The Gardens of Digby Green: Sighting
Marquez’s phone rang. He thumbed the Accept icon, and heard a woman’s voice.
“Detective Marquez?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“My name is Doreen Murphy. I just now received the B.O.L. you sent out. I work in a booth on the toll road outside Gary, and the truck you described passed through at about 3:00 p.m.”
Hours ago, but finally, someone had seen the suspect. Marquez pumped his fist and scrabbled for his pen to take notes.
“It was heading west. The video cameras have been functioning well today, for a change.”
“Thank you.”
Marquez dropped the pen and clicked the tab on his computer screen for the central server that collected data for the department. He defined a hotlist for the stolen plates, and submitted his request.
Sikes wandered over, a paper cup of the department’s coffee in one hand. “Have we finally got a bite?”
“Toll booth,” Marquez admitted, grudging both syllables. It wasn’t Sikes’ bite. Good Indiana people were coming through. “Westbound.”
He drummed his fingers beside the keyboard, waiting for results from the server. They appeared. Ms. Murphy had very good recall. Her comment matched the time on the camera.
Sikes leaned in, reading over Marquez’s shoulder. The detective loathed anyone doing that, and certainly didn’t need the man’s next comment.
“Hours ago. Hardly useful.”
Marquez checked records from cameras farther down the toll road, but got no more captures. He sighed. “Suspect apparently left the toll road at Gary.”
Sikes snorted.
The detective wanted to pound his desk, or pitch his phone against the wall, but neither reaction would do any good.
#
Digby’s fingers closed on the curve of his steering wheel in a rhythmic clutch. His urges had passed the simmering point. “I should’ve followed that woman in the purple-striped van.”
He groped to his right and snagged a stick of beef jerky. While splitting the ends of the wrapper with his thumbnail, he lifted the snack and took one flap in his teeth. The snack wrapper pulled away with almost a zipping sound. Would a watching kid hinder his fun, or make it that much sweeter?
Frowning, he tore into the meat. He’d need some solid plans before the next opportunity appeared, ’cause kids were quick-moving, and loud.
A biker in the next lane gunned his engine and passed Digby. The ol’ lady with him on the trike flipped Digby the finger as they accelerated. The painted lips on her jacket mocked him.
Before he changed lanes, Digby checked his rear view mirror. That boat of an old red car was still there, two vehicles back.
The Gardens of Digby Green: Sighting is an installment of a short story which posts on Fridays. You can find the first part and read from the beginning, here.
Find a link to purchase the Heartland Treasures anthology here.
Ruth
Heidi Kortman