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She bounced upright again. “What? How can you?—?”
“Last time he went by and turned he probably double-parked and hot-footed it to watch us in person. Ran back to his vehicle when he saw us coming.” Hayes purposefully made a series of turns and double-backs for several blocks. The Fusion stuck stubbornly. So, at the next light he lingered, earning blaring horns and drivers pulling around him to make the light. But he and the suspicious vehicle were now on the same block in different lanes. The light changed for the stranger, and thecars ahead of him inched forward. The Fusion followed suit. Hayes merited several more horns and middle finger salutes for veering into the other lane, narrowly missing clipping the front bumper of a white Lexus.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving our guy a taste of his own medicine. Get down. As far as you’re able.” He followed the red car through a couple more lights, gauging the driver’s frequent check in his rearview mirror. At the next green light, the Fusion screeched around the corner and sped down the street. Hayes followed, easily keeping pace with him for several blocks. Definitely an amateur. Not Thorne, but someone else showing undue interest in them.
It was time to find out why.
The Ford swerved suddenly into an alley. So did Hayes.
“You can’t actually drive in most alleys in San Diego. Only the ones that allow parking.” He hit a rut then, and she bounced, sitting upright to glare at him.
“Down.” The red vehicle shot out of the narrow passageway, and Hayes slowed for a single cross street car before trailing again. The chase continued until the Fusion headed down yet another alley, slowing when the driver realized it was blocked by a large semi backed up to a loading dock.
“Got you, cheesedick.”
The car ahead of them stopped abruptly. “Stay low.” He threw open the door and ran toward the car, weapon in hand and trained on the driver, who was watching with wide-eyed panic. “Up.” He gestured with the gun and the man slowly raised his arms halfway. His hands were empty, Hayes noted, but that could change in an instant if he had a gun close. He approached the driver’s window. “Get out of the vehicle.” When the stranger shook his head furiously, Hayes raised one foot and kicked the door hard. “Do it now!”
After a moment’s indecision, the guy disengaged the locks and exited. “Jesus, you fuckin’ psycho, what’s your problem?”
“Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing. Don’t lower your hands. Up high.”
“I got a right to drive on these streets, same as you.” Now the stranger’s voice rose, aggrieved. “Is this a carjacking? That it? Go ahead and take the piece of shit.”
Caucasian. Midthirties, Hayes estimated, with the shifty gaze of someone who’d soon be jonesing for that next high. He was at least eight inches shorter than Thorne, with tightly curled blond hair and an addict’s emaciated appearance.
“Take your wallet out with your thumb and index finger.” After a brief hesitation, the man obeyed. “Show me your driver’s license.”
For the first time, the junkie looked uneasy. “You a cop or something?”
“Or something.”
The driver dug the license out of a slim weathered wallet and held it up. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Yep. And you made it.” Hayes studied the ID. Greg Pollack. Blue and blond. Five-eight. One hundred forty. The age was the only thing that didn’t seem to match. Only twenty-eight. Maybe meth was his drug of choice. That poison aged people dramatically. “Who told you to follow us?”
He watched the man’s eyes and noted the moment he decided to lie. “No one. I don’t even know you! And you were following me!”
“Go ahead and draw this out. Guessing that semi is going to want to exit this alley at some point. The longer you jerk me around, the greater the likelihood that a police cruiser is going to notice us and want to take a look.” Greg paled. “I can withstand their interest, but you look like someone with priors. Maybe an outstanding warrant or two.”
The man craned his neck to stare past Hayes to the entrance of the alley. Then he licked his lips nervously. “Okay, I seen you with the woman at the restaurant. She looks a lot like my ex, who’s being a real bitch about the divorce. I figured if I followed you, I could find out where she’s staying and who she’s shacked up with, you know? Might help me in court.”
The story could be true. Hayes studied him, looking for signs of deception. Difficult to differentiate those from an addict’s jitteriness. He drew his cell out of his pocket with his free hand and trained it on the man. “Smile.” He snapped pictures of Greg, the front and back of the license, and the vehicle, moving to the front for another photo of the broken three-bar grille.
“What the hell, man?”
Hayes returned and handed him back his DL. “If I see you again, I’ll call the cops and report you for stalking and harassment. Give them a chance to scoop you up on those warrants. The man’s lack of denial was damning. Hayes backed away, returned to the car, and reversed out of the alley.
“Did you believe him?” Reese asked after several minutes.
“His story was plausible.”
“Not what I asked.”
He should’ve known better than to parse words with a journalist. “I don’t have enough information to make a judgment either way. I’ll look into him, see if I can find a connection to Thorne.”
“You’re going to share this with Mendes?”