Chapter 89
CINDY SURPRISED ME by getting over to my apartment swiftly. I felt a little self-conscious about the state of the place—a few toys lay haphazardly on our dining room table and the couch; projects were under construction in three different places inside the apartment—but Cindy didn’t seem to notice.
Cindy looked adorable, as always. Even though she wore jeans, they had a sparkly seam on them. Her blond curls were barely contained by a rhinestone headband. Even her sneakers were bright pink.
She breezed into the apartment and my border collie greeted her with gusto. Cindy sat down on the floor so she could focus on rubbing Martha’s back for a minute. I finished the last few things around the apartment and told her I had a call to make.
Cindy said, “Some of your police magic?”
“Let’s hope so.” I sat down at the dining room table and dialed Caltrans.
My friend David Roberts picked up on the first ring. As always, his cheerful voice and Southern accent lifted my spirits. After a moment of conversation, I got down to my question. “David, do you remember the toll records I had you bring up for the guy named Eric Snaff?”
“Of course I remember, honey.”
“How hard would it be to see his activity over the last couple of days?”
David didn’t answer but I could hear the clicks of his keyboard. He mumbled something to himself, then said, “No toll or carpool dings. He didn’t come across the Bay Bridge again to date, or any other toll stations in the Bay Area, it looks like.”
“Hmm.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. I can only see records of where his FasTrak was used.”
“You’re the best regardless, David. Thank you.”
“Good luck, beautiful.”
That didn’t get us very far. Eric could be anywhere. Except he was likely still somewhere in the East Bay. Then an unusual idea floated into my head. What about Jake Hunter, the kid who’d stolen Alain’s phone? He’d promised to help me if I ever needed it.
I gave Cindy a summary of what David had told me and concluded with “But I might have another way to narrow down where he is. Unofficially.”
“I’m amazed at how much you get done ‘unofficially.’ Go ahead, amaze me again.”
I pulled from my wallet the napkin Jake had given me, folded carefully, since I had not yet transferred the information into my cell phone. When I dialed his number, he answered on the first ring.
I said, “Jake, it’s Sergeant Lindsay Boxer. It’s time to pay your debt.”
All Jake said was “What do you need?”