Page 113 of Wild Escape

I didn’t buy it. “What’s your name?”

“Keith.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Sheldon.”

“Keep cooperating, and you might not get a lethal injection.”

He swallowed hard.

We talked to the other perp, and he pretty much had the same thing to say. He blamed the stabbing on Raj. I figured none of them would take credit for it.

“You should take a look at this,” Mendoza shouted to me.

I followed him into one of the bedrooms.

He found a suit jacket. “It’s got blood on it.”

Neither of these nitwits owned a suit.

I snapped a few photos of it, pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, then rummaged through the pockets. It matched the description of Brandon‘s jacket. I found a few of his business cards in the inside pocket.

There was no doubt in my mind the blood would match Gabby. It would definitively connect these scumbags to the crime.

We stuffed the perps into the back of a squad car. They were taken to the station, processed, and printed.

In the interrogation room, we re-interviewed them once again, videotaping everything. With their affidavit, we were able to get a warrant for Raj's arrest.

I called the cab company, and the dispatcher told me where we could find him. Daniels put out a BOLO, and we left the station and followed Erickson and Faulkner in their squad car to hunt him down.

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With Tango One in the air and the GPS data from the dispatcher, it wasn’t hard to find Raj.

Erickson pulled behind him and spun up his lights.

We followed in the Porsche.

Raj kept driving down Pelican Way. The passenger in his back seat craned her neck to look through the rear window.

Raj didn't stop.

Erickson got on the loudspeaker and commanded him to pull over.

Raj kept rolling at a normal speed for a little while, then he decided to step on the gas.

The chase was on.

The dirtbag weaved in and out of traffic, and we followed.

He banked a hard left at the next intersection, tires squealing.

Horns honked as he cut off oncoming traffic. Cars jammed brakes, and grills ate pavement.

I don't know what he was thinking. He wasn't going to outrun a helicopter.

When the traffic cleared, Erickson gave chase, and we were right on his tail. With lights blazing, the squad car streaked down a residential street, screaming past trash cans and mailboxes.