Unsolved (Invisible #2) - James Patterson Page 0,105
the guy was on the run. Then he drove away in Wagner’s van with Wagner’s wheelchair. And Wagner’s body, which he must have dumped somewhere.”
“Okay, Emmy, slow down.” Books starts pacing, a habit when his mind is racing. He walks into the main room. Nothing disturbed. The front door still locked, storefront window still secured.
“What about the storage shed?” he says. “The clothes, like you said. It’s a clue that he didn’t really go. If he’s so smart—if Darwin is so clever—why would he leave those clothes there for us to find?”
But he answers that question in his head before Emmy does.
“He didn’t want us to find them,” she says. “We were never supposed to find that storage shed. He mapped out an entire route to that storage shed where there were no cameras, no license-plate readers. Right? He can look up the information about cameras and ALPRs online. He can do scouting runs and see for himself. He mapped out a perfect route. We never would’ve known.”
“But then he caught some bad luck,” says Books. “That police barricade.”
“Exactly. The squad car at the scene picked up his license plate with its reader. And then he had to alter his route, and an ALPR on Bell Road caught him too.”
“So this whole thing…”
“This whole thing was set up so Lieutenant Wagner would take the fall. It wouldn’t have been hard. Wagner publicizes where he goes, right? He has a damn tour schedule on his website. Wagner goes to Indianapolis, Darwin goes to Indianapolis—to kill some homeless advocate. Wagner goes to Charleston, Darwin goes too—and commits another murder.”
“Wagner goes to Chicago,” says Books, “and Darwin does too. And blows up a homeless shelter.”
“Right. I’ll bet Darwin got a van just like Wagner’s. He customized it, I’m sure, exactly the same way. Only he didn’t know that Wagner had a U.S. Army seal painted on top of his van. You can’t see it unless you have an extension mirror.”
“Wow,” says Books. “Wow.” He shakes his head. “And what about the moon thing on his face? The long gray hair?”
“Makeup and a wig,” she says. “On close inspection, sure, no one would think he was Martin Wagner. But generally? In passing? A guy in a wheelchair with long gray hair and a prominent crescent-moon-shaped scar on his face? That wouldn’t be so hard, would it?”
“So this guy may not even be in a wheelchair.”
“He probably isn’t.”
“He did everything like he was in a wheelchair. Picking victims who lived in single-story homes, using the same customized Dodge Caravan, the same wheelchair with the same American-flag decal—he just mimicked Wagner in every way. But it was all fake.”
“I’m sure he hoped we’d never catch on at all,” says Emmy. “But if we did, all trails would lead to Lieutenant Wagner.”
105
“OKAY, OKAY,” says Books. “What you’re saying is plausible. Maybe it isn’t Wagner. But Petty? Petty is…Darwin?”
“Just listen to me, Books. And don’t say anything. Just hear me out.”
“I thought I was already doing that.”
She lays out her reasons. How little they actually know about Petty. And what they do know about Petty—his weekly comings-and-goings, when he arrived in Virginia the first time. “Petty’s bald,” she adds. “A wig would be easy to wear.”
“I suppose so.”
“And Books, think about it—of all the places he could have chosen to sleep, he picks a spot right outside a store owned by the fiancé of the woman who’s tracking him, hunting him? That’s just a coincidence?”
Books shakes his head, frustration mounting. “He was keeping an eye on you through me,” he says. He slams his fist on the counter. “And I fell for it.”
His thoughts are interrupted by a noise from the inventory room.
The unmistakable sound of the solid rear door opening from the alley.
Only one person other than Books has a key to that door. Books gave it to him yesterday.
“Hello?” Books calls out, his heart racing, adrenaline seizing him.
“Is that Petty?” Emmy asks in his ear.
Books walks into the back room, brushing the palm of his hand against the grip of his sidearm, secured in a slant holster at his right hip. Lucky, at least, that he took off his suit coat when he arrived to unload the new releases.
“Agent Bookman,” says Petty. He’s dressed in his army jacket and jeans, the overloaded duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”
“Do you have your weapon on you?” Emmy asks in a harsh whisper.