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She frowned and cupped a hand around her free ear to mufflethe sound of the traffic whooshing by mere feet away. “Marc? Are you there?”
“Yes. You said you had a call from me?”
“A minute or two ago.” The air horn from an over-the-road semi blared behind her, and she winced.
“Where are you?”
“On the side of the highway, with two flat tires. Wait a sec while I get away from the noise.” She opened the front passenger door and tucked herself into the car. “Much better. Now I’ll be able to hear you.”
“Did you say two flat tires?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you drive through a construction zone?”
“No. Must just be my unlucky day.”
“Have you called a towing service?”
“Next on my list. But I saw your call and thought maybe you’d come up with a new angle on the case.”
A beat ticked by.
“I wish I could say I have, but the truth is I must have dialed you by mistake while I was scrolling through my messages.”
Quashing a foolish surge of disappointment, she called up the brightest tone she could manage. “In that case, I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were—”
“Why don’t I pick you up and give you a lift home?”
A truck with a familiar swoosh logo rumbled by, and the company’s Just Do It motto flashed through her mind, tempting her to accept his offer.
But that would be breaking her rule. Wouldn’t it?
“I, uh, wasn’t going home.”
“Still on the job?”
“More or less.” She filled him in on her call with Michelle Thomas’s father and their scheduled meeting.
“Why did Kavanaugh stay in touch with the man?”
“I don’t know, and the origin and cause report didn’t offera clue. It was pretty cut and dried. Maybe he just felt sorry for the guy.”
“Or maybe Les suspected there was more to her death, despite the evidence. In fact, I wonder if that case could somehow be connected to the meeting he set up with you.”
She gazed toward a line of row houses adjacent to the highway. A light flicked on in the upper window of one, illuminating the interior.
Could that be true?
And if it was ...
“Hold on a sec.”
Pulse quickening, she pulled up the photo of the list Les’s daughter had found in his wallet. The one that had appeared to be a jumble of letters and numbers strung together in no coherent pattern. Like a private code, as Alison had suggested.
But suddenly, on one line, the letters and numbers clicked into focus.
MT420.
