Page 114 of The Last Close Call

Finally, Bryan managed to snag her attention, and she swung by his table with an empty tray tucked under her arm.

“One more thing.” He smiled again. “He’s drinking coffee, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you offer him a to-go cup?”

“We don’t do to-go cups.”

“Could you make an exception? It would really help me out.”

She glanced at the counter, then looked at Bryan. “Sure, okay.”

“Thanks.”

She walked off, and Bryan ate the rest of the toast, washing it down with a slug of coffee. Then he pulled a clear latex glove from his pocket and tugged it onto his right hand as subtly as possible. From the corner of his eye, he watched the server go back behind the counter and stop to talk to Anderson. Bryan held his breath and waited.

Anderson shook his head. Then he got up from his stool, and Bryan felt a rush of panic.

He’s leaving, he texted.

Bryan pretended to be reading his phone while in his peripheral vision, he watched Anderson cross the restaurant and stop at the register.

No to-go cup in his hand. No toothpick. No chewing gum. They were going to have to tail him around and wait for another chance to collect something, and that was assuming he didn’t go straight home now. Or hell, maybe jump on I-35 and leave town.

The server caught Bryan’s eye from behind the counter. She gave him a shrug, and Bryan responded with a slight nod. He grabbed his check off the table and headed for the register, trying to time it so he didn’t bump right into Anderson as he was paying.

On his way, he passed Anderson’s stool and used his gloved hand to snatch the napkin off the top of the breakfast plate. The napkin wasn’t even unfolded, but maybe the lab could get something off it. He slipped it into his pocket and headed for the register.

A skinny guy in an apron was ringing up Anderson’s tab, and Bryan hung back.

Six feet.

Six feet between him and the sick son of a bitch who had eluded investigators for years. Bryan looked him up and down, battling the urge to tackle him to the ground and slap the cuffs on. The guy was big—probably 210 or 220—and Bryan’s chest tightened as he pictured his meaty hands closing around Evelyn Wood’s neck.

Bryan looked away and tried to put a neutral expression on his face.

“Have a good one,” the cashier said.

Anderson stepped away and grabbed a peppermint from a bowl. He twisted the wrapper open with his teeth and then reached for the door.

“Everything okay today?”

Bryan looked at the cashier. “Yeah.” He handed over a twenty, then glanced back, desperate not to lose sight of that candy wrapper.

Anderson was stepping through the outer door.

“Keep the change,” Bryan said, and rushed out just in time to see Anderson drop the wrapper onto a trash bin by the door. It was one of those trash bins with an ashtray on the top, and Bryan saw the glint of cellophane beside a cigarette butt.

It was going to blow away.

Bryan pushed open the outer door. Anderson stood on the sidewalk now zipping up his jacket. Bryan darted a look at the candy wrapper just as a latex-gloved hand reached down and snagged it. Bryan’s heart lurched.

Heidi.

She walked right past him, no eye contact as she tucked the evidence inside her coat and entered the restaurant.

Bryan stepped away from the door, averting his gaze from Anderson, who was now crossing the parking lot to the black Honda.

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