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Ariel’s abandoned car appeared, and my heart thumped. I’d slowed, so Valentine and I were able to take a good look as the recording proceeded. The dashcam sat right at the top of the windshield, and even from that angle it wasn’t possible to identify anyone inside her car.
I sped back and forth in the video, confident I hadn’t missed anything.
“The guy was coming from the other direction, right?” Valentine asked.
I grunted agreement. The video played on.
We both leaned in. Headlights appeared on the other side of the screen, emerging from the gloom and growing bigger and brighter until the vehicle passed.
“Speed’s about the same as yours,” Valentine surmised. “From my grand experience of living here for a week, people bomb along that road, even on ice. It’s a long, straight run with few turnings, little traffic, and no speed cameras. No reason to cruise along it.”
He was right. “Unless you’re hunting for something. Or in our case, carefully driving a new baby home.”
Skipping back, I played the video at a slower speed, pausing at intervals.
“Those full-beam headlights are a bitch.” Valentine squinted at the screen which was blown out with white light. “Most newer cars automatically dip their headlights when they pick up another vehicle. It suggests this one is older. Can ye make out the model?”
I nodded. “It’s a VW Golf. Probably the most popular car brand here. Either dark blue or grey.”
“Can’t see shite of the driver or the number plate.”
I couldn’t either. The headlights obscured both.
A message arrived on my phone, Gordain sending the second lot of footage along with a text.
Gordain: Heard about Ariel. You on the case?
I tapped out a response.
Jackson: On it now.
Gordain: Let me know if you need help. I’ll take a patrol overnight.
I set up the video he’d sent.
Valentine’s foot jumped, like he was as anxious as me to discover something. “Ben told me Gordain used to run this team, but he’s semi-retired.”
I snorted a laugh. “Gordain set up the team after ultra-famous rock star, Leo, married his daughter, Viola. He’s in his early sixties but is probably fitter than any of us, and he rarely misses an event, despite Ben being in charge. Especially if Viola or his grandson, Finn, are attending. Some people never retire. Pretty sure he’s one of them.”
The footage from Leo’s car played, the angle different from mine, and with the background sound of a tiny baby crying and Viola’s gentle soothing. The offending car neared, and this time, I picked out the shadowy outline of the driver.
My pulse thrummed.
That was him. Larson, it had to be. Fucking arsehole.
“Partial plate,” Valentine crowed, sounding just as excited as me.
I hitched my breath and wound back, pausing each frame until I saw what he had.
He was right.
SV04 9.
Try as we could, the last two letters were too obscured to make out, but still, we had something.
Valentine gave me a hard, celebratory shake, fisting my shirt at the shoulder. “What do we do with it now? Tell me we have a contact who can run a plate.”
I shoved him off me with a grin. “We can do it ourselves, but assuming this car isn’t registered to someone who lives in the US, my guess is it’s stolen. We need a police insider to help with that. Luckily, we have one of those, too.”
