The Competition

66

Tuesday, October 15

My landline rang at six twenty-three a.m. These way-too-early mornings were really starting to get to me. I opened one eye and glared at the phone. Knowing it had to be Bailey, I snatched it up. “This better be good.”

“Ah, I believe it is, but I suppose you’ll be the judge. This is Rachel Knight, isn’t it?”

It was Jay, the detective who’d found our best witness. I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

“Yes, it is. Sorry, I thought it was Detective Keller.”

“She’s the one who told me to call you. I thought it was a little too early, but she said you were an early riser.” Jay chuckled. “I’d say you’re entitled to payback for this one.”

“Oh, count on it. What’s up?”

“The unis talked to the owner of the getaway car about an hour ago. She knew her car was gone, but she didn’t report it because her son has a habit of taking it without telling her.”

Her son. I sat up farther. “What do you have on him? Does she know where he is?”

“His name is Francis Spader. Spader’s the dad’s last name, but Dad’s been in the wind since birth. Francis’s stats fit the description: he’s twenty-four, five feet ten, one eighty-though he might be thinner than that now. He’s a meth head. Lots of busts for possession and theft. Fell off his last diversion program, violated probation for testing dirty. Mom hasn’t seen him since yesterday morning, but she claims he always winds up back at home.”

And smelling great, I’d bet. “You’ve got units sitting on Mom’s house?”

“Yep. Five bucks says we pick him up within the next twenty-four hours.”

“A ten-spot says you get him by the end of the day.”

“Huh, done. And I won’t mind losing.”

“Does Mom know Francis is wanted for the shooting at Target?”

“No. I just told her we were looking for him on the probation violation. I didn’t want to take the chance she’d help him run.”

Smart. “So she’s cooperative?”

“For now. But I told Bailey you guys should probably stay away from her for the moment. If you show up on her doorstep, she might recognize you from the news-”

“No problem.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

I hung up and headed for the shower. We might have our psycho in custody very soon. I prayed it would be soon enough. I splurged and celebrated with pancakes for breakfast. After I finished sopping up the last bit of syrup, I poured myself a fourth cup of coffee and thought about Francis Spader. I wondered what connection he had to Fairmont High. Did he go there? Did a kid from that school diss him? And he was a meth head. Crystal meth turned brains into Swiss cheese. And it wasn’t at all uncommon for some addicts to get crazy violent. But it was usually spur-of-the-moment, an explosion. Not planned violence. I called Bailey.

“Keller.”

“So Jay called…”

“Just now?”

“A few minutes ago.” It was eighty thirty. Let her think her little plot to mess me up with that six-thirty call hadn’t worked. “I was thinking about the possible connection between Francis Spader and Logan.”

“As in, where is it?” Bailey said. “I know. We’ve already been through Logan’s history, and I don’t remember seeing any mention of this Spader guy.”

“Did he go to Fairmont?”

“No, but he might’ve been buddies with Logan and just used a different name. I saw a few aliases on Spader’s rap sheet.”

“Logan’s got family in Utah. Where’s Spader been?”

“Hang on.” I heard the tap of computer keys. “He’s got busts in Arizona…Nevada…and-”

“Utah. Tell me it’s Utah.”

After a few seconds Bailey said, “Yep, Utah. So that’s something.” I heard Bailey’s desk phone ring. “Hang on a sec.”

Bailey put me on hold, and I got up and paced, thinking about how to find the connections between Spader and Logan. Utah was a big state. The fact that Logan had family there and Spader had a bust there might not amount to anything. But it was a place to start.

Bailey came back on the line. “They’ve got him. Get downstairs. I’m on my way.”

I ended the call and pumped my fist in the air. “Yes!”

And I’d won my bet with Jay.