Page 109 of Asher's Assignment
“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.
