Page 115 of One Vote for Murder
Chapter Twenty-Six
Royce
I had absolutely no leads for Kyle Segrott’s murder case. Zip. Zilch. Nada. How he’d ingested the toxin was a mystery. There was no security footage in the area where the mixer had been held. There were no witnesses to anyone tampering with his water. Quinn was the only person known to have an issue with Kyle, but he hadn’t been anywhere near Kyle or his water. I was at a complete loss as to how to proceed.
Things weren’t much better with Lincoln’s murder. I did have the red truck sighting, but that had turned into a bit of a dead end. I was still waiting for the footage from the parking lot of Henry’s Car Rentals. They seemed to be dragging their feet a little, which was suspicious.
Forensics hadn’t discovered any prints at the scene of Lincoln’s murder. The autopsy revealed that Lincoln had been stabbed, not shot. There had been no murder weapon at the scene. The ME had also mentioned that the wound produced by the stabbing wasn’t a common shape or size. The puncture wound had been described as “triangular.”
Even though I had no real leads for Lincoln’s murder, I was still at the office after 10:00 p.m., watching the footage from the night of theslideshow at the Rotary Club. When my cell rang, I was glad to give my eyes a break.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Sheriff Callum?” a female voice squeaked over the line.
“Speaking.”
The caller’s breathing was erratic. “It… it’s here again.”
Frowning, I asked, “What’s here again?”
“The red truck.” The voice wobbled. “This is Jesse Daley, and the red truck is back on my street.”
I stood, heart racing. “Really?”
“Yes. Should I go closer and try to get the whole license plate this time?”
“No. Absolutely not. Go back into your home, Jesse. I’m on my way.” If the person in the red truck was the killer, the last thing I wanted was for Jesse to draw attention to herself.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Go inside. I appreciate you calling me. Let me handle it from here.” I left my office as I spoke, heading toward the back door. I wasn’t going to drag my deputies with me just yet. For all I knew, the driver of the truck was completely harmless.
“Okay,” she said, sounding almost disappointed.
“Thanks for calling,” I repeated distractedly, and I hung up.
The drive to Lincoln’s place was fairly short. As I pulled onto the dark street, driving past Lincoln’s unlit home, I spotted the red truck. It was parked about three houses down from where the murder had taken place.
I parked a few spots behind the truck and called in the license plate number. The truck came back registered to Henry’s Car Rentals, Inc. I slowlyclimbed out of my car, cautiously approaching the truck. I moved around to the passenger side, noticing the windows were pretty steamed up. When I shone the light into the cab, there was a muffled shriek and a flash of bare skin.
I took a step back as it began to dawn on me what was going on inside that truck. I laughed gruffly and tapped my flashlight on the window. “Roll down the window.”
There was more flurry of movement and hissing voices. Inside, someone turned on the auxiliary power, and the passenger-side window whirred down. I peered in and found a young girl staring at me. Her shirt was on inside out, and her hair was messed up. She didn’t seem to have any pants on, and pink lacy underwear poked out the bottom of her rumpled shirt.
“Oh, God,” she howled, “My parents are going tokillme.”
The driver leaned over, looking equally panicked. He wore no shirt, but at least he had his pants on. “We weren’t doing anything wrong, Sheriff.”
“How old are you two?” I asked gruffly. The girl barely looked legal.
“I’m eighteen,” she whimpered.
“Me too,” the guy said. “Are we under arrest?”
I ignored his question and asked the girl, “You sure you’re eighteen?”
She nodded. “I promise.”
