Page 28

Reese slid her arm through the shoulder strap of the purse and settled it into place. “I have a lot of experience getting information from people who don’t necessarily wish to speak with me.”
Something they had in common. However, Hayes had browsed enough of her articles to wonder himself just how she’d acquired some of the details in them. Now he realized that her ability—for lack of a better word—would have given her a head start, at least if she were speaking to someone with something to hide.
But according to Reese, her gift was gone, blocked, in his opinion, by her ongoing reaction to the trauma. Hayes went to the bedroom he was using and slipped on his holster, buckling it before retrieving his weapon from the drawer on the bedside table. After securing it, he picked up the jacket he’d brought from the chair he’d dumped it on and donned it. Most of the time, he could learn more from observing than with conversation.
When he rejoined her, she was scrolling on her cell. She held up the screen when he walked in. “I’ve got a list of breakfast places situated between here and Gibbons’s station. Cross-referenced with best drive-through coffee and we’ve got a handful of options.”
Hayes walked toward the door. “You had me at breakfast.”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “There’s a shock.”
Detective Gibbons was assignedto the Central Division, which served the Columbia-Core area. They parked, and Hayes shucked his jacket before locking his weapon in the gun safe in the cargo area of Reese’s Hyundai. He grabbed the evidence bag and backpack, and they walked to the building, climbed the massive steps, and went inside. They waited in line before they could step up to the desk personnel behind the wall of glass and ask for Gibbons. Then cooled their heels several minutes longeruntil a tall, freckled man with flaming red hair appeared. He wore a short-sleeve white dress shirt and tie with navy pants, a pancake holster holding a .45, with his detective shield and a pair of cuffs clipped to his belt.
“Ms. Decody. Good to see you again. Thanks for making my day a little easier.”
“No problem. I had to feed Hayes anyway, so we hit a drive-through on the way. I brought you a coffee.”
He looked at first surprised, then pleased as she handed him a tall go-cup. “Thanks. It’s sure to be a heck of a lot better than the sludge they brew here. If you’ll come with me, I have a few follow-up questions.” From the looks aimed his way, Hayes figured most of them would be directed to him.
They followed him to the detectives’ division, a wide-open space jammed with desks and ringed with glassed-in offices for the ranked management. He stopped at one of the desks littered with a laptop and stacks of file folders, some open with the contents spread out. A nameplate for Detective Eldon Gibbons sat on the front. His muted plaid sports coat hung on the back of a swivel chair behind it. He pulled a wooden straight-backed chair in front of his desk and then searched for another one to join it. Sipping from the cup, he rounded his desk and sat.
Hayes handed him the labeled evidence bag containing the device before he seated himself. “You got the pictures okay?”
“I did. You found it under the driver’s side?”
He nodded. “Between the wheel well and passenger door. Exact measurements are on the label.”
Gibbons picked up the bag and peered at it. “Reese says you’re from Raiker Forensics.”
Hayes inclined his head.
“I’ll admit I had to look that up…”
“Because he lives under a rock,” muttered the balding man at the next desk.
“Butt out, Walinski,” he retorted good-naturedly. But his gaze was speculative. “What brings you to San Diego? Are you working a case?”
Choosing his words carefully, Hayes replied, “Only tangentially. I’m here for Reese.” She turned her head swiftly toward him.
As a diversion, it worked as intended. “Oh. So this is personal. Well, that’s convenient.” He immediately colored. “I mean…good you were here to find the device. We searched Ms. Backworth’s vehicle after the accident, but I was looking for personal belongings inside it, electronics, anything that would have pointed to where she was headed that day.”
“There would have been no reason to look for a GPS tracker,” Hayes noted.
“Exactly.” A tinge of relief colored the detective’s response. “So why were you searching for one?”
“My aunt left a significant portion of her estate to me,” Reese interrupted. “I don’t need two vehicles. I asked Hayes to give it a thorough examination before I take it to a car dealership.”
“Oh, yeah. Wise choice. Maybe take him with you when you go. Some of those places tend to lowball women.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” Reese sent him a bright smile, and even though it wasn’t aimed at Hayes, he felt its effects. She definitely had some tools to disarm people.
Gibbons picked up a pen from his desk and twirled it in his fingers, his focus back on Hayes. “So, what kind of doctors would be employed by the Mindhunters? I mean, I understand Raiker’s agency works primarily with law enforcement agencies.”
“I’m a forensic psychologist. I used to work at Quantico.” Gibbons looked fascinated, but Hayes steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “I’ve had good luck getting tracking unit manufacturers to cooperate. It’s been three months” —Hayes slid a glance at Reese, and she nodded— “so thesubscription probably would have been terminated. But they may be able to tell you when it was started, and by whom. Reese is curious about the details.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll fill out the warrant request right away. But it’s highly doubtful this had anything to do with your aunt’s accident, Ms. Decody. I don’t know how long these places keep records, and that item could have been in place for years even. They’re fairly inexpensive these days.”
“I realize that.” There was a huskiness to her words that hadn’t been present a moment earlier. “Hayes is perfectly capable of looking into this himself, but I told him we should alert you first and let you decide if this is something you want to pursue.”