Chapter 22 #3
Every few minutes someone said the override wasn’t working and they’d had to make entrance by force. The last had been Tancredi.
Cloister glanced at Javi as his partner got into the passenger side of the car. “We’re closer than we were,” he said.
Javi rubbed his temple with one finger as he tracked the progress on his tablet. “Barely,” he said grimly. “Four hours work and we’re barely a third through the list. Never mind the fact we could be wasting our time. The minute the Horvats knew Fowler was in custody they could have moved Eric.”
He flicked to another tab on the tablet, stopped, and corrected himself.
“Miles.”
The tiredness in his voice made Cloister bite his lips on what he’d been about to say. He didn’t have the full story on the Horvats, obviously, but something about it didn’t work for him. It wasn’t the time for complications, though.
“Where next?”
Javi started to answer, and then he got a text notification on his phone. He pulled it out and grimaced.
“The hospital,” he said as he killed the screen. “For me, at least. Joel woke up. Kincaid wants me there. Probably to try and make her not trust me again.”
Cloister finished with Bon’s feet. He balled up the damp cloth in his hands.
“I can come,” he offered.
It mattered that Javi visibly thought about that. There had been a time he’d have dismissed it out of hand. Now he hesitated before grimly shaking his head.
“That will just give him another button to push,” he said. “That’s the last thing we need. No, I can deal with him. And you can get some rest. The sheriff’s department can only afford so much overtime.”
Cloister supposed he could. Despite how it felt sometimes, sleep wasn’t actually rationed. His excessive four hours last night didn’t mean he had to skip the next few. He tossed the dirty rag in the bin on the back of his seat and climbed through to slide into the driver’s seat.
“There’s only two listings left to clear our sector,” he said as he put his seatbelt on. “I’ll clear them after I drop you off at the station, then I’ll think about it.”
Javi snorted as he tilted his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “I won’t hold my breath.”
2034 Hoster had been a restaurant.
From the faded notice posted in the window, the health department had closed it down.
That was impressive considering some of the kitchens that Cloister had seen on the job.
It was still fully furnished, with the shutdown having apparently caught the staff mid-clean-up before they closed.
Half the chairs were stacked up on tables, a mop and bucket—the water long since dried out to a soapy crust—had been left by the door, and someone’s spectacles had been abandoned on the bar.
It had been one of the addresses that Fowler had shown a direct interest in. The note on its entry in his list had just said “SUPPRESSION,” but it was hard to see why. There was no sign he’d been here for a while, and from Bourneville’s disinterest, no sign of Miles either.
“K-9-23, on Hoster,” Cloister said into his radio. “Clear. No sign.”
He reached down to rub Bourneville’s ears as they went outside. She got discouraged when she didn’t find what they were looking for, even if establishing that was still a good job. As he headed toward his car, his radio crackled to life with a grumble from Tancredi.
“News crew from KSWB-TV caught me on Underland. I swear they’re following me.”
Cloister snorted at that and then stopped mid-stride. The abrupt pause caught Bon off guard, and she got a few more steps before the tug on her lead made her realize he wasn’t with her. She turned and cocked her head to the side, whining softly in confusion.
He’s been following me. The accusation had seemed reasonable enough at the time, knowing what they knew about Fowler. Now they knew more. Fowler was paranoid and suspicious, but he was also focused entirely on the actions of his imaginary property cabal. The neighbor hadn’t been part of that.
So maybe she’d just seen him out and about, and “recently” put it slap-bang in the middle of the escalation of Fowler’s paranoia.
Cloister broke into a jog, a confused Bon loping next to him, on the way back to the car. He popped the door and scrambled in, grabbing his tablet from the holder to log in. The list of addresses on the screen blurred as he swiped through until he found the one he needed.
Fowler thought all the houses on the list were already compromised. He’d not have taken Miles there for safekeeping, but he might have gone to…BoxSafe Storage and Lockers. One of State of Mind Security’s non-realtor customers, about a mile down the road from the food lot.
Huh. Maybe he could do dogs and detection after all.
Cloister grabbed his phone and called Javi. The call was immediately transferred to voicemail. Cloister was too impatient to wait through the “leave a message” spiel. He hung up and, one-handed as he scratched under a puzzled Bon’s chin, sent a text instead.
Miles could be at BoxSafe storage off Buckman Valley Road. Before the Retreat.
Going to check it out.