The Prophecy

14

Auto dealerships and law-enforcement personnel call them tryout keys — they’re universally designed to get inside many makes and models of cars — but on the street, they’re called jigglers. As the two names suggest, they are grooved pieces of metal that look like keys, but the notches are so worn down they will fit inside most locks. In order to open a door, the key is jiggled left and right while being inched in and out of the keyhole. With a skilled touch, the grooves will eventually match the mechanism inside, and when that happens, the lock pops open.

During his time with the MANIACs, Jones had broken into more cars than he could possibly remember — sometimes to acquire an escape vehicle, other times to plant an explosive device. Over the years, those life or death experiences had hardened his nerves and steadied his hands, making his current mission seem easy by comparison.

Police across the street? Not a problem.

Even if they started shooting.

To block the cops’ view, Jones walked round the front of the car and eyed the passenger-side door. Like most Fords, the Taurus required a five-pin jiggler. Jones flipped through his tools as if he was fumbling for his keys and came out with the appropriate one. Handmade in his workshop at home, the jiggler was carved out of stainless steel. He slipped it into the keyhole and wiggled it slightly. Less than ten seconds later, he heard the lock click.

‘Not bad,’ he mumbled as he opened the door and climbed inside.

The interior was cold but not nearly as cold as it was outdoors. For that, he was thankful. He was also glad he had found a pair of black leather gloves at the chapel. They allowed him to rummage through Ashley’s car without leaving any prints. Not that it actually mattered. The shooting had taken place across the street, so he doubted that a forensic team would examine the car. But on the off chance they did, he preferred to keep his physical evidence out of the equation.

The first place he searched was the glove compartment. From his experience, that’s where most people kept their car registration and insurance card, and all he needed was Ashley’s full name and address. With that information, he could go back to his office and run it through every database and search engine imaginable. In a matter of seconds, her entire life would appear on his computer screen, everything from her date of birth to the size of her latest paycheque.

When Jones opened the latch, he expected the storage space to be jammed with personal items — CDs, cosmetics, a small purse, maybe even some food. Anytime he went on a road trip, he packed peanut-butter crackers or protein bars, so he wouldn’t have to stop for snacks. And if Payne, a freak of nature who had to consume more than 8,000 calories a day or he lost weight, was along for the ride, then they brought multiple sandwiches or several containers of beef jerky to keep him from getting cranky. Therefore, when Jones looked inside the glove box and found it empty, he was more than surprised. He was borderline stunned.

‘What the hell?’ he said to himself.

At the very least, he had expected to find her paperwork. But nothing? That didn’t make any sense. Even the most obsessive people in the world kept something in their cars, even if it was just a dust cloth to tidy up. But an empty glove box was suspicious.

Suddenly, all types of paranoid thoughts ran through his mind. Had the assassin gone through the vehicle before the shooting? Worse still, what if the shooter had a partner who had done it? There might be another gunman floating around the Pitt campus, searching for his next target.

It was a concept Jones hadn’t considered until that very moment.

For all he knew, a sniper could be eyeing him from a nearby building, patiently waiting for the cops to leave before he pulled the trigger.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The sound echoed from above like gunshots. With a burst of adrenaline, Jones nearly dived into the backseat until he realized what had made the noise. Someone was on the street outside, pounding on the roof of the car. Jones glanced out of the driver’s side window and saw a muscular man in a tuxedo and black gloves. Only then did his heart rate start to calm.

‘Holy hell,’ he cursed as he leaned over and opened the door, ‘you almost killed me.’

Payne grinned and slipped inside. ‘Sorry about that. I thought you saw me.’

‘You know damn well I didn’t see you, or you wouldn’t have knocked.’

He shrugged, not willing to confirm or deny anything. ‘Any luck?’

‘With what?’

‘Your search.’

‘Nothing so far. Then again, I just got here.’

Payne pointed. ‘Did you check the glove box?’

‘First thing I did. It’s empty.’

‘Any paperwork?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What about food?’

Jones shook his head. ‘Nada.’

‘No snacks? Who goes on a road trip without snacks?’

‘I was wondering the same thing myself.’

‘What about a pack of mints?’

‘Jon, what is it about empty that you can’t comprehend?’

‘Sorry. It just seems weird, that’s all.’

They checked the storage compartment under the centre armrest and the pockets mounted behind their leather seats, but they were empty as well. Next Jones flipped down both sun visors, hoping to find something of value. From the driver’s side, a single slip of paper came fluttering out. Payne snatched it in mid-flight and held it up to the window, struggling to read it in the dim light. Slowly, a grimace surfaced on his face.

‘Shit,’ Payne cursed. ‘This isn’t good.’

‘What is it?’

‘A leaflet for Budget Rent-A-Car.’

Jones paused, thinking things through. ‘Well, that would explain the empty glove box. I guess she rented a car for her road trip. What’s the problem?’

‘Look at the business address.’

Jones opened the glove box and used the interior light to read the details. According to the flyer, the car had been rented from Pittsburgh airport. ‘This isn’t good.’

‘I’m pretty sure I just said that.’

‘I know you did. And I’m agreeing with you.’

Payne flipped up both visors and studied the frosty windshield. In the upper-right corner, he noticed a small orange sticker that said Budget. ‘I wish I had seen that before. It would’ve changed my entire line of questioning.’

‘Maybe so, but it was covered with ice and snow. No way it was visible from outside.’

‘I know that, but I should’ve—’

Jones interrupted him. ‘She lied to both of us, and both of us bought it. You weren’t the only one who was fooled.’

Payne nodded reluctantly. ‘So, what do we do now?’

‘Right now, our only goal is to get as much info about this car as possible before the cops show up. With any luck, Budget will have her name and address on file.’

Payne grabbed a pen from his jacket pocket. ‘I’ll start with the registration number.’

‘And I’ll get the licence plate.’

‘While you’re back there,’ Payne said as he hit a button that opened the trunk, ‘check to see if she had any luggage.’

Jones opened his door and walked towards the rear of the car. After brushing away some snow, he wrote the plate number on the back of the Budget leaflet and tucked it into his pocket.

‘Find anything?’ Payne asked.

‘Just getting to that,’ Jones said as he opened the trunk.

The overhead light popped on, revealing a single carry-on item. Made of black leather, the bag was zipped closed and stuffed full. Instead of wasting valuable time to sort through it there, Jones grabbed the strap and slipped it over his shoulder.

Then, without saying a word, he closed the hatch, and they walked away.