Nineteen
Burns pulled into a storage property on the outskirts of Granby, eighteen miles down the road from Winter Park. A sign at the front said Gilley’s Auto and Boat Storage . Two police cars were parked just inside the entrance. An officer sat inside one of the SUVs, while another leaned against the other vehicle and talked on his phone. A skinny older man wearing denim overalls and a gray ski cap and smoking a cigarette also stood there with the police officer. Burns immediately noticed the security gate for the property had been knocked off its hinges and lay in a crumpled metal mess on the pavement. The owner of the storage facility had apparently stopped in around midnight, found the wreckage, and called the police. They’d discovered a battered green Subaru Outback with license plates matching their search.
“You think they kept an extra vehicle here?” Davis asked, sitting in the passenger seat.
“I doubt they came here to get their boat tonight.”
“Right.”
Burns eased the Tahoe through the entrance and stopped next to the wrecked Subaru. The front end of the vehicle was completely smashed up. It looked undrivable, which was probably why it had been abandoned at the front of the property. They both got out and circled the damaged Subaru. Burns opened the driver door. There wasn’t much inside the vehicle. A package of wipes in the console, some loose change, couple of pens and hair bands—that was about it. Nothing at all in the back seat. He reached under the steering wheel and pulled the lever for the hatchback. The only thing they found in the back of the vehicle was a blue sports bag with a girl’s T-shirt, shorts, socks, and athletic shoes.
They walked over to the officer standing beside his vehicle, made formalities.
Officer Marshall introduced the old man. “This is Jethro Gilley. He owns the facility.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” Burns asked him, urgency in his tone.
“Not much to it. Stopped in ’bout twenty minutes ago. Found the damn front gate smashed to hell. Called the police. That’s it.”
“You have security cameras?” Davis asked him.
He bunched up his face, shook his head. “Nah, this ain’t the dang Hyatt of storage properties, fellas. We’re low-tech here. But I can keep the rent fair because of it.”
Burns and Davis shared an annoyed glance. Of course!
Burns looked back at Jethro Gilley. “A guy named Cole Shipley rent here?”
Gilley pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, unwrapped it. “Printed this out after I first got here. Wanted to see if I could tell if something had been stolen.” He scanned the list. “Yeah, he’s been renting a slip in the back.”
“Take us to it.”
“All right.”
They followed Gilley through the property toward the back. Boats, RVs, and other vehicles were lined up back-to-back throughout, most protected under metal roofs.
Reaching the end, Gilley pointed toward an empty slip. “Right here.”
If Cole Shipley had kept a vehicle here, it was now gone.
“For how long has he been a renter?” Burns asked Gilley.
“A longtimer. Ten years.”
“So you know him?” Davis said.
“Nah. My boy mostly runs this place. He might. I only come here occasionally.”
“Do you have any record of what he was storing here?” Burns asked.
Gilley shook his head again. “We don’t pay no attention to that.”
Burns blew out forcefully, frustrated. “Let me ask you something, Jethro. Why the hell would Cole Shipley smash through the front gate if he’s a renter? Don’t you give out codes or something?”
“Hell if I know,” Gilley said, spitting on the ground. “Gonna cost me a dang fortune to have that gate replaced. Hope this Shipley guy has good insurance.”
“Don’t count on it,” Davis mentioned.
Burns said, “I need you to get your son over here.”
“Why?” Gilley asked.
“He might remember Shipley and know what was in this parking slip.”
“Doubtful. He ain’t the brightest.”
“Still, call him. We need to talk to him ASAP.”
“I done been trying to call him. He ain’t answering. I talked to his girlfriend, though. She said he went over to Tin Cup earlier to play pool. Probably passed out drunk somewhere already. Boy is almost thirty, and I can’t get him to grow up.”
Burns turned to Officer Marshall. “We need to find him right away.”
“Come with me, Mr. Gilley,” said the officer. “Let’s see what we can figure out.”
Burns walked into the empty slip. There were no lights. When his forensic crew showed up in a few minutes, he would have them examine tire tracks and any other ground markings to see if they could sort out a particular type of vehicle. Had Lisa Shipley been here on her own with only her daughter? Or had they somehow rallied with Cole and all come over here together?
Either way, he didn’t like it. One or all of them now had up to a two-hour head start in an unidentified vehicle. That was a major problem. However, someone still had to drive the vehicle. Hard to drive and hide at the same time. And the police had had every exit from the valley blocked by officers with high-resolution photos of the Shipleys for the past two hours. He could only hope that was enough to keep them confined to the local area.
Burns shined the flashlight on his phone around the parking slip. He noticed a pile of something on the dirt and bent down to take a better look. Then he cursed.
“That hair, boss?” Davis asked, joining him in the slip.
“Yeah. And lots of it. Someone made a quick and dramatic appearance change. We need to get an immediate mock-up done of Cole Shipley without the longer hair and possibly without the beard. Because we’ve likely been looking for the wrong damn guy all night.”