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We nod in understanding. The place is bugged.
That puts a bit of a limitation on the questions that we can ask.
“My partner and I just had a few follow-up questions if that is alright with you?” Sander asks, and I hope he isn't about to get this man in any kind of trouble.
“Of course. Though I'm not sure how much more help I can be,” the man says.
It's obvious that he's concerned for his safety.
“You never know,” Sander starts. “You stated that there was no sign of the woman or her vehicle on the security footage, correct?”
“That's correct. I'm sure when the footage that was given to the officer yesterday is reviewed, you’ll see as much,” he says, cleverly informing us that he no longer has the footage.
It’s probably going to be wiped, so that whoever was seen on the footage can't be incriminated.
Getting an idea, I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the notes app, typing out a quick message before passing it to the guard.
I understand there isn't much you can say, but she is important to both of us, so if there's anything you can do to help, please trust that we'll leave you out of it.
A look of understanding passes between us as he steps forward and returns my phone. Gesturing for me to wait, he turns towards the desk behind him.
“Was there anything else I could help you officers with?” he asks, shuffling through a stack of papers until he finds the one he's looking for.
“No, just following up to make sure there was nothing else you remembered or needed to tell us,” Sanders says, playing along and filling the silence.
The security guard, whose name I still haven't figured out, reaches for a pen, and quickly scribbles something across the sheet of paper in his hand.
“No, I'm sorry. But if I think of something, I'll be sure to call the station,” he says, and turns to hand me the sheet of paper.
Sander moves beside me to read the message for himself.
Only four things are written: two men, blue Nissan, T0L0CST, The Cast.
I knew that son of a bitch Mateo had to be involved somehow. His fucking gang was out here. They were responsible for the accident; I know it. Now, all we need is proof.
“Thank you for your cooperation. Have a nice day,” Sander says, and we quickly exit the building.
“I don’t know about you, but I bet anything that’s a license plate number,” Sander says, making a U-turn and heading back to the main road.
“You’re probably right,” I agree.
“I just wish he’d been able to give us more information,” Sander says, coming to a stop.
I take in my surroundings and realize where we are.
“Hey, turn left,” I tell sander.
“Why? What's up?” he asks, switching his turn signal from right to left.
“There's a back way into the quarry. Technically, we'd be trespassing, but that's how everyone gets in. The road isn't marked or anything, but it also isn't blocked,” I tell him.
“That's good enough for me,” Sanders says and follows my instructions as we head toward Red Rock Heights.
Bodhi
It takes all of fifteen minutes to get to the site of the accident. We park and turn on the hazards; there isn’t much of a shoulder to pull off on, but I don’t really think many people will be out here right now. Still, we’d rather be safe than sorry.
“Skid marks,” Sander says, stepping back to get a better look.
