Page 22 of Saving Salem
“I know. Just…be careful, Jack.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m so angry, I want to nail these…” He broke off before spewing a string of curses, because as a cop he knew what depraved and desperate people were capable of, and he hadn’t figured out what was driving the Amirs, but they were accelerating. Which meant they were getting desperate. Now all they had to do was figure out why. Fortunately, Salem had a lot of people pulling for her, and working with her. And with this new evidence, they would keep a tighter rein on keeping her safe.
He’d be damned if he’d lose her, not when he’d only just found her.
Time to get to work.
CHAPTER TEN
After close tothree hours of trudging from office supply store to office supply store, Jack was one part exhausted and his feet hurt and one part fascinated with Gator. The man obviously knew everybody. Oh, not just a few of the local people around the area where Salem lived. The Cajun kneweverybody. Sales clerks, mail people, customers strolling the aisles of the stores, even tourists who stopped to look in shop windows seemed to know the man, and everybody wanted to stop and chat.
He’d also learned that Gator had a knack for ferreting out information from even the most reluctant characters. A couple of the frazzled sales clerks working the copying center at the shops initially hadn’t wanted to share information, but once Gator put on his interrogator’s hat, within minutes they told him everything they knew, including tidbits about their health, the cousin’s upcoming wedding, the best fishing spot in the local bayou, even who was having an affair with the local church deacon.
Too bad none of them had info on their mystery photographer.
The nice thing about their jaunt through the area was Jack learned a lot about the lay of the land, where the interesting shops were, places he’d explore later at his leisure. Maybe bring Salem with him, though she was probably familiar with all the ones that piqued his interest. Seeing them through her eyes would be worthwhile.
“Let’s try one more place I know. It’s not far, but it’s close to a couple of motels where a nonlocal might hole up.”
“Works for me.”
They walked a couple blocks north, and while the area became less touristy and a bit more rundown, it still held its own quaint charm. Jack loved the way the wrought iron scrolled in decorative swirls over windows and balconies, some painted bright cheerful colors while others maintained the blackened patina. The stuccoed walls had begun showing signs of age, the ravages of time and weather, chips and chunks missing from the buildings’ exteriors. Weathered shutters with cracked and peeling paint hung like ghostly sentinels on either side of windows.
Jack spotted two motels standing like soldiers across from one another, both looking like the kinds of places families with kids wouldn’t stop at. Each one stood two floors high, with a couple of vending machines for drinks and snacks—all of which had out of order signs attached and flapping in the light breeze. While they didn’t give off the rent-by-the-hour vibe, he doubted most of the customers passing through stayed more than a night. If he had to guess, he’d say both setups were utilized by people wanting to live out of the public eye, mostly off the grid, renting by the week or by the month, nothing long term.
Each parking lot contained about a half dozen cars, and one sported a few motorcycles. Jack was familiar with the setup. He’d run into more than his fair share of these kinds of places when he’d worked in Texas. Surprisingly, this was exactly the kind of place criminals frequented, thinking they’d stay under the radar. Nine times out of ten it didn’t work.
“Stores right over there,” Gator pointed just past the motel on the right. There was a liquor store directly beside the motel, its neon lights blinking in a garish display, advertising their wares. Next door to it was a store selling condoms, proclaiming they had the best prices and selection in town. Jack chuckled softly, thinking how apropos, having a prophylactic store beside a seedy motel. Probably did a pretty good business.
The office supply store wasn’t one of the big chain ones. Instead, it seemed to be more of a repair shop for office equipment, and it advertised on the sign by the door that it bought and sold refurbished computers and printers. It wasn’t as rundown as its surrounding buildings, and Jack wondered if they’d made a mistake coming to this out-of-the-way spot. It didn’t look like the place to have a high-quality photo printer on site, not with all the used computers and prints, adding machines and a couple of film projectors sitting bunched up on every available shelf.
It was eerily quiet inside. No customers lingered in the aisles, chitchatting about everything under the sun like they’d encountered in the bigger stores. A lone clerk sat behind a cash register, tinkering with his cellphone.
“Afternoon. Anything I can help you folks with?” He asked the question without looking up, his gaze never leaving his phone’s screen. Jack never understood the fascination with them. He got along fine with his shoved in his pocket. When he needed to make a call, he pulled it out and used it. If he needed to look something up and get information online, he did. Then he put it away. If he wanted to play games, he waited until he got home and did it on the big screen.
“Afternoon, Wilson.”
Wilson’s head shot up at the sound of Gator’s Cajun drawl. Jack hid his smirk behind his hand. He’d seen it happen time after time that afternoon, people falling all over themselves the minute Gator deigned to speak to them.
“Mr. Gator! Sorry I didn’t notice you come in. What can I help you with? You looking to buy a computer? A printer? I can hook you up with something really special, and I’ll get you the best price in town. Guaranteed.”
“Not today, Wilson. This is my friend, Jack.” Gator gestured toward him, and Jack watched Wilson swallow, the prominent Adam’s apple in his throat moving with the action. “We’re looking for some information, and I’m hoping you can help.”
“Anything I can do, Mr. Gator. What do ya need?”
Gator patted the manila envelope containing the pictures. “Wondering if you’ve had anybody come in, asking to have some photographs printed recently. High quality paper, color prints.”
Wilson visibly swallowed again, this time Jack noticed his hands slide off the countertop and go underneath, out of view. He didn’t like not being able to see Wilson’s hands, it made him antsy. Guy could reach for anything under the counter, and he wasn’t carrying yet, waiting for the Louisiana paperwork to come through. Samuel had expedited his license, but it still took more than a day or two.
“I…I don’t get a lot of folks wanting pictures. Everybody’s got fancy printers at home now, high speed, high quality, color photo ink.”
Gator nodded and waited, watching Wilson. Letting the guy sweat, without saying a word. He’d watched Gator all afternoon, adeptly playing each person they spoke with, judging when to talk and when to listen, and apparently he read Wilson as the nervous type who’d probably spill his guts if the pressure got too much.
It didn’t take long for Wilson to break.
“Did have somebody come in and ask for photos. Can I, um, can I see what you’ve got? I’ll be able to tell if they were printed here.”
Without a word, Gator handed the envelope to Wilson, who pulled the pictures free. A wave of relief spread across his ruddy face.
