Part 25 (2/2)
”Any information on that car in the river?”
He shook his head. ”A dead end. We'll probably just impound it and sc.r.a.p it.”
I could tell he didn't want to get into it. That didn't matter to me. I did. ”You didn't find out anything? Even with a license number, a make, a model?”
”The car was probably stolen and ditched in the river. We can't find the owner, we can't find the suspect. End of story.”
”So who is this owner you can't find?”
Now he was irritated. He reached for a file folder on the corner of his desk and opened it. ”Somebody named Herb Johnson. He used to work for a wrecking yard in Missoula but he quit. He used to live in an apartment in Missoula but he moved. There's no forwarding address.”
He closed the folder and tossed it on the corner of his desk again, his way of saying he'd answered all my questions.
”May I see it?” I said, indicating the folder.
He wrinkled his brow at me. ”Travis, just what are you fis.h.i.+ng for?”
”I'm-”
”Just what do you think you're going to do that I haven't?”
I didn't want to offend him. ”Just curious, that's all.”
”Well the case is still pending so it's confidential.”
”I thought the case was closed and you were going to sc.r.a.p the car.”
He leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. ”That's right. Soon as we pull it out of the river I'll b.u.t.ton up the case and you can read to your heart's delight.” I was looking at him funny. ”What?”
”The car's gone.”
That was obviously news to him. ”What do you mean, it's gone?”
”Somebody already pulled it out. I thought it was you.”
He thought a moment. ”Somebody pulled it out? You sure?”
”Drove by there just this morning. Saw the tire tracks, deep ruts, and no car.”
He looked puzzled, but then he shrugged and went back to his paperwork. ”I'll look into it.”
Well, I thought, so will I.
I NEVER WANTED to resist the Lord if I sensed he was nudging me. When Brandon Nichols took an intrusive interest in me, that was probably a nudge, but okay, I didn't catch on. Kyle getting broadsided made the nudge more noticeable, however, and Morgan Elliott's distress over her son cinched it. I now considered myself officially nudged.
I went from the police station directly to Mike's Towing, only two blocks away. Mike Downing had run his little tow truck business from the same cubicle of a garage for at least ten years, and had a contract with the local police and state patrol. Any time a vehicle broke down or was abandoned on the highway or somewhere in town, the authorities called Mike. If he didn't pull that car from the river, he might know who did.
I didn't drive into the yard surrounding Mike's garage. I valued my tires too much, so I parked out on the street. Mike hauled hulks for sc.r.a.p, and over the years he'd gleaned from every hulk whatever he took a s.h.i.+ne to: a fender here, a b.u.mper there, a headlight, a window, an engine block, you name it. He had no specific place for anything, so every piece lay where it first fell, filling the yard from fence to fence. If you wanted to visit Mike's Towing, you definitely kept your eyes on the ground, and you didn't even consider driving in there.
I found the lower half of Mike's son Larry in the garage. The upper half was under the hood of a '57 Chevy and didn't know I was there until I hollered h.e.l.lo.
”Yeah?” He was dirty but happy. ”Oh, Pastor Jordan, how are you?” Pastor Jordan? It had been a while since we'd seen each other.
”Just fine. I came to see Mike.”
Larry broke into his grin with one tooth missing, then hollered, ”Hey Dad! Pastor Jordan's-”
”I heard him,” came a rude reply from the back room. Mike appeared, yawning and rubbing his messed-up hair. His lip was puffy, his left eye was nearly swollen shut, and he had a sizable white patch on his forehead. He could see the look on my face and explained without my asking, ”I got in a fight.”
”So I see. How's the other guy?”
He went to a coffeepot sitting on a hot plate on the workbench. ”Oh, Matt looks about the same, maybe a little better. Want some coffee?”
”No thanks.” It felt so strange to be asking, ”Matt Kiley?”
”Yeah, good ol' Matt. Can't blame him. I borrowed a set of wrenches from his store three years ago and never did pay him. He was in a wheelchair so it kind of slipped my mind, you know?”
I was still incredulous. ”And he came after you?”
”Well . . . I got in a few good licks myself, but he got the price of those wrenches, let me tell you. The tavern's lost a chair and a window, but they're still open. You lookin' for some tires?”
”No.”
”I got some that'll fit your rig. Studded snow tires, real cheap.”
”Let me think about it.”
”What else you want?”
”I was wondering if you pulled a car from the Spokane River.”
That widened his good eye. ”From the river? Who went into the river?”
”I'm not sure. But I found a car in the river Thursday, and now it's gone.”
”Did you tell the cops about it?”
”Brett Henchle knows about the car, but he didn't know somebody pulled it from the river.”
Now he looked perturbed. ”Henchle never told me about it. The cops want a car pulled, they're supposed to call me.”
”But you didn't pull any car out of the river since last Thursday?”
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