AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Are we okay?” she eventually pushed out.
“We will be. Let’s just do what we do best, and that’s work together and get Katherine back alive.”
Her chest ached at the brutal reminder. But he was right. She had commitments and responsibilities to consider before this personal garbage. Foremost was to the badge, to her vow to serve and protect. Her thoughts turned to what Mrs.Elliott had told them. “The plates left their lives a year and a half ago. But now they’re turning up. Where have they been all this time?”
Trent nodded. “And why were they never destroyed?”
TWENTY
The minutes kept passing on the clock, and Amanda and Trent might as well have been spinning in circles. It was twelve thirty, and they were no closer to finding Katherine than they had been when they’d first discovered she was taken. Just like then, they had hypotheticals. They also now had a list of Devil’s Saints gang members that Natasha’s assistant had forwarded over. A quick call to Greg Elliott confirmed he never gave the plates a single thought after his accident and didn’t recall being contacted. It sounded convenient, but Amanda believed him. The accident must have been brutal, and his mind would have been otherwise occupied. She and Trent did have an immediate lead to follow at least.
The lot at Eco-Friendly Auto Recyclers was empty save a small inventory of older cars. Some of these had license plates, others did not. The former ones probably belonged to Simon Wheable and other employees. The others had likely escaped the compactor and were for sale. Being somewhat familiar with the owner, it wouldn’t surprise her if a chunk of business took place under the table, but she wasn’t with the Internal Revenue Service. The white Ford van from this morning was too new to change hands here. But did Simon illegally sell plates to his more questionable clients?
A stack of crushed vehicles towered over a tall fence that cordoned off the backyard. The clanging and scrunching of metal rang through the air confirming the compactor was hard at work.
The front door entered to a counter, an office behind it. There was also a staircase that led to a second floor. A rather robust woman was watching them over glasses that were perched near the tip of her nose.
“Can I help you?” A cool and indifferent greeting, but working here would suck a person’s joy. Though Amanda’s opinion may have been influenced by the Playboy calendar pinned to the wall in plain view.
Amanda and Trent flashed their badges, but she gestured for him to take the lead. It was the least she owed him for stepping in with Mrs.Elliott.
“We’re looking to speak with Simon Wheable,” Trent told the woman.
“Well, good for you, but it ain’t gonna happen right this minute. He’s out back crushing.”
“Can you page him for us? It’s very important,” Trent said.
“As if what we’re doing isn’t?” the woman tossed back.
“Never said that, never meant to imply it. But Simon’s name came up in connection with a murder investigation. So either you get him, or we will.”
Go, Trent! Amanda wasn’t used to hearing Trent talk to people the way he just had, but it wasn’t a bad side considering the circumstances.
The woman sat back and narrowed her eyes. She and Trent played the game of silence for a few seconds, but the receptionist was the first to cave. She picked up the phone receiver, hit a button, and said, “Simon to the front desk. Urgent.”
Her voice traveled through the walls from outside. The message must be being pumped through speakers in the yard.
The compactor stopped running, and about a minute later, a rear door slammed open.
“What the hell, Helen? I’m trying to work.”
Simon came into view. Now nearing his mid-forties, he was starting to sport a bit of a paunch, and his face hadn’t seen the business end of a razor in a few days. His brisk rate slowed when he saw them.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed.
“Come closer, and we’ll tell you,” Trent challenged.
Simon clenched his jaw. “Follow me.” He turned and led them up a staircase to the second floor. There, he directed them through the first door on the right into an office. Presumably there was a desk buried under the stacks of paperwork.
Simon dropped onto a tattered leather chair that squeaked in protest and clasped his hands across his front. “What is it I’m to have done now?”
“As long as you’re in a cooperative mood, we’re here about a pair of license plates,” Trent said. “They were last registered to Greg Elliott. We’ve been told they came in on his car after it was totaled in an accident.”
“Okay,” Simon dragged out. “Well, any relinquished plates are turned over to the Department of Motor Vehicles and destroyed.”
“Well, these ones weren’t,” Trent pointed out. “They became your responsibility when you accepted the car with them on it.”
“Whoa, now.” Simon held up his hands. “I know you cops hate me, but I haven’t done anything wrong here. And can you even prove I got the car with the plates?”
