that if it can’t see anyone, no one can see it, either.
The Chevy hit the road and turned back toward Columbia, and I shook my hair out of my face and nudged Charlotte. “They’re out of sight. Let’s go.”
She took her foot off the brake and rolled toward the exit. But a truck was coming in just as we were going out, and so we had to hang back until it had made its wide turn into the lot. I stared hard at it, wondering whether a truck like this was the last thing Ramona Mitchell had seen before she died, and whether there was a dead woman, or a bound and gagged woman, inside this one. Not that there was any reason to suspect this truck in particular; it was just there at a time when I was thinking about it.
And then it was past us, and the hybrid leapt out of the lot and onto the road, and took up the chase after the Chevy, which was nowhere in sight.
We’d driven maybe a minute when my phone rang. I pulled it out of my purse and looked at it. “It’s Rafe,” I told Charlotte, before I put it to my ear. “Hi.”
“Darlin’.”
It was all he said. The silence stretched out.
“What do you want?” I ventured. He didn’t sound upset, so there was that, at least.
“Don’t you think that oughta be my question?”
I sighed. “Where are you?”
“About twenty feet behind you.”
I glanced in the side mirror. Yes, there he was. Or there the Chevy was, at any rate. I could make out the pale oval of Leslie Yung’s face through the windshield.
“How did you get back there?” He’d been in front of us when we left the lot. Or so I’d assumed. “No, never mind. We were just looking out for you.”
“How d’you figure that?”
“There’s a new video out on social media. Of you and me kissing. Outside the police station earlier.”
That got a chuckle. “No kidding.”
“I’ll send it to you. Some of the comments are saying I shouldn’t be married to you.”
“Whoever says that is wrong,” Rafe said, while in the background I heard Leslie Yung’s voice mumble something. “What’s it gotta do with you and your sidekick following me around?”
“We figured, if someone else was following you around, we’d see them.”
“Ain’t nobody but you two following me around right now,” Rafe said, without pointing out