An officer took Bernard’s statement while another manager cued up the video of the man in question. The distance from the camera to the cars was anywhere from a hundred feet to three hundred feet. The man’s face never turned directly toward the camera, making Blake think the man knew the camera was there. He wore the driver suit and even opted for a hat. Not all drivers wore them, but some did, which was why Blake didn’t think much of it when he’d seen the man.
“Can you get in closer?”
As the image moved up, the quality of the picture dissipated. As Blake remembered, the man had a short haircut and nothing growing on his face or chin. Caucasian about six feet tall, medium build.
He looked familiar. But then he should. Blake had spoken briefly with the man and had given him a generous tip.
“We can enhance the image at the station, try and match him with those in the database.” Dean stepped away from the monitor and glanced around the room. “Someone here must have spoken with the man.”
Bernard shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve questioned my drivers. None of them have said they noticed him.”
“What about dispatch?”
“We’re not like a taxi service. We have a computerized system that lets our drivers know when one of their clients needs a ride. Like I explained to Mr. Harrison, we try to keep the same drivers with the same clients to better meet their needs. Mr. Harrison only uses us on occasion so we didn’t have a request in for any one person.”
“Then how do you pick which driver goes on the run?”
Bernard moved his stiff collar away from his neck. Blake almost felt sorry for the man.
“We rotate between who needs a run, and who best knows the area and protocols. Taking a car on the tarmac to pick up clients right from the airport requires a different level of security than someone taking a celebrity to a red carpet event. Lots of things are factored in.”
“Show me how your drivers check a car in and out,” Dean said.
Bernard moved to the monitor as the uniformed officer who’d been searching the video feed got up and moved. He opened up what looked like a home page for the service and clicked on an icon with a car graphic. A list of last names and locations sat neatly in a row. Beside them was a column for the driver to place their name.
“This first set of names are our regulars. Notice the color coordination of the drivers and the regulars. This next set of names are one timers. Special occasions, proms…beside the names are symbols. A martini glass for a known party where the driver is going to keep our passengers from driving while intoxicated. I try and use my male drivers, unless it’s a bachelorette party…” Bernard got a little carried away in his explanation of his system, obviously proud of what he did. “Here is the airport symbol. If a driver is free to take the ride and sees this, he knows the ride is only open to him if he has the clearance.”
“Let’s see the date Mr. Harrison arrived.”
Bernard clicked around on the calendar and brought up the date. Blake leaned forward and saw his name, location, time, and airport symbol. He was happy to see an absence of a martini glass. His mirth about that died when he saw the name of the driver. “Mac.”
Blake’s hand went down hard on the side of the computer desk. “Sonofabitch.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Dean told him.
“Who needs to jump?”
Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him from the room. “We don’t know anything for certain.”
“What the…we know Mac wasn’t behind the wheel. We know a stranger listened in on our conversation we had in a car to avoid being heard in my home. We know whoever this guy was he had the ability to hack into this system and take off with a car, then return the damn thing without question. We know Neil believes someone of intelligence and ability is gunning for him and my sister. I don’t have to jump in the water to know I’m going to get wet, Dean.” And if Neil had managed to keep this ass from knowing where he was, Blake and Dean had blown that by openly talking about their findings in his house over the last couple of days. Which explains the extra dead bird in Karen’s car. The tight tongues made this ass plant another dead bird and throw them off track. Make them think Neil wasn’t sane.
“We’ve been conned and Neil isn’t crazy.” Neil was in danger and Blake had probably led his enemy right to him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dinner the night before had been a strained affair. It didn’t help that the wind had kicked up and the threat of rain had Gwen wondering where Neil was. Gwen took the pathetic path of pleading a headache and retired to her room early to avoid conversation with her host.
She couldn’t place what about Charles bothered her most. The quiet plotting that seemed to happen behind his gaze, or the smile that reminded her of a clown at a circus. Neither were redeeming qualities in a person. I’m sure he makes a great drill sergeant.
Gwen moved quietly through the house, purposely leaving her room once the breakfast hour had passed. The house was quiet to the point she wondered if she were alone. In the kitchen, she placed a cup of water into the microwave to heat for tea. With the exception of a few clouds, the sky was clear.
“Be safe, Neil,” she whispered to herself.
When the microwave chimed, Gwen turned to grab her cup.
Charles stood directly behind her, his lip turned up slightly. She screamed and stepped back into the counter, bruising her hip.
“Bloody hell,” she gasped.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His coy smile fell and an expression of concern replaced it.
The hell you didn’t. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She rubbed her hip and willed her pulse to calm.
“Wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.” Charles moved a few paces away. The next county would have been better. The man wore the exact same clothes he’d worn since Neil had left. They were pressed and clean, but the exact style of military issue. Charles didn’t leave the house, or even have a visitor. For a man of his rank, Gwen expected a little more of a revolving door.
“Your wife directed me to where things were in the kitchen.”
Charles moved behind the counter and pulled out a tall stool.
Oh, great…company. Gwen found the tea and slowly removed the bag from the paper packaging. It became apparent that Charles wasn’t going to open the conversation.
“Have you heard from Ruth?”
“She arrived in Florida.”