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“Shit,” Morse said. “It’s the driver and the bodyguards.” Then he turned angrily on me and Bert. “How the hell did you know where to find the limo?”
“GPS from the cell phone,” Bert said.
“Bullshit,” Morse said. “Those guys have been underwater for days, if not a week. There’s no way in hell that any of their phones are still – ”
Suddenly there was a ringing sound from one of the dead bodies.
Everyone turned around in shock.
“Find it, get it out!” Morse yelled.
The nearest tech reached in the driver’s jacket pocket and fished out a phone.
It was covered in a sturdy plastic case – one of those water-resistant ones. Not only that, but it was double-sized, like it had an extra-large battery.
Morse grabbed the cell and looked at the screen. “It’s a 212 number, and not one in the victim’s contact list – no name. Hello?” he said, answering the call.
“Hello,” Bert said.
Everyone turned to look at him. He was holding his own cell phone to his ear.
“His phone number was in the police report,” Bert said. “Guess the cell had enough charge to let our private detective find it via GPS, after all.”
