Page 20 of A Future To Remember

But who’s counting.

Behind us I heard a door opening, and I glanced over my shoulder to see a forty-something bald guy with a walrus mustache and pale skin, dressed in a gray, grease-stained jumpsuit, holding a half-eaten breakfast burrito. “Hey!” he yelled. “Get the hell away from that!”

Oscar hopped down from the tow truck bed and regarded him casually before pulling out his shield. “Special Agent Oscar Hernandez, Sid. We’re the good guys.”

Sid didn’t seem to agree. “I’m supposed to go over that for evidence.”

“Not anymore,” Oscar told him.

I turned around fully to face Sid, hoping he’d see that the look on my face suggested he’d best back the fuck off.

Sid’s a smart guy. He skimmed me up and down, then promptly held up a hand and added a shrug. “Suit yourself. I got better things to do with my time anyway. But I’ll be sending you guys the bill for the tow.”

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. Walking over to Sid, I took out my credit card and handed it to him. “Ring it up.”

Sid stared at the platinum card being shoved at him like he hadn’t thought we’d actually pay up, then snatched it before I could change my mind.

Once he was holding the card, I added, “And get the Tahoe off the bed for us too.”

He shrugged again and moved over to the cab of his tow truck. Hopping in, he turned the engine over, moved to the flatbed to unhook several chains, and headed back to the cab to slowly tilt the flatbed up while releasing tension on the lone chain wrapped around the chassis, then eased the truck forward foot by foot.

The Tahoe slid more than it rolled off the bed of the tow truck, and dozens of gallons of water whooshed out of the cab as the angle of the Tahoe was tilted up. Oscar and I stepped out of the way of the flood of water, which ran in a steady stream toward the street.

Finally, when the Tahoe was level on the dirt driveway, Sid got out of the cab and made a show of unhooking the final chain.

Then, without a word, he left us to go run my card.

I moved to the driver’s side door and pushed on the frame to open it wider. It creaked on rusted hinges, but it opened wide enough for me to get a good look inside.

Oscar stepped close, looking over my shoulder. “Looks undisturbed,” he said.

I grunted in agreement. If the interior had been rummaged through, there would’ve been fingerprint marks impressed into the mud and other obvious signs of intrusion. The silt and mud caked onto every inch of surface area appeared undisturbed.

“We’ll need to tarp it,” I told him.

“We passed a hardware store on the way here. I can head there now and call our boys on the way to come take it to either Salt Lake or Billings.”

“Call the Salt Lake guys. Billings is closer, but Salt Lake’s gonna have the better crime lab.”

“I’ll need Harrison or maybe even Director Gaston to get that okayed.”

Even within branches of the Bureau, jurisdictions were fiercely guarded.

“Do it,” I told him. I would’ve made the call, but I’d quit the Bureau, which meant Oscar had more pull than I did these days, and while I could’ve called Brice and asked him for a personal favor, which would’ve been immediately granted, I had too much respect for Oscar to circumvent his authority.

“On it,” he replied. “I’ll start with Harrison and go up the chain from there.”

He walked away to make the calls while I bent down to pick up the stick he’d been using and began poking at the interior of the cab, using my flashlight to go slowly back and forth, looking for anything that might jump out at me.

I jabbed at The Carry-On a couple of times, and something deep in my gut told me to look more closely at it. It was the kind of feeling that Abby would describe, whenever her intuition was trying to get her attention. I ignored the visceral feeling for a few moments, but I couldn’t shake the certainty that if my wife were here, standing next to me, she’d tell me to stop ignoring my intuition and follow the advice it was giving.

So, I took out my phone, took several photos of her handbag lying awkwardly in the back seat, then reached for it and pulled it clear.

It was soaking wet and heavy as hell, but I managed to pull it out. Pocketing the flashlight, I held the bag at arm’s length, tipping it down to let all the water drip out.

Oscar’s bootsteps behind me sounded hurried, and I knew both that he’d seen what I was up to and knew that I was committing a cardinal sin by disturbing a crime scene, but I had to know where my gut was trying to point me.

He didn’t try to stop me, or yell at me to put the bag back, for which I’d thank him later. He watched me do the thing he was trained not to do. But this was my wife we were talking about. There was no way I could ignore what I was feeling pushed to do.