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“I, um, I might, you know…have some information that you could use or something.” He ran his teeth over his lip, his large brown eyes glancing up at him briefly before moving away again.
Howard waited a beat before saying, rather impatiently, “Well. Whatever you have to say, spit it out.”
“If I tell you what I know…Look,” he said strongly, “I can’t be tied to this, alright? If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone it was me.”
Howard didn’t like making deals before he knew what he was dealing with, but he had absolutely nothing left to lose and this case was going nowhere fast. If this kid has information, he was willing to agree to anything to get it.
“Whatever, I didn’t hear it from you. Now spill.”
“Uh, that truck you’re looking for,” he spoke slowly. “I might have gotten the license plate.”
Howard’s eyes widened with interest. “Why did you sit on this information when you knew your friend was fighting for his life? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
Marcus winced. “I know I should have.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Howard snapped.
“Because I was scared!” Marcus looked around frantically; making sure no one was watching or listening. “I was scared,” he said more subdued this time. “I’m not even twenty yet, and, well, you know what happens in places like that.” His eyes were pleading with him to understand and, yeah, he knew exactly what the kid was getting at. Drugs, alcohol…He was terrified of Mommy and Daddy finding out that he wasn’t the nice, responsible student they had shipped off, and if the school found out…There was no telling how much trouble he would be in.
Howard decided to cut him some slack. “I get it. And don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure you aren’t mentioned in the paperwork. Now tell me what happened, and this time, don’t leave anything out.”
Marcus nodded, relieved but still tense. “Well, Brent had just left and I realized he was holding for me, so I ran out to catch him before he drove off. You know, stuff costs a lot of money these days.”
Drugs, Howard thought, his suspicions confirmed.
“I was just about to call out to him when he tripped and like that,” he snapped his fingers, “the truck was there. I’ll never forget the sound when it hit him.” He stared off, his thoughts drifting back to the moment it all happened, then he shook his head to clear it away. “RNMOVR. I’ll never forget it. Sick, right?”
Run-em-over, Howard translated in his head. Jesus. He knew that plate.
“So,” Marcus said, his entire demeanor changing. “Is there, like, a reward or something?”
“Yep,” Howard said with a wide grin, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You get to go to bed tonight with a clear conscience.”
Marcus looked deflated, then sullen.
Howard took off, too hopped up to care. What Marcus had revealed blew the whole case wide open. He got on his phone, dialing the police chief as he burst into the stairwell, too impatient to wait for the elevator.
“John,” he barked into the phone when the chief picked up. “It’s Howard. I got something for you.”
In a crackly voice John grumbled, “Jesus, Howard. Do you know what time it is?”
“Forget the time,” he snapped, jumping down the last few stairs to the second floor landing. “You need to get down to the station and put a squad together. I have some information that just blew the doors off the Lefebvre case.”
“What? Calm down, Howard, you’re talking a mile a minute.” Down the line, Howard could hear the soft rustle of fabric as the chief got out of bed and pulled on his clothes. “What kind of information are we talking about here?”
“It’s a long story. Look,” Howard said, barreling through the first floor door and down the hall to the emergency exit. “I’m heading into the station right now. Just meet me there and I’ll fill you in on everything.” Hanging up, Howard jogged through the parking lot to his car, anxious to get the ball rolling before they missed their window to catch this guy.
Howard was just opening his car door when his phone jangled in his hand. “What is it,” he barked, folding himself in behind the wheel.
“Is this Young? Howard Young,” the shaky male voice asked.
“Speaking.” Something about this person’s voice made Howard stop and pay attention.
“This is Jerold Montrose. I am a lawyer representing Terri Cunningham—”
Howard slammed the car into reverse. “If this is about my questioning her, you can save it. I was well within the legal parameters—”
“That’s not the reason for this call,” Jerald interrupted. “I am calling because I have reason to believe her life might be in danger.”
