Six Seconds

47

Riverside, California

Graham wheeled into the Chrome Coast Truck Center near the edge of the interstate with his duty and in stincts at war.

He was torn.

Maggie’s pain had got to him.

It obliterated the distance that should be kept between a cop and a victim and led to his promise to help her. Graham put in a call to Novak with the D.C. police, asked him for a favor with a check through NCIC. Novak came through for him.

Now, as Graham sized up the truck center, he wondered if his sympathy for Maggie had blinded him. Was he sticking his neck out, becoming entangled in a domestic case because he felt sorry for Maggie Conlin? Or was he here because he couldn’t leave the Tarver case with so many questions unanswered?

Either way, he’d defied orders.

The center’s service office door opened onto repair bays with air smelling of rubber and diesel, and echoing with the clank of steel tools and compressors. Some where a radio was playing “On The Road Again.”

A tanned, bald man wearing a smock with Bruno Krall, Manager, embroidered over his heart, ended a call when Graham stepped to the counter.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Mac Sullivan.”

“Mac, Mac,” the manager said, squinting at his computer screen. “He’s on a job. Can I help you with anything?”

“A buddy told me Mac had a line on a truck I was interested in. I’m only in town for today. Just needed a minute or two with him.”

“Charlie!” the manager called through the doorway to the repair floor.

“Yo!”

“Tell Mac to clock out and come to the counter.”

The radio had started another song, “Wichita Line man,” by the time a man with a Vandyke, red bandana and wearing grease-stained coveralls arrived.

“This guy’s looking for you.”

Intense blue eyes carried a question to Graham.

“Hey, Mac. Dan Graham. A friend told me you might have a line on a rig I’m interested in.” Graham nodded to the lot. “Can I show you some information I have on my laptop in my car?”

Sullivan looked at his manager.

“Ten minutes, Mac. Go.”

In the car, Graham showed Sullivan his badge and photo ID.

“What’s this? You’re a cop? A Mountie?”

Six Seconds 293

“That’s right. Your boss doesn’t know. Yet. You help me and I’m gone and he never needs to know.”

“Help you with what? You’re from Canada, right? I don’t know nobody in Canada.”

“You know Jake Conlin.”

“What about him?”

“Four Americans were killed in my jurisdiction. In my review of the case, Jake Conlin’s name came up.”

“You think Jake killed people in Canada?”

“I didn’t say that. But I’m pretty sure you know where he is.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Let’s shift gears for a bit.” Graham opened his notebook. “I did some checking and I understand you’ve got a stolen truck parts beef in Texas?”

“That was put on me and that was ten years ago.”

“Mac, I need you to understand that I don’t have time to waste. I have four deaths. I’ve come to you for help. Are you going to obstruct me in my duty?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Conlin’s name came up. I need to locate him. Now, you can help me the easy way, point me anonymously and truthfully in the right direction. Or I can ask the county sheriff and the FBI to help me with warrants for your personal phone records, computer records, includ ing work here, the whole deal. Say we find you’re involved in extracurricular action. We get another warrant. Gets kinda unpleasant.”

“You can’t do that, you’ve got no jurisdiction for that.”

“I just call the locals, make a request through the D.A. Countries have these things called international treaties and agreements.”

294 Rick Mofina

Sullivan began stroking his beard, taking inventory of the rigs on the lot, seeing nothing but his own des perate thoughts. Graham prodded him a bit.

“As I understand it, Mac, you know people who saw

Conlin and a woman in Bakersfield, or Las Vegas.” “Guys come in the shop and bullshit all the time.” “This is how you want to play things? I’m running out of time.”

Sullivan looked hard at Graham then swallowed. “I don’t know nothing about what he’s been doing since he left, you got that?”

“We’re clear on that. I’m sure that if I need to seize your phone and computer records, that will be con firmed.”

“Hold on, I’m cooperating.”

“Keep going.”

“Before he left, Jake came to me, swore me to secrecy, said his old lady had cheated on him when he was driving in Iraq and he was going to split with his boy and start over. He asked about selling or trading his rig and keeping it off the books.”

“Keeping it off the books?”

Sullivan shrugged. “Guess he didn’t want her chas ing him for support. Maybe he had another woman he was seeing, I don’t know.”

“Let me enlighten you. What Jake did was a parental abduction. He committed a crime. Now, you could be considered as a person who aided him in his offense.

Does that help you remember anything else?” “Son of a- What do you want from me?” “Did Jake Conlin sell or trade his truck?” “I believe he did a deal with Desert Truck Land.”

“Where’s that?”

“Las Vegas.”

“With who? I need a name there.”

Sullivan rubbed his chin.

“This doesn’t come from me?”

“A name.”

“Dixon. Spelled with an X, I think, I’m not sure.” “That a last name?”

“Yes.”

“And Dixon’s first?”

“Karl, I think.”

“Karl with a K?”

“I think so.”

“Karl with a K, Dixon with an X. Thank you.” “Tell me how in hell did you find out?”

“I don’t give up sources. Now, if Karl Dixon doesn’t exist, or if he should learn of my interest in advance, in any way, I’ll automatically request those warrants and note your role.”

“And if you get what you need?”

“You’ll never hear from me again.”

“Good.”

“Of course, I don’t speak for local law enforcement.” “Are you shittin’ me? I cooperated with you.” “Just a little something to keep in mind, if I need more help, Mac.”