Sanchez didn’t answer right away. Some kind of electronic
circuitry in the phone line brought the background hiss up loud
to cover the silence. Then he spoke over it.
‘I think I’m fireproof here,’ he said. ‘It’s the Columbia PD
making the accusations, not me.’
‘Just take care,’ I said.
‘Bet on it,’ he said.
I clicked the phone off. Summer was thinking. Her face was
tense and her lower lids were moving.
‘What?’ I said.
‘You sure it was faked?’ she said.
‘Had to be,’ I said.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Good.’ She was still standing next to the map.
She put her hand back on it. Little finger on the Fort Bird pin,
index finger on the Columbia pin. ‘We agree that it was faked.
We’re sure of it. So there’s a pattern now. The drugs and
the money in Brubaker’s pocket are the exact same thing as the
branch up Carbone’s ass and the yogurt on his back. Elaborate
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misdirection. Concealment of the true motive. It’s a definite
MO. It’s not just a guess any more. The same guy did both. He
killed Carbone here and then jumped in his car and drove down
to Columbia and killed Brubaker there. It’s a clear sequence.
Everything fits. Times, distances, the way the guy thinks.’
I looked at her standing there. Her small brown hand was
stretched like a starfish. She had clear polish on her nails. Her
eyes were bright.
‘Why would he ditch the crowbar?’ I said. ‘After Carbone but
before Brubaker?’
‘Because he preferred a handgun,’ she said. ‘Like anyone
normal would. But he knew he couldn’t use one here. Too
noisy. A mile from the main post, late in the evening, we’d have
all come running. But in a bad part of a big city, nobody was
going to think twice. Which is how it turned out, apparently.’
‘Could he have been sure of that?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not entirely sure. He set up the rendezvous,
so he knew where he was going. But he couldn’t be exactly
certain about what he would find when he got there. So I
guess he would have liked to keep a back-up weapon. But the
crowbar was all covered with Carbone’s blood and hair by
then. There was no opportunity to clean it. He was in a hurry.
The ground was frozen. No patch of soft grass to wipe it on.
So he couldn’t see having it in the car with him. Maybe he
was worried about a traffic stop on the way south. So he ditched it.’
I nodded. Ultimately, the crowbar was disposable. A handgun
was a more reliable weapon against a fit and wary opponent.
Especially in the tight confines of a city alley, as opposed to the
kind of dark and wide-open spaces where he had taken Carbone
down. I yawned. Closed my eyes. The wide-open spaces where he
had taken Carbone down. I opened my eyes again.
‘He killed Carbone here,’ I repeated. ‘And then he jumped in
his car and drove to Columbia and killed Brubaker there.’
‘Yes,’ Summer said.
‘But you figured he was already in a car,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘I did.’
‘You figured he drove out on the track with Carbone, hit him
in the head, arranged the scene, and then drove back here to
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the post. Your reasoning was pretty good. And where we found
the crowbar kind of confirmed it.’
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘And then we figured he parked his car and went about his
business.’
‘Correct,’ she said.
‘But he can’t have parked his car and gone about his business.
Because now we’re saying he drove straight to Columbia,
South Carolina, instead. To meet with Brubaker. Three-hour
drive. He was in a hurry. Not much time to waste.’
‘Correct,’ she said again.
‘So he didn’t park his car,’ I said. ‘He didn’t even touch the
brake. He drove straight out the main gate instead. There’s
no other way off the post. He drove straight out the main
gate, Summer, immediately after he killed Carbone, somewhere
around nine or ten o’clock.’
‘Check the gate log,’ she said. ‘There’s a copy right there on