two flat tires.
While Myers dropped to the balls of his feet and inspected the back tire, he did likewise in the front.
The man joined him less than thirty seconds later. “Half a dozen punctures in the sidewall.”
“Same here.” He rose.
“Nasty prank.”
Too bad that wasn’t all it was.
“There’s a note too.” He rejoined Eve, who was leaning against the car, arms tightly crossed. “They’re flat.”
“I assumed they would be.”
“Would you like to sit while we talk?” He motioned toward the driver’s seat.
“I’d rather stand.”
He gave the area another slow scrutiny. Everything appeared to be calm—and it was unlikely the perpetrator was lingering, now that law enforcement was on the scene. Today’s mission had been accomplished. Why hang around and risk being spotted?
“That’s fine. Walk us through what happened this evening.”
Myers took notes as Eve told her story. Brent asked the necessary follow-up questions, but her account was thorough—and she provided her contact information to the officer without being prompted.
“You know the routine.” Myers flashed her a quick smile.
“I’ve had recent experience—sad to say.” Her lips rose a hair, then flattened again. “Any idea how someone got into my locked car without doing any damage—other than to my tires?”
“All it takes is a wedge for the top of the door and a long rod.” Myers continued to jot in his notebook. “Power locks give a false sense of security. And jamming devices that prevent the car from locking even though you hear the familiar click are all over the open market. Car alarms can help—but those aren’t infallible either.”
“That’s not the most comforting news I’ve heard today.” She motioned to the sheet of paper on the passenger seat. “There’s the note. Obviously I already touched it.”
“No worries.” Brent pulled a pair of latex gloves out of the back pocket of his jeans. “We have your elimination prints on file from the fake bomb incident. But I doubt we’ll find anyone else’s on this. As I’ve mentioned, these”—he held up the gloves—“are a criminal staple these days—just like they are for law enforcement. Give me a minute to grab an evidence envelope from my car.”
Myers continued to scribble in his notebook while Brent retrieved the envelope, placed a call to the Crime Scene Unit, and tugged on his gloves.
Eve moved aside as he reached across the driver’s seat and picked up the single sheet of paper. Read it. Showed it to Myers before sliding it into the bag. “You have any other questions?”
“No.” The man stowed his notebook.
“CSU will be here soon. Can you wait around until they show up?”
“Sure.” Myers angled toward Eve. “Don’t hesitate to call us if there are any new developments, ma’am—but you’re in capable hands with Detective Lange. My report from tonight will be available by tomorrow if you want a copy for insurance purposes.”
“Thank you—and thanks for responding so fast.”
He nodded in acknowledgment and returned to his cruiser.
Brent filled out the envelope, ending with the chain of custody section, then refocused on Eve. “Do you want the car towed, or would you prefer to have someone replace the tires here?”
“What do you recommend on a Saturday night at this hour?”
“I’d have it done here—but that would have to wait until tomorrow. I can ask Patrol to have an officer swing by overnight and keep an eye on your vehicle if you want to consider that option. I’ll also give you the names of a few reputable outfits that can take care of this—and I’d be happy to run you home.”
She rubbed at the twin grooves above her nose. “I’ve disrupted your evening too much already. I should let you get back to whatever you were doing.”
“The book I was reading can wait.” He might not admit to his colleagues that he spent his Saturday nights on such a low-key pursuit—but Eve would appreciate his choice of leisure activity.
And maybe even be glad he wasn’t out barhopping . . . or on a hot date.
“You were reading?” She stared at him.
He hitched up one side of his mouth. “Yeah. I learned how in first grade.”
Soft color stole across her cheeks. “Whoops. That didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean to insult you. But in my defense, I haven’t met many men who spend their Saturday nights reading.”
“Their loss—and no offense taken.”
“Thanks. What are you reading?”
“I’m alternating between a novel and a nonfiction book.”
When he mentioned the titles—one about the relationship between John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, the other a bestselling thriller—she arched an eyebrow. “Quite a contrast.”
“My reading