The person behind the wheel was a man, and he was wearing a baseball cap. The grain in the feed made it impossible to make out distinct features.
Had Claire known she was being watched and picked up a ride farther down the street? Maybe hoping she could lose him?
Trent put his hand over the phone on his desk. He should call Amanda, but to tell her what exactly? He didn’t know for sure that the man in the Toyota was Claire’s killer. All Trent had was a budding suspicion and a dose of paranoia. Besides, he had sent Amanda home to be with Zoe, and whatever this was could hold until tomorrow morning. He’d mention the car then, and the taxis, and they’d go from there in tracing Claire’s last movements.
Though he could get one step ahead and reach out to Benji’s Taxi.
The woman who answered the phone sounded older and was polite. “Where would you like to be picked up?”
It must have been the pressure of the day, but Trent found the innocent question amusing, and wondered how many times people gave the woman grief about it every shift. Especially drunks in need of a ride home from the bar. “I’m Detective Stenson with the PWCPD.”
The other end of the line went silent for a spell. “If you’re not ordering a car, I need you off this line.”
“Wait. Could I get the name of the manager or owner and a number to reach him or her?”
“Terrence Phillips. He’s not in now. Tomorrow morning eight AM.” The nice woman hung up.
Well then…He supposed that was just one more thing that he’d have to stick a pin in until tomorrow. But he could compile the necessary paperwork to request a warrant that would force the cab company to hand over the GPS logs on their cars.
By the time he had all that in order, it was nine and he was exhausted. But he was also starving. He got into his Jeep Wrangler and started in the direction for home but ended up going toward John and Shell’s.
He dropped in at a pizzeria on the way and picked up an extra-large pepperoni. He had more questions about Claire and wagered that arriving armed with a deep dish wouldn’t hurt his chances of getting answers.
John was opening the door as Trent climbed the front steps.
“I’ve got pizza.” Trent held up the box as a peace offering.
“So I see.” His friend was somber.
“She’s not doing so well?”
John shook his head. “She’s having a rough go of it. Doesn’t know why if Claire was back in town, she didn’t at least drop by.”
“I’ll see if I can help…”
John dipped his head and patted Trent’s shoulder as he moved past him into the home. Logan was on one end of the couch, and Shell the other. When he’d made the rash decision to see his friends, he’d forgotten Logan would be here. “Hi, guys,” Trent said to everyone in the room.
“Oh, pizza. Pepperoni, I hope.” This from Shell, and her eyes lit but Trent could see that it was a shallow expression.
“Is there any other kind?”
“I’ll get plates.” Logan got up and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
“How are you doing?” Trent sat next to Shell. “Stupid question, I’m sure.”
“I’ve been better. Not gonna lie.” Shell’s chin quivered, and Trent hugged her.
“Sorry that things worked out the way they did,” he said as he pulled back.
“Not your fault. Just tell me you’re getting some answers. I know Logan didn’t kill her.”
Trent looked up as Logan came back into the room with the promised plates. He held four beers by the neck too.
“In case you wanted one.” Logan held one toward Trent.
“Thanks.” He was technically off the clock, so what the heck. He took a long draw, grateful for the cold liquid going down his throat. For that few seconds it was like the investigation and none of the ugliness associated with it existed.
In that time, John had flipped the lid on the pizza box and loaded a slice on a plate for Trent. He took it gratefully and bit off a large chunk.
