CSI11 - Brass In Pocket by Jeff Mariotte

Author:Jeff Mariotte [Mariotte, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-09-26T00:35:58+00:00

19

NICK AND R ILEY HAD traveled less than a block from Supra Racing when a dark blue Mustang with racing stripes turned a corner and came toward them. Nick barely glanced its way until it passed beneath a streetlight, illuminating the driver for an instant. The man was talking on a cell phone, holding the wheel with his left hand and wearing a worried expression. He had short hair, deep eyes, and blunt features, and it took a second for them to register.

“That’s him!” Nick shouted.

“Him who?” Riley asked.

Nick was already pulling the Yukon into a screeching U-turn. “Vic Whendt!”

“The guy in the pictures?”

“Yeah. The guy in the motel room with Deke Freeson.” His voice was tight. He muscled the SUV back into the lane. The Mustang was already accelerating, tearing past Supra Racing and continuing down the same road.

“I hope he’s not one of the team’s drivers,” Riley said.

“Didn’t look like it in the pictures on the wall.” He didn’t know for sure, though. He had never heard of the guy, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t had some racing experience, only that he wasn’t Mario Andretti or Jeff Gordon.

Nick put his foot down on the gas and the Yukon bolted forward. Up ahead, approaching an intersection, the Mustang’s brake lights flashed briefly. “Oh boy,” Nick muttered. The Mustang cut left, already accelerating halfway through the turn. “Hang on, Riley.”

“Did you think I haven’t been?”

Nick hit the lights and the siren. He couldn’t outrun the Mustang, so if Whendt knew how to drive at all, Nick had to hope the obvious accoutrements of law enforcement would persuade him to stop.

Riley grabbed the microphone and called for backup, giving their position and a description of Whendt’s car. They had his license plate number. They would catch up to the car, sooner or later, but if it wasn’t sooner, there was no guarantee that Whendt would still be in it when they did.

At the corner, Nick braked just enough to slow their forward momentum and slid into the turn. The SUV’s rear end started to fishtail, but he leaned on the accelerator and the vehicle straightened.

He heard sirens in the distance, but the chase had already ended. Whendt had boxed himself in. Ahead of him was a railroad track, its gate down, a long freight train lumbering past. Red lights flashed, out of sync with the lights the crime lab’s Yukon threw on the surrounding buildings and bounced off the Mustang’s rear window.

Nick cut the siren but left the lights going. Vic Whendt was already opening his door.

“Cancel the backup,” Nick said. “Doesn’t look like we’ll need it.” Nick drew his weapon, stepped out of the Yukon, and aimed at Whendt’s door. “On the ground, now!” he shouted. “Facedown, hands above your head!”

“It’s cool!” Whendt called. He assumed the prone position so quickly Nick was sure he had done it before. With Riley covering Whendt, Nick handcuffed him, searched him, and then hoisted him to his feet.

Whendt was clean. No weapons, no drugs.

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