Blink of an Eye by Ted Dekker

Author:Ted Dekker
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson Inc.
Published: 2010-09-09T07:00:00+00:00

chapter 21

the sun cast a glow over the eastern sky, waking the sleeping valley to another day. Two patrol cars remained at the hotel, one in the front with a forensics team just now finishing up their work in the parking lot, and one in the back next to the abandoned Sable. A tow truck waited with amber lights flashing, preparing to impound the evidence.

Clive leaned against the door of the Sable, studying the hotel roof. He rolled the walnut between his fingers and squeezed it tight. The crime scene read like a book. Seth and Miriam had slept in different rooms—the manager and the couple’s abandoned belongings vouched for that. At some point in the night, presumably after the police arrived, Seth had somehow managed to get into the linen closet, work his way up to the ducts, tear loose a piece of duct tape—a move that could have been made only from the outside of the duct—wiggle into Miriam’s room, and return with her. They exited via the closet and made the alley unnoticed.

Signs of an unplanned journey littered the car: Dr Pepper bottles, empty chip bags, and half a dozen fashion magazines and cheap corner-store paperbacks. Toiletries. Crest. Johnson & Johnson dental floss. What kind of man picked up dental floss on the run? A man with a woman.

Clive had reviewed the sequence of events in the alley a hundred times, retracing each step by aggravating step. They scoured the streets and alleys surrounding the motel. Nothing. The search extended to the limits of Johannesburg. Still nothing. Seth and Miriam had simply vanished.

Clive had perfected the art of chasing down criminals by adhering to a simple principle: Follow the path of least resistance. Almost without exception, criminals took this path. They were not the most brilliant lot. If common sense dictated that they should duck behind a building instead of running out into the open with flailing hands, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that’s where they could be found: behind the building.

Standing in the middle of the alley, waiting for the adversary as Seth had done, was not a move brimming with common sense. It was, in fact, downright idiotic. But Seth wasn’t an idiot.

“AK-47,” a voice said.

Whitlow, the LAPD detective in charge of the physical search, approached from Clive’s left. The officer held a small, clear evidence bag containing one of the shell casings from the roof between his thumb and forefinger.

The detective was a city chump used to back-alley chops and drug deals. Not a bad man, just a bit far from home in Clive’s judgment. Whitlow removed a Dodgers baseball cap and scratched his head. “Common enough rifle around here. No telling where he got it.”

“He wasn’t the shooter,” Clive said. “We have another interested party.”

Whitlow forced a grin, replaced his cap, and put his hands on his hips. “So says the detective from the NSA.”

“So says common sense,” Clive said. “You find a weapon? No. And he didn’t have one. Someone else took that weapon.

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