Bruce said, “They never even knew it was here till I did a walkaround. Someone must’ve smuggled it in, because the boysdidn’t remember it and there was no record of this car in their ledgers.”
“Paper ledgers?” Ramon asked.
“Can’t hack a piece of paper. And it ain’t like they get good cell signal out here.”
Jax did a circuit around the car, including the police car. He hadn’t brought his credentials to prove he was an FBI agent, so he couldn’t be here in an official capacity. But he did want to take a look.
The cop scanned the interior.
“You see a body?” Jax found the license plate—or the spot where it should be. Nothing. He went to check the front. They could run the VIN numbers and see who it was registered to.
“Nothing but blood.” The cop looked at him. “Who are you?” He shifted back and jumped down, brushing his hands together.
“Someone who’d like to know what happened to Elliot Adams.” Jax went to the front. No license plate number there either. “Is there a VIN number, or did that get removed like the plates?”
The officer lifted one brow. “Sergeant?” He glanced at the older officer.
“Let’s pop the trunk, Son. See if there’s anything got left behind.” The sergeant had a moustache, and flat brown eyes. His skin had a yellow tone to it.
“Yes, Sergeant.” The officer looked around.
“Fetch a crowbar, Son.”
The officer jogged away toward Charlie, who’d wandered off.
A breeze kicked up down the aisle between rows of junk. Through the dust, Jax spotted a small plane taking off from the airport that had to be several miles away, maybe even all the way across town. Elliot Adams had made it as far as where those men took Kenna. Then something had happened before he could prevent them from leaving with her.
Jax owed it to the special agent to find out what happened to him.
He went to the end of the row, walked up the next aisle so he could see the other side of the small SUV, then turned to Bruce. “How did you find it?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”
“At least you didn’t call meSon.”
Bruce laughed. “We’ve all been there.” Then slid on the pair of old Ray-Ban sunglasses he’d retrieved from his shirt pocket.
“Have you been over to the airport?”
Ramon came over. “What are we talking about?”
“This case.” Jax surveyed the car, spotting what looked like evidence of a collision on the side.
Bruce peeked over the top of his Ray-Bans. “The airport is my next stop.”
“Maybe you’ll find someone we can interrogate.” Ramon stuck his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans.
Jax glanced at him, wondering how come Kenna had never mentioned Ramon’s need to blow off steam by punching people. “I’d rather deliver good news to a young woman missing her brother.”
Ramon made a face like he was skeptical. “You really think he’s still alive?”
“Isn’t that why we’re searching for Kenna? Because we’re not giving up hope that she’s alive?”
“Good point.” Ramon shrugged, moved past Jax, and climbed up to the passenger window. “Did that cop know the keys are still in the ignition? This thing’s a bit mangled, but it’s still mostly intact.”
“It’s a wonder the junkyard guys didn’t realize it was out here.”
Bruce said, “Charlie told me they don’t come down this aisle until spring, but it’s all depending on inventory. New drop-offs get loaded on the far side.”