The Night Detectives (David Mapstone Mystery 7)

“I’m worried about you.”

“Me, too.” Why deny it?

“You’ve changed, David. Lindsey feels it, too.”

“That’s nice. Another excuse for her to leave me.”

She’s not going to leave you. It would have been nice to hear that, but Sharon didn’t say it.

“Mike told me what you went through with the cartels and the old gangster in Chandler,” she said. “Nobody could go through that without being changed.”

“And Robin being murdered.”

Sharon watched me with those big empathetic eyes.

Yes, there was that. And the trial would soon begin. It was another reason I didn’t want to read the local newspaper. It wouldn’t be covered because the defendant was a drug addict who killed someone. But because the victim was a blond, middle-class woman who lived in a historic district and was the sister-in-law of a former deputy sheriff—that was news. I would have to testify. I dreaded the effect this would have on Lindsey.

“And losing your child,” she said. “You two have gone through so much loss in such a short time. But I don’t want to see this destroy two people I love. Your child wouldn’t want that. Robin wouldn’t want that.”

I realized my fists were balled up and forced my hands to relax. “We’ll never know, now will we?”

“Mike told me how you chose not to kill the woman who shot Robin,” she said. “The David I know would have made that choice.”

I didn’t answer. It was true: I stalked her, found her, but turned her over to the cops. What Sharon didn’t know was that I had the woman on her knees with a dishrag in her mouth, and in my hands I held the assassin’s .22 caliber pistol with a silencer. I was about to pull the trigger when my cell phone rang and the readout said, “Lindsey.” So I didn’t pull the trigger. Part of me still regretted it. Nor did Sharon know that the better angels of my nature watched helplessly as I wrapped duct tape around the gangster’s mouth and let the Zetas crew carry him out of his Witness Protection Program-funded suburban Chandler house. Or how I rolled the pieces into place for his hit man to be on the receiving end of a hit himself in jail.

I didn’t regret those things.

Sharon said, “You have to be willing to give it time. Lindsey loves you. That’s why she’s here.”

Time again. As if I had it.

I said, “I’m really trying.”

Sharon hugged me and whispered for me to be good to myself. I didn’t know how. We walked back into the office to greet Lindsey and Peralta.

“There’s a tracker on his truck, too,” Lindsey said.

“She has a very cool scanner.” Peralta was like a little kid. He was enamored with gadgets. He was enamored with Lindsey. Who wasn’t?

He went on: “It picked the tracker right up. Might be a good idea to check the whole office.” He added, “If you don’t mind.”

Lindsey smiled politely. “This tracking device is identical to the one on the Honda. It’s not a logger, the thing people use to follow the movements of a cheating lover. The logger maps out their movements and then you can see where they’ve been. These are real-time trackers that feed right into a Google map display in a following car. They want to be able to follow at a safe distance and not be detected.”

“Are they sophisticated?” Peralta asked.

“Not really,” she said. “They’re certainly not federal issue. But they’re battery operated. The battery might last a month if they track the car an hour or two a day. Less if they track us for more time or the heat really kicks up. Otherwise, they have to replace the batteries.” She sighed. “Or they’re on a limited timeline so it doesn’t matter.”

After Lindsey was done, I told Peralta about my review of the security camera. The man with the high-and-tight hair was casing the place.

Peralta sat on the edge of his desk. “It’s time to take the war to these assholes.”

My anger had been replaced with exhaustion.

“It’s over.” I held out the truck-stop cell phone. “It’s been twenty-four hours since he’s called.” I was about to say, “The baby is dead,” but a look at Lindsey stopped me.

Peralta shook his Easter Island head. “If it was over, that guy wouldn’t have been on our property, searching the Prelude. We need to shake things up. Here’s how we’re going to do it.”

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