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“Sure, if we can find it. Follow me.”
They followed the man through the back door into a shop, then out behind the building.
“The chief’s old tire will be in this pile over here…” The man stopped; there was no pile of tires. “I’m sorry,” he said, “looks like we had a pickup this afternoon. The pile was here this morning.” He called to one of the men in the shop. “Hey, Mike, did we get a pickup today?”
“’Bout an hour ago,” Mike yelled back.
The man turned back to Hurd and his group. “We get a pickup from an outfit in Melbourne about once a week. They specialize in disposing of old tires, batteries, that sort of stuff.”
“Can you give me the name and address of the company?” Hurd asked.
“Sure. I’ve got it inside.” He went back into the front room, rummaged through a desk drawer and came up with a business card. “Here you go,” he said, handing Hurd the card. Environmental Disposal Corporation. They’re out beyond the Melbourne airport.”
“Thank you,” Hurd said. “Holly, you want to come with us?”
“I can’t Hurd; I’ve got to cook dinner for a friend, and I haven’t even been to the store yet. Good luck.” Holly watched them drive away.
They found the EDC sign between the airport and the interstate, and Lauren turned into a road leading toward a group of steel buildings. She parked the car in front of a building with a sign that said oFFICES, and she and Hurd went inside.
Hurd showed his badge. “May I speak with the manager, please?”
“I’ll tell him you’re here,” the woman said. “Please have a seat.”
They did, and ten minutes passed before a man in a shirt and tie appeared.
“I’m Charles Meeton,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“We need to find a tire that you picked up in Vero Beach today,” Hurd said.
“Sir, we’ve got lots of tires here,” Meeton said.
“This one would be on a truck that picked up tires at Vero Discount Tires an hour and a half, two hours ago,” Hurd said.
A noise came from outside that practically drowned him out. “What’s that?” Hurd asked.
“Just some of our equipment,” Meeton said. “Alice, can I see the dispatcher’s log?”
Alice handed him a clipboard.
“Let’s see,
” Meeton said, “that would be Al Parker’s truck. What number is Al Parker’s truck, Alice?”
Alice consulted another clipboard. “Fifteen,” she said.
Meeton handed her back his clipboard. “Come on, folks, let’s take a look outside.” He led the way out the way they had come in.
Outside, the noise was deafening. “There’s Al’s truck,” Meeton shouted over the din, pointing. A hundred yards away, a dump truck was depositing its load in what appeared to be a steel-sided container about fifteen feet across. The three of them began to walk toward it.
Hurd fell in alongside Meeton. “What’s making the noise?” he shouted.
Meeton shouted something back.
“What?”
“The shredder,” Meeton yelled. “You see, we shred the tires, and then…”
But Hurd was already running toward the truck, waving his arms. “Stop!” he was yelling at the driver. “Stop!”
