Page 94 of Witness 8

It took the one and a half seconds for Brett Bale to get into the Land Rover for Bloch to interpret what she had seen and come to a logical, theoretical conclusion.

She didn’t have to say it either. Lake was just as fast, and he liked to talk.

‘He’s wearing a piece,’ Lake said.

Bloch nodded. People who don’t normally wear a concealed weapon don’t know how to carry it. An average-sized loaded handgun weighs between one and a half and two pounds. Plus the holster, if it’s a good-quality leather shoulder piece, that’s another half a pound at least. It feels alien to those who don’t wear it every day. It subtly affects your balance, but more than that – you are conscious of it at all times. It’s like carrying around a hammer strapped to your side.

That’s why Bale’s left arm was stiff. He was holding it against the side of his jacket where he wore his piece. Making sure it was there. That it wasn’t somehow going to fall out. And the heat. It wasn’t weather to melt the blacktop, but it was hot. No other reason to be wearing a warm jacket on a day like this other than for concealment.

Bloch fired the engine.

‘Should I get out?’

She nodded.

Lake exited the Jeep, Bloch pulled out into the street five seconds after the Land Rover. She followed Bale, keeping her distance. He made a left at the end of the block. Stopped at a set of lights. No other choice but to roll up behind him. She kept her distance, but was now close enough to see into his vehicle. The back window had a dark tint, but not so dark that she couldn’t make out the figure of Bale in the driver’s seat.

The lights changed.

Bale moved.

She followed.

He didn’t touch his indicators, but turned left. Bloch swore under her breath, made the turn with him.

Was he using counter-surveillance techniques? This one was pretty standard. You begin with a few loops of the block, then random turns. Tight and quick. That creates a crazy trail of movement that no other normal driver behind you will make, so you know, right away, if there’s still the same car in your rearview after that – then you’ve got yourself a tail.

The Land Rover indicated left.

Shit.

He was making a loop, now driving back into West 74thStreet.

Bloch contemplated driving on. Not following him. He must’ve been on counter surveillance.

She should drive on. She knew it.

That’s what her brain was screaming at her to do.

But something else happened. She didn’t know if it was gut instinct, or that elemental lizard-brain again, but whatever it was, she hit the indicators too, made the left four seconds after Bale.

Then he did something else Bloch wasn’t expecting.

The Land Rover pulled into a parking space on the right side of the street.

Bloch drove past the vehicle and, as she did so, she checked her mirrors, got a good look at Bale in the driver’s seat and realized then what he was doing. That was a moment which shifted some more tiles in the broken mosaic of this case and caused Bloch to suck in the air.

She drove on up the street another two hundred yards, past Lake who was walking along the sidewalk. She turned the corner. Waited. She saw him in her rearview, flashed the lights. Lake got into the passenger seat beside her.

‘What the hell? He was running a loop! Did he make us?’

‘No,’ said Bloch. ‘I’m pretty sure he didn’t notice me. Did you see where he parked?’

‘No, why?’

‘He’s armed and he’s watching a house on this street.’

Lake’s eyes widened. ‘He’s parked outside the Jacksons’ house?’