Chapter 26 #3
Beckett didn’t bother to reply as he pulled out an evidence bag—aka the Ziploc bag—from his back pocket.
Using a Q-tip, he began to methodically swab the satin lining.
It was old, having seen many years of wear and tear.
Some parts of the lining were torn like it had been scratched repeatedly.
Beckett decided he’d rather not think about those scratches.
There were no obvious traces of blood, but he still took his time swabbing the inside.
“The driver is getting out! He looks pissed,” Hayes warned, sounding tense.
Beckett cursed under his breath. He shoved the Q-tip back into the plastic bag and headed for the door.
“Lavigne’s out of his car. He’s yelling at the driver to get back in the cab. It’s not looking good. He’s almost to the back,” Hayes said.
Beckett cursed under his breath, and reached for the piece of wood he’d used to prop up the door, having no choice but to lock himself in.
Then, he quickly hid between the piles of coffins to wait it out.
“Lavigne got him back in his cab,” Hayes said reassuringly.
“Yeah—well, new plan. Call Officer Hunky. Tell him he needs to get the driver to open up the back.” He frowned as it dawned on him just what he’d have to do to pull off this next trick.
“What? Why?”
“Cause I locked myself in the back—” he sighed, as he resigned himself to climbing into the coffin he’d just swabbed.
“Thérault—” Beckett heard Hayes exclaim in dismay. Then he heard him get on the phone with Officer Hunky about the change in plan while he was climbing into the damned coffin. It was not a graceful process, but he managed to silently hoist himself inside and close the lid.
“We’re okay,” he muttered to himself in the total darkness of the interior.
He clicked his flashlight back on, only to discover that the panel above him was so close that the light did absolutely nothing to help his nerves.
This was no worse than getting buried alive in those goddamned tunnels of the crypt, and Beckett wasn’t claustrophobic, but goddamn—was the air getting thinner or what?
“Lavigne is on it,” Hayes assured him. “Are you having fun, yet?” he asked, heavy on the sarcasm.
“Satin is slippery—I don’t know how anyone can bear to have satin sheets—your ass would slide right off the bed when you’re fucking,” he whispered and tried to calm his breathing.
The sound of Hayes’ chuckle did more for Beckett’s sanity than any shrink or breathing method ever could.
“They’re coming your way,” Hayes cautioned, just as Beckett heard the latch of the back door open. He clicked his flashlight off in case it could be seen through cracks around the lid of the coffin and froze.
“I’m blind now,” Hayes said, his own voice lowered.
Beckett heard two voices coming from the direction of the open door. The first was low and calm, so that had to be Jeremy’s. The other was very angry, reminding Beckett of a Pitbull barking at the neighbors. All spittle and threat.
Someone climbed inside, and Beckett held his breath. He didn’t know what Jeremy had asked to see, but he hoped like hell the driver wouldn’t offer to show him the interiors of any of the coffins.
“You’ll only have a minute or two to get the hell out,” Hayes said tersely, waiting to get eyes on either of them again.
Beckett heard retreating footsteps and sighed with relief.
The back of the truck shook as someone jumped down, and a few seconds later, Beckett heard the door roll back down.
Beckett breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t hear the lock re-engage.
He waited a second or two before pushing the coffin open, holding onto the wooden lid to prevent it from hitting the metal side of the truck.
Then, he turned and sat up. Except somehow he managed to get some of his hair caught in the hinge, and he barely stifled his yelp of pain.
He turned to glare at the offending hinge when, suddenly, light from the slight opening left under the door reflected off something clinging to the metal latch on the coffin.
It was a strand of hair—long and pale blond—most definitely not his.
He reached for his Ziploc bag and used the plastic to pull it from the latch.
After carefully placing it inside the bag, he worked his way out of the coffin.
Wiggling between the piles of coffins to reach the door, he dropped down and laid on his stomach, glancing right and left to make sure the coast was clear.
He heard Jeremy and the truck driver talking near the front of the truck.
“You better get the hell out of there,” Hayes ordered impatiently. “Jeremy’s handing him some papers right now.”
Beckett slid out quickly, darting into the darkness along the side of the road. Pressed flush against the dew-covered grass, he was forced to wait there until the truck left.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Nancy. I’m out,” he said with a chuckle as he watched the truck take off down the road.
“I’ll worry all I want to when your pretty little head almost ended up in a coffin for real!” Hayes snarled.
“Well, just don’t get me one lined with satin—not worth the price tag.” Beckett finally sat up in the grass, no longer visible to the truck driver.
“That,” a growly voice called out, “was stupid!”
Beckett tipped his head back to look up at Officer Hunky who was shining his flashlight on him.
“But did you have fun?” Beckett asked, and no one would ever believe him, but he heard Hayes and Jeremy sigh at exactly the same fucking time.