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“They don’t have him. I should get that out of the way first.”
“But?”
“He wasn’t in the hotel room when the police went in, but a lot of his things were—clothes, IDs, electronics. And the car he’d gotten when he sold or traded his last victim’s was in the hotel garage. They have the name he used to book the suite. He’d gone out shopping, had some lunch. They have credit card receipts.”
She paused by the fountain, so they stood a moment. He waited while the water fountained and the sunlight struck the copper.
“From the time stamps, they posit he saw the police going into the hotel when he was walking back from his lunch—charged on the card under the new name. It was all about the timing.”
Miles rounded it up. “So they have what he left in the hotel room, have the car.”
“Yes, and more. He walked some distance, caught a bus. They had his new description from the hotel—from witness statements and the lobby cameras. He caught a bus—and they have him on that camera, too. And from where he got off and when, they believe he stole a car from a Walmart parking lot. They have the make and model of the car, the plates. He used the ID he had when I met him to buy gas. They found the car in long-term parking at the airport in Omaha, Nebraska. That’s where they are now.”
“He’s running.”
“That’s what they said, yes. They’re canvassing hotels, motels, car rentals, stolen car reports in Omaha. He didn’t go into the airport. They seem sure of that. He may have stolen another car from that same lot. They’re not sure yet.”
She hadn’t just dented Rozwell’s shield, Miles thought. She’d obliterated it. And that worried him.
“He lost his tools, his equipment.”
“He was carrying a laptop bag when he left the hotel,” Morgan told him. “He has something, but since he used the Luke Hudson Visa card for gas, they think he doesn’t have any ID on him that isn’t compromised. For now.”
“He’d need supplies to make more, and a place to hide while he does. He’s in or around Omaha, Morgan, and you’re not.”
“I know. And I know they’re frustrated. I could hear the frustration in Agent Beck’s voice even though she’s good at sounding very matter-of-fact. Frustration that they were so close, minutes really. And excitement that they were that close.
“So… that’s where we are.”
“He screwed up, and he has to know it.”
He may have felt frustration, but all Morgan heard in his voice wassatisfaction. “For someone who knows so much about tech, he didn’t remember to disengage the tracking system. He used the blown ID for gas when he should’ve risked going in, paying cash for it. It would’ve taken them longer to track him that way.”
She hadn’t thought of that. Everything happened so fast. “Maybe.”
“Pretty likely. Some little pump-and-go off the highway. Then the long-term parking—he’s used that ploy before, hasn’t he? Better if he’d changed the plates and driven the stolen car off the road somewhere.”
“Yes. I… Yes.” The sheer coolheaded logic of it calmed her nerves. “It wasn’t smart. He wasn’t smart.”
“He’s headed into sparsely populated areas, why not use that to his advantage? Instead, he goes to a population center. Or take the car in for a cheap paint job, get more miles out of it before ditching it. Check the ads, buy a junker direct from the owner for cash, and get more miles.”
Frowning, she turned to him. “If I’m ever on the run from the law, I want you with me. What would you do next?”
He answered without hesitation. “Change my pattern. Cheap, off-brand motel where nobody gives a shit. Get the supplies I need to change my appearance again and generate a couple of fresh IDs. He has to have access to his money.”
Thinking out loud and wanting to distract her, he walked with her around the yard. “Time for a population center where I’d open accounts in at least two different banks so I could have some funds wired in. Ditch the junker, buy a new car through my new bank accounts. Then I’d continue breaking pattern by finding a scenic and remote area, renting a house or cabin. I’d settle in so I could think about the multitude of ways I’d screwed up.”
He glanced back, saw Clark installing the camera on the back door.
“After enough time had passed,” Miles continued, “I’d book a private plane and fly to… maybe the Canary Islands, and settle in for a nice, long vacation.”
“The Canary Islands?”
“For instance. A lot of miles between here and there. But he’s not going to do all of that.”
“No, he’s not. But why do you say that?”
“The evidence is pretty clear he can’t admit mistakes. If he realizes they tracked the car from South Carolina, it’s not his fault. It’ll be the guy who took the car in trade who’s to blame. Whoever he stole the next car from—their fault it wasn’t filled up with gas so he had to use the old ID.”
