Chapter 45
Forty-Five
“ C ome on, you son of a bitch. Work,” Asher grumbled at the laptop screen. When he’d run the partial of Lennox’s plate, he’d gotten entirely too many hits, so he went back to the surveillance image and tried once more to sharpen it. He’d hit on a combo of filters that had enhanced it enough he could read another number, but the last two were still blurry. One was a two or a seven. The last was a three or an E. Or maybe an eight. He knew he could run all the possibilities, but the more digits he had, the fewer the number of results he had to sift through.
He had one more thing to try, then he’d run all the partial combos and see what came up. But hopefully, he wouldn’t have to.
Tongue poking the corner of his mouth, he made a few more adjustments.
“Ha! Yes!”
His cheeks colored. He hadn’t meant to be so loud. His gaze darted up. Several people in the atrium eyed him. He was glad he’d moved downstairs rather than staying in the ICU lounge. “Sorry.” He waved a hand, then turned back to his computer. His tweaks had worked. He had the last two digits. A seven and a three.
With the new information, he restored the window for the license plate search he’d done earlier, and ran the full plate. Right away, a hit came back for a black Chevy Equinox.
“Whoa.” Asher blinked and read the screen again. The car was registered to a woman. Vanessa Burnwell. Not what he was expecting.
“Okay, Miss Vanessa Burnwell. Who are you?” He ran her name using the information from her license plate registration and found a DMV record. She was on the young side. Late twenties. Using her photograph, he ran a search of social media, then minimized the window, letting it run in the background. With her name and birthdate, he ran a background check.
“Well, that’s not surprising.” He sighed as he scrolled through the information that popped up. She had a record for drug abuse.
Scrolling further, he realized she was currently in prison, five months into a three-year term. “So, how did Lennox get your car?” Did she sell it to him before she went in? Or give it to him? That would imply they had a relationship of some sort. He needed to talk to this woman. If they were friends or lovers, she could know where he might go.
He picked up his phone and dialed the number for Stroud that Edie gave him before he left her upstairs with her parents. The line rang five times, then rolled to voicemail. Asher held back a sigh and left a message.
“Hey, it’s Asher Horn. I got the full plate for the vehicle Lennox drove. It’s registered to a woman named Vanessa Burnwell. She’s currently incarcerated in Idaho for drugs. I’m working on locating her social media accounts. Call me when you get this.” He left his new number, then hung up.
The time on the phone registered as he set the device down. No wonder Stroud hadn’t answered. It was nearly three a.m. He should probably get some sleep, but he was still too keyed up. Getting a lead hadn’t helped.
He tapped the keyboard, thinking. He could head back to Heron Ridge and check out the area where his rental’s GPS stopped transmitting. He hadn’t done that yet. Despite his eagerness to do so, he’d decided working on the license plate would be more productive. But now, he had to wait for his program to finish its search. That could be a couple of hours, or it could take multiple days. He was hoping it was only hours. He’d fed it plenty of information.
Asher closed the laptop and got up, tucking it under his arm. Pocketing his phone, he left the atrium and ventured out into the chilly October air.
A shiver went down his spine. He should stop at Esther’s for clothes when he got back to town, before gallivanting all over the area. He’d changed his pants, but a coat would be nice.
He needed a shower too. There was an all-night truck stop not too far away. He’d seen it when he and Edie went out. He could run in there and clean up; get a hoodie and some fancy touristy boxers to tide him over. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing the others.
Mind made up, he headed for Esther’s car and got in.
Forty minutes later, he was clean, he’d had another snack and more coffee, and was on his way to his rental car’s last known location.
The drive from Eugene to the coast ticked by at a snail’s pace. Asher resisted the urge to set his cruise control, knowing the need to watch his speed would help keep him awake. Halfway through, he felt himself nodding off, anyway.
Shifting in his seat, he slapped his cheek and rolled his neck. “C’mon, Ash. You’re almost there,” he muttered to himself. Rolling the windows down, he let the cold air blast him in the face, then reached for the radio.
Rock music. He needed rock music.
Spinning the dial, he finally found what he wanted and cranked the volume up.
It did the trick. By the time he rolled into Heron Ridge, he was chilly and his ears were ringing, but he was wide awake.
“All right, where is this warehouse?” Glancing at the GPS, he turned into the industrial district, then switched the radio off. He hit the button to roll up his windows, his promise to Edie echoing in his mind.
Nothing jumped out at him. Graffiti decorated many of the buildings. Weeds poked through the cracked sidewalks and vacant lots of the places that weren’t in use. In a couple of alleys, he saw homeless encampments. But nowhere did he see his car. He honestly hadn’t expected to; though there was a part of him that had hoped it really would be that easy. More than likely, Lennox tucked it up in that building he’d pulled into, then transferred Asher to another car and left the rental behind. It could be broken down into parts by now, for all Asher knew.
Turning around, he drove back through the maze of warehouses and factories, this time at a slower pace. It all still looked the same. He could come back in the daylight, but he had a sinking suspicion it would take a tip from a member of the public before they found his car.
Leaving the industrial district behind, Asher checked the time. Stroud would be awake soon and would hopefully listen to his message. He debated taking a quick nap, but the fatigue he’d felt on the drive had disappeared.
Instead, he decided to go camp outside Stroud’s house. He didn’t trust the detective to keep him in the loop. And even if he did, Asher didn’t like waiting on other people to do things. Stroud might not check his messages until he got to work. He might have other things to do before he could look into Vanessa. Asher refused to sit around all morning, waiting for Stroud to get back to him.
Pulling into an empty parking lot, he opened his laptop, noting that the search for Vanessa Burnwell’s social media was still running. Hopefully, it would come up with something soon.
With a quick click, he opened a browser window and looked up Stroud’s address. Memorizing it, he put the laptop away and drove out of the parking lot. It wasn’t long before he was pulling up outside Stroud’s house.
The windows of the two-story modern farmhouse were still dark. Asher glanced at the dashboard clock. It was just after six. Hopefully, the man was an early riser.
While he waited, he checked on the social media search, even though he knew it likely hadn’t changed in the last few minutes.
A quick glance at the screen told him he was right. He shut the computer with a harsh sigh, then tossed it onto the passenger seat. Settling in to wait, he unbuckled his seatbelt and got comfortable.
The Strouds lived on a quiet street in a decent neighborhood. All the homes were on the newer side and well-kept, with weed-free grass, tall vinyl fences, and pristine concrete driveways.
Asher wrinkled his nose. He knew a lot of people liked the newer, clean and tidy look, but he much preferred his ramshackle beach house or even Esther’s older two-story. They had character and didn’t feel so cold.
Minutes ticked by. Lights went on in a house a few doors down, but the Strouds’ stayed annoyingly dark.
He shifted in his seat as his mind wandered. An image of Esther’s pale face crept into his mind, past the defenses he’d erected to help him stay focused. Swiftly on its heels was the memory of the bloom of deep red blood that formed on her clothing in Lennox’s kitchen.
Asher’s jaw worked, and he tried to force his mind onto other topics. Like what he was going to say to Stroud when he knocked.
But it didn’t work. Half a minute later, the images were back. This was part of the reason he hadn’t wanted to wait around and why he hadn’t wanted to sleep. He knew the moment things quieted, his mind would spin through the last few days, and particularly the last twelve hours.
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat. “I don’t want to do this right now,” he whispered. But he knew it was now, or later, when he actually wanted to sleep.
So, he stopped fighting it and let the barrage of memories and feelings come.
They started with the pain in his skull when Lennox knocked him out, then the outrage and the tiny bit of fear he felt when he woke up handcuffed in the back of his car. Then the healthier dose of fear that accompanied the anger when he woke again in the basement of that house to find Leah there with him.
His abs clenched as he remembered the pain of being tased.
Fists clenched, he ground his teeth together. He was angrier at his own dumb ass for putting himself in that position than he was at Lennox. He should have searched the basement better, paid more attention. But he’d been so angry that he’d been taken and then so thrown off by Leah’s presence he hadn’t done his due diligence. And it had nearly cost him dearly.
Inhaling a breath through his nose, he opened his eyes and glanced at Strouds’ house. Nothing had changed. He let out a low growl of frustration and sank his head into the headrest again.
This time, his brain went to the shooting. It replayed in his mind like an old VHS tape; playing, then pausing, then swiftly rewinding, only to play again. Over and over, he relived it.
Relived the fear that sucker punched him when Lennox pointed the gun at him. The terror that doused him like the iciest water when he turned around and saw Esther in a pool of blood. Even now, a hollow pit formed in his stomach and a jitteriness worked its way through his muscles.
That was a sight he never wanted to see again. Nor did he ever want to feel her fading beneath his hands or have her life literally seeping between his fingers.
Several tears tracked down his face, and he swiped at them.
He’d had his cry at her bedside earlier. Now was the time to find the man responsible. She was alive, and he couldn’t do anything to help her heal. But he could catch the man who tried to kill her.
He opened his eyes again and looked across the street.
Wake up, dammit!
He glared at the Strouds’ home and willed the lights to come on downstairs.
Annoyed, he plucked his phone from the center console, debating calling Ford. But he didn’t really have a reason to. There was nothing Ford could do. Even if he wasn’t sick and could get on a plane, they were in a holding pattern until they had more information.
Soft light glowed through the sheer curtains on the Strouds’ front windows.
Finally.
Asher grabbed Edie’s laptop and got out of the car. He jogged across the street and knocked on the door, forgoing the bell in case the Strouds had children still asleep.
The porch light came on a moment before the door swung inward to reveal a scowling Detective Stroud, who was still clad in his bathrobe.
“Horn, it’s barely six a.m. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Did you read my text?”
“What? No. I haven’t even had coffee yet. Or a shower. Go away. I’ll call you when I get to the station.”
He started to close the door, but Asher stuck his foot in the doorway. “I got a hit on Lennox’s license plate.”
Stroud’s angry frown turned curious for a moment before he shook his head and glared at Asher. “I’ll be in the office at seven-thirty.”
Asher put a hand on the door this time. “If your wife stepped in front of a bullet for you, wouldn’t you stop at nothing to bring her shooter to justice?”
Stroud narrowed his eyes, staring at him for several seconds. “Dammit. You play dirty.” He stepped back and opened the door. “Keep your voice down. My wife and kids are still sleeping.”
Stepping inside, Asher closed the door softly, then followed Stroud into the kitchen.
“You want coffee?” Stroud glanced at him as he stopped in front of the single-serve machine. “Or have you had enough that it’s replaced the blood in your veins?”
“There’s still a little red left, so hit me.”
Stroud grabbed two mugs and put one under the spout, then added a pod and pressed start. Turning, he crossed his arms and rested against the counter. “What did you find? And how? Our techs weren’t getting anywhere when I left last night.”
“I wasn’t, either, until I played with the image again. I managed to clean it up enough to get the last few digits. The car is registered to a woman from Idaho named Vanessa Burnwell. She’s currently serving three years there on a drug charge.”
Stroud pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do I want to know how you found all of this?”
Asher lifted a shoulder. “Most of it’s public record. Or stuff that can be accessed with a private investigator’s license.”
“You don’t have a private investigator’s license.”
Not contradicting him, Asher just stared. He didn’t, but he didn’t care.
Stroud huffed a short sigh. “So, what’s her relationship to Lennox?”
“I’m not sure.” He set the laptop down and opened it, showing him what he’d found. “I’m also running a facial rec program, trying to find her social media accounts. Maybe they’ll tell us something. If nothing pops up, we’ll have to talk to her.”
“We?”
“You. Me. You and me. I don’t particularly care, so long as it happens today.”
“Look, I get that you’re all gung-ho to take action, but police work is a process.”
“A slow one. And I don’t have to follow your rules.”
His chin coming up, Stroud leveled a stern look on Asher. “So far, I’ve tolerated your antics because they’ve proven useful and mostly harmless. But don’t push me, Horn. I won’t tolerate you running around like we’re in the wild and lawless old west.”
Asher blamed the next words that came out of his mouth on stress and a lack of sleep. Because they certainly weren’t ones that would win him any friends. “Respectfully, Detective, there’s very little you can do to stop me. You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of. With a few strokes of my keyboard, I can send your entire life into disarray. With a few more, I can give myself a new identity. One that would wipe Asher Horn off the planet. So, let’s move past the bloviating and onto what truly matters, yeah?”
Blooms of color popped on Stroud’s cheeks. Asher could see the anger seething just below the surface in his gaze, but he was beyond worrying about what the man thought. His only goal was bringing Lennox down.
“You know, I might be a small-town detective, but I’m far from dumb or unconnected. You’d be surprised at who I know and what I’m capable of.”
“Honestly? I don’t care. I want Lennox. Preferably in a hole in the ground, but I’ll settle for seeing him in a cage.”
The stern look on Stroud’s face didn’t waver. “I didn’t think to check you for weapons. Should I?”
“I haven’t been home yet.”
At Stroud’s rough intake of breath, Asher held up a hand. “But it wouldn’t matter, because I’m not normally armed.” He didn’t bother to tell him that Edie and Audra might be, though. “I’m an analyst, not a field operative. Look, I’m not asking to lead the charge when we find Lennox. I’m just asking for you to feed me information so we can do it faster.”
“Right, but if we don’t do it legally, he’ll walk.”
“So, hire me as a technical consultant. I’ll work dirt cheap on this case, and your department can utilize my proprietary software.”
Stroud crossed his arms, the stern look morphing back to a curious one. “What sort of proprietary software?”
“It’s basically just a bunch of algorithms that let me search legitimate databases faster.” Sensing he had him on the hook, he pushed forward. “So, are you calling the prison, or am I?”