The Last Move
Page 23
Someone who didn’t understand her would call her OCD, but he understood the rigors of travel and the importance of simple routines that created a sense of home and familiarity in what was an endless stream of generic hotel rooms.
He sprayed a quick burst of her perfume on his wrist and held it to his nose. He would carry her scent with him for the rest of the day.
Meeting his reflection in the mirror, he wondered if she’d recognize him when they finally came face-to-face. Would she find him attractive or lacking? He wanted her to like him. Wanted her to need him.
They were meant to be together. They were two very smart people addicted to the chase.
The hunt.
Before he revealed himself, he had to show her he was the alpha partner. He had to show her, no matter how hard she worked, he would win in the end.
CHAPTER TEN
“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly.
—Mary Howitt
San Antonio, Texas
Tuesday, November 28, 1:00 p.m.
Mazur and Dr. Hayden arrived at Lucky’s off exit 140 on I-35. He parked at the far end of the lot and took a moment to study the scene. The station had four pumps and a small convenience store. Midday, there were cars at each of the pumps, and he suspected they did a steady stream of business.
“This is very typical of the other gas stations targeted by the Samaritan,” Kate said.
Mazur nodded toward a small lot across a narrow side street. “Easy to park over there.”
Once out of his car, they walked to the vacant lot. Kate studied the vantage point of the convenience store. “Anyone parked here late at night would have a clear view of the pumps,” she said.
The gravel in the lot was fine and prone to tire impressions. Because the spot was well used, it had multiple tire tracks.
Kate knelt down. “The killer didn’t find this place by happenstance. Send a uniform to the area businesses and see who has cameras. Pull the footage from the last two weeks. See if there was anyone who returned to the spot more than once. My guess is he scoped this place out first and got comfortable with the location as he studied potential complications and victims.”
“Will do.”
Mazur and Kate returned to the Lucky’s lot and pushed through the front door of the convenience store. Bells jingled above his head as he paused and allowed her to pass him. The place was small. A silver Christmas holiday garland draped the wall of cigarettes behind the cash register at the front of the store. Beer and soda coolers were along the wall near a unisex bathroom.
A young, thin Hispanic man turned from the register toward the door. His name badge read Tomas.
Mazur removed his badge from his pocket and identified himself. “I’m trying to retrace the steps of a woman who passed through here on Sunday night. Do you know who was working that night?”
“It was me,” Tomas said. “I own the place. Is this about the woman shot nearby?”
“It is.”
“I’ve seen her before. She stopped here whenever she drove to Laredo. She was always nice.”
“How often did Mrs. Sanchez come into your store?” Kate asked.
“About once a week. Travelers like this place because we offer easy access on and off the interstate.”
“Do you have security footage of her last visit?” Mazur asked.
“Sure. I keep the recordings for a month. Not everyone keeps ’em that long, but I’m a magnet for trouble this close to the interstate. You’re not the first cops who’ve come looking.” He rubbed his nose. “What time are you looking for?”
“About twelve thirty at night on the twenty-sixth,” Mazur said.
Tomas turned to his right and squatted to inspect a computer attached to a small television screen located under the counter. Mazur leaned over and saw that the screen showed four black-and-white angles: two focused on the gas pumps, another on the register, and the last on the lot behind the store. Tomas typed in the time, and the screens blinked back to early Sunday morning.
For several minutes the camera caught no activity, and then at 12:32 a.m. Gloria Sanchez’s four door pulled up to the outside pump. Out of her car, she ran a credit card through the gas pump, lifted the handle, and stuck the nozzle in the tank. Grabbing her purse, she hurried inside.
“I was dozing that night. It had been a long day because the kid opening for me didn’t show,” Tomas said. “You can see I was startled when she comes inside.”
Mazur watched the view of the gas pumps and her car. Seconds pass, and then a man wearing a black hoodie walked up to her car and jabbed something into the rear tire. The man glanced toward the store and slowly walked off screen, careful to keep his face hidden from view.
The next camera caught Gloria moving toward the bathroom, and minutes later, appearing with her makeup refreshed and her hair brushed. She stopped at a rack of candy and chose a packet of chocolate before heading to the coffee station and then the front counter. After speaking with Tomas for a moment, she shoved several bills in the tip jar and left the store. Outside, she replaced the gas nozzle and sat in her car eating chocolate before she drove off down the access road and onto I-35 south.
Mazur kept watching, and fifteen seconds after Gloria drove off, headlights appeared from the parking lot where he and Kate had just stood. A blue van with Texas license plates pulled out. He leaned in but could only make out part of the plate. IVR . . . He knew enhancement of the image by his computer guys was possible. He might get a full license plate.
“Can I get a copy?” Mazur asked.
“That was the killer?” Tomas asked.
Kate ignored the question, her expression again giving no hint of what she was thinking. “I’m going to need copies of all you have.”
Detective Mazur called headquarters as they were pulling out of the gas station and followed up on an early query about blue vans reported stolen. He supplied the partial plate. Five minutes later he received a callback. “We have a hit. The van was found in the parking lot of a strip mall.”
“Excellent.” Kate looked impressed.
He plugged in the location of the mall in the GPS. “Bear with me.”
“Take a left up ahead. I know the mall. I went there as a teenager.”
“Lead the way.” He followed her instructions, even trying a shortcut she suggested that saved them from hitting interstate traffic. Fifteen minutes later they pulled into a lot where a uniformed officer was parked by a blue van.
Mazur retrieved latex gloves from the trunk, where he kept an assortment of supplies that included MREs, basic forensic testing kits, winter boots that he wondered if he’d ever use again, and extra ammunition.
Kate pulled on the gloves that all but swallowed up her hands as he made introductions to the officer who walked them over to the 2010 light-blue Dodge van. “Your timing is perfect,” the officer said. “It was on the list given out at the briefing this morning and reported as stolen. Owners were out of town. Husband is a long-haul trucker, and he took the family with him on the last run. When they arrived home early this morning, they realized the van was gone. Car’s registered to Bob and Lynda Thompson of Bexar County.”
“Do you have their home address?” Kate asked.
The officer rattled it off, and Mazur scribbled it down on a small notebook he carried. “I actually know that area.”
Mazur looked in the driver’s side window and saw the keys lying on the front seat. He tried the door handle. It was locked. “Locked the keys in the car.”
He sprayed a quick burst of her perfume on his wrist and held it to his nose. He would carry her scent with him for the rest of the day.
Meeting his reflection in the mirror, he wondered if she’d recognize him when they finally came face-to-face. Would she find him attractive or lacking? He wanted her to like him. Wanted her to need him.
They were meant to be together. They were two very smart people addicted to the chase.
The hunt.
Before he revealed himself, he had to show her he was the alpha partner. He had to show her, no matter how hard she worked, he would win in the end.
CHAPTER TEN
“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly.
—Mary Howitt
San Antonio, Texas
Tuesday, November 28, 1:00 p.m.
Mazur and Dr. Hayden arrived at Lucky’s off exit 140 on I-35. He parked at the far end of the lot and took a moment to study the scene. The station had four pumps and a small convenience store. Midday, there were cars at each of the pumps, and he suspected they did a steady stream of business.
“This is very typical of the other gas stations targeted by the Samaritan,” Kate said.
Mazur nodded toward a small lot across a narrow side street. “Easy to park over there.”
Once out of his car, they walked to the vacant lot. Kate studied the vantage point of the convenience store. “Anyone parked here late at night would have a clear view of the pumps,” she said.
The gravel in the lot was fine and prone to tire impressions. Because the spot was well used, it had multiple tire tracks.
Kate knelt down. “The killer didn’t find this place by happenstance. Send a uniform to the area businesses and see who has cameras. Pull the footage from the last two weeks. See if there was anyone who returned to the spot more than once. My guess is he scoped this place out first and got comfortable with the location as he studied potential complications and victims.”
“Will do.”
Mazur and Kate returned to the Lucky’s lot and pushed through the front door of the convenience store. Bells jingled above his head as he paused and allowed her to pass him. The place was small. A silver Christmas holiday garland draped the wall of cigarettes behind the cash register at the front of the store. Beer and soda coolers were along the wall near a unisex bathroom.
A young, thin Hispanic man turned from the register toward the door. His name badge read Tomas.
Mazur removed his badge from his pocket and identified himself. “I’m trying to retrace the steps of a woman who passed through here on Sunday night. Do you know who was working that night?”
“It was me,” Tomas said. “I own the place. Is this about the woman shot nearby?”
“It is.”
“I’ve seen her before. She stopped here whenever she drove to Laredo. She was always nice.”
“How often did Mrs. Sanchez come into your store?” Kate asked.
“About once a week. Travelers like this place because we offer easy access on and off the interstate.”
“Do you have security footage of her last visit?” Mazur asked.
“Sure. I keep the recordings for a month. Not everyone keeps ’em that long, but I’m a magnet for trouble this close to the interstate. You’re not the first cops who’ve come looking.” He rubbed his nose. “What time are you looking for?”
“About twelve thirty at night on the twenty-sixth,” Mazur said.
Tomas turned to his right and squatted to inspect a computer attached to a small television screen located under the counter. Mazur leaned over and saw that the screen showed four black-and-white angles: two focused on the gas pumps, another on the register, and the last on the lot behind the store. Tomas typed in the time, and the screens blinked back to early Sunday morning.
For several minutes the camera caught no activity, and then at 12:32 a.m. Gloria Sanchez’s four door pulled up to the outside pump. Out of her car, she ran a credit card through the gas pump, lifted the handle, and stuck the nozzle in the tank. Grabbing her purse, she hurried inside.
“I was dozing that night. It had been a long day because the kid opening for me didn’t show,” Tomas said. “You can see I was startled when she comes inside.”
Mazur watched the view of the gas pumps and her car. Seconds pass, and then a man wearing a black hoodie walked up to her car and jabbed something into the rear tire. The man glanced toward the store and slowly walked off screen, careful to keep his face hidden from view.
The next camera caught Gloria moving toward the bathroom, and minutes later, appearing with her makeup refreshed and her hair brushed. She stopped at a rack of candy and chose a packet of chocolate before heading to the coffee station and then the front counter. After speaking with Tomas for a moment, she shoved several bills in the tip jar and left the store. Outside, she replaced the gas nozzle and sat in her car eating chocolate before she drove off down the access road and onto I-35 south.
Mazur kept watching, and fifteen seconds after Gloria drove off, headlights appeared from the parking lot where he and Kate had just stood. A blue van with Texas license plates pulled out. He leaned in but could only make out part of the plate. IVR . . . He knew enhancement of the image by his computer guys was possible. He might get a full license plate.
“Can I get a copy?” Mazur asked.
“That was the killer?” Tomas asked.
Kate ignored the question, her expression again giving no hint of what she was thinking. “I’m going to need copies of all you have.”
Detective Mazur called headquarters as they were pulling out of the gas station and followed up on an early query about blue vans reported stolen. He supplied the partial plate. Five minutes later he received a callback. “We have a hit. The van was found in the parking lot of a strip mall.”
“Excellent.” Kate looked impressed.
He plugged in the location of the mall in the GPS. “Bear with me.”
“Take a left up ahead. I know the mall. I went there as a teenager.”
“Lead the way.” He followed her instructions, even trying a shortcut she suggested that saved them from hitting interstate traffic. Fifteen minutes later they pulled into a lot where a uniformed officer was parked by a blue van.
Mazur retrieved latex gloves from the trunk, where he kept an assortment of supplies that included MREs, basic forensic testing kits, winter boots that he wondered if he’d ever use again, and extra ammunition.
Kate pulled on the gloves that all but swallowed up her hands as he made introductions to the officer who walked them over to the 2010 light-blue Dodge van. “Your timing is perfect,” the officer said. “It was on the list given out at the briefing this morning and reported as stolen. Owners were out of town. Husband is a long-haul trucker, and he took the family with him on the last run. When they arrived home early this morning, they realized the van was gone. Car’s registered to Bob and Lynda Thompson of Bexar County.”
“Do you have their home address?” Kate asked.
The officer rattled it off, and Mazur scribbled it down on a small notebook he carried. “I actually know that area.”
Mazur looked in the driver’s side window and saw the keys lying on the front seat. He tried the door handle. It was locked. “Locked the keys in the car.”
