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He bit his lip and grimaced as if it hurt.
She peered into the car. “Are you alright?”
“No!” he retorted. “You ran me off the damn road!”
She glanced back, then at him once more. “Actually, you went off the road. We just helped you into the ditch.”
He glared at her, but as she scanned him, he seemed unharmed, so she leaned back, hand resting on her weapon at her hip.
She tapped the top of his car. “You reported a stolen vehicle. Same make as this one—different color.”
He didn’t reply, but just scowled at her.
She waved a hand in front of her face to clear the dust drifting around them. Ethan was behind her, watching closely but not volunteering any information.
“My car?”
He rubbed at his forehead, sweaty, his hands still raised. He swallowed as he nervously glanced at her weapon. “This is about my damn car?”
She considered arresting him, taking him back to a precinct, and interrogating him there. But now… he seemed so flustered. Off guard.
This was the perfect time for answers.
“Your car was at the oil fields,” she began, her voice firm yet measured. “I don’t think it was stolen.”
“The… wait, what? Oil fields? Y-you’re wrong!” the man stammered, his eyes darting from side to side as if searching for an escape route.
“I think you’re lying to me,” Rachel said. “I think you know who was in that car. “Was it you?”
He just looked shell-shocked and kept shaking his head.
“Really?” Ethan chimed in, pointing at the wheel well on the man’s car. “You painted over it recently.”
Rachel glanced back, impressed at Ethan’s sharp eye. She noted the faint tinge of double color at the edge of the wheel well. She turned her attention back to Jeremiah.
“You’re still driving the car you reported stolen.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.
“What? No! No, of course not.”
“Cut it out,” Rachel said simply. “You’re on a murder rap. Lying isn’t going to help you.”
At the wordmurder,he went still. The mechanic had oversized eyes and an expression that made him seem constantly surprised.
“You were at the oil fields,” she said quietly. “We can run the tire treads. Your tires haven’t been changed in a while.”
She levied each word like a scalpel to peel away more layers of denial.
The man looked stunned, as if he’d been slapped. Panic washed over his face, and he began to break down, shaking his head, stuttering, “I didn’t know!”
“Didn’t know what?”
“About any of it. I… I was just dropping something off. Burying it.”
“Bullshit.”
“I was!”
“Bullshit,” she repeated.
