Lost Tomorrows by Coyle Matt;

Author:Coyle, Matt;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2019-01-15T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

DUSTIN PECK WAS definitive. Krista was walking away from her car. And Detective Mitchell had left that off his report. An oversight or deliberate? Which way Krista was walking might seem like a minor point unless someone had contacted her about meeting them on State Street at that time of night. She’d received a call from an unknown caller three hours before she appeared on State Street and was run over. The last call she ever received. Had the call been to set up a meeting downtown?

If any other detective had interviewed Peck and omitted which direction he said Krista was walking, I probably would have written it off as on oversight. Not with Mitchell. The cop who was a friend of Tom Weaver and gave him the convenient alibi after he’d seen me in bed with his wife the night Colleen was murdered.

Another notch on the wrong side of the ledger for Jake Mitchell.

I got over to my car and fought the rush to head back to Leah’s house and tell her what I’d learned. Instead, I drove to the Best Western on Cabrillo Boulevard. Leah had jumped ship and joined Grimes’ team. Follow the facts as long as they were all lined up uniformly in a box.

SBPD held the box and two of their cops killed Colleen and Krista. And I was narrowing the remaining gap of certainty about which two.

I picked up a sandwich and a six-pack of beer from a grocery store/deli on the way to the Best Western. I was glad I’d kept my suitcase in the trunk of my car after the drive back from San Diego. Kept me from having to awkwardly fetch it from Leah’s house after I dropped her off. Our impromptu sleeping arrangement had an even shorter expiration date than I’d expected. I liked Leah. A lot. But I was on a quest. My last one.

The hotel parking lot was full, so I parked in a lot to another hotel behind it and grabbed my suitcase out of the trunk. Along with the Ruger. I left the other guns behind. The Ruger was habit, for self-defense. The mini arsenal still in the trunk would be used for war. If the time came.

I tossed the suitcase onto the bed and set the Ruger on the nightstand, then sat down at the desk and dug into my BLT and a pilsner. The sandwich and the beer went well together and I figured the beer would do well on its own. My work was done for the day. My budding relationship with Leah probably done for good. Beer for dessert seemed apropos.

I finished my sandwich, grabbed another beer, and went out onto the balcony. Although on the West Coast, Santa Barbara faces south, so the sun went down off to the right of me rather than directly overhead. Dusk settled over Stearns Wharf and a few sailboats bobbed beyond it.

I thought about Mike Richert sitting on a rich-man’s yacht late at night waiting to set sail off East Beach in the morning.

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