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“Good evening, sir,” a young officer said. “May I see your license, registration and proof of insurance?” His hand was on his gun.
“Certainly,” Teddy said, reaching for his wallet.
“Slowly, sir, please,” the cop said.
Teddy slowly produced his wallet, removed the license and handed it over, then opened the center armrest for his registration and insurance information, while another cop watched him closely from the other side of the car.
“Mr. Smithson?” the cop read from the license. “What are you doing out tonight?”
“Driving home,” Teddy replied.
“From where?”
“From the Publix market on US-1,” Teddy said. “There isn’t a big supermarket on the island.”
“Would you step out of the car, please?”
Teddy got out.
“Place your hands on top of the car, please.”
He did so and felt himself being searched. “What’s this about?” he asked. “Why did you stop me?”
“Do you mind if I have a look inside your car, Mr. Smithson?”
“No, I don’t mind, but I’d like to know why.”
“Just a routine procedure, sir. Please have a seat on my front bumper, right behind your car.”
Teddy walked back to the police car behind him and sat down. He watched as the two officers thoroughly searched his car and as one officer pressed the button inside the car that opened his trunk. The two officers moved around the four bags of groceries in the trunk and looked under the floor where the spare tire was stored.
“All right, Mr. Smithson,” the cop said, handing him back his paperwork. “You may proceed on your way. I apologize for any inconvenience.”
“Not at all,” Teddy said, accepting his paperwork and returning to his car. The cop had not even mentioned that he had been driving at least ten miles per hour over the speed limit. He started the car, waited for the police car to move from in front of him, then pulled away from the curb and continued on his way.
This had to be about the search for the rapist/murderer, he thought. He drove home, put away the groceries, took his laptop from the safe and switched it on. He logged on to the Agency computer through a handy computer in Birmingham, Alabama, and began compiling everything he could find on James Bruno, from his court-martial record, to his West Point transcript to his military personnel file.
Finally, he ran a complete background check on the man, discovering only some speeding tickets, the most recent four months ago. Except for those, the man was clean on the civilian side. Only the court-martial transcript told the story of his abuse of women.
Bruno, he concluded, was a type A personality, aggressive and bullying, though Teddy doubted that part of his personality would display itself when he was faced with someone his own size who had an equally aggressive attitude.
He pulled Bruno’s recent Florida driver’s license application from the state’s DMV records, which gave him the man’s current home address. He was going to have to start looking into Bruno’s daily schedule and devote some thought to how to best deal with him.
Lauren Cade got home from work, poured herself a drink and called Jack Smithson.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Lauren.”
“How was your day?”
“Long and tiring. I’m just having a drink and recovering.”
“I was pulled over by the police on the way home from the grocery store this evening,” he said.
“Oh? What crime did you commit, Jack?”
“White male alone in a car,” Teddy replied. “I take it this is part of your investigation?”
