Somewhere along the way I must have dozed off, because I woke to a harsh blue light and the sound of something banging against the rear of the Range Rover. I sat up, my heart racing, and looked around.
We were at a gas station, and I was alone in the car. I turned in my seat and saw that Scotty was filling the SUV with gas. A couple of seconds later, Marcus emerged from the station’s minimart with two bags in his hand. He opened the passenger side door and peered between the two front seats.
“Good, you’re awake.” He glanced at Scotty through the rearview window and passed me one of the bags. “The nutrition police have given us a road trip reprieve. Enjoy.”
I looked inside the bag and found a Coke, a Snapple, two small bags of chips, a sad-looking apple (a gesture of appreciation for Scotty’s leniency?), and a candy bar.
“Thanks,” I said.
Marcus grinned. His thinning hair was messed up, and he almost looked a little crazy in the fluorescent light of the gas station. “No problem, kid. I bet we’ll be able to get a diner breakfast out of him, too.”
I laughed. “We can try.” I opened the passenger side door. “I’m going to the bathroom while we’re here.”
When I returned, Scotty had finished getting gas and was in the driver’s seat.
“Ready to go?” Scotty asked as I slid into the backseat.
“Yep.”
We got back on the freeway and continued north. Scotty and Marcus entertained me with tales of their previous road trips, and I worked my way through the bag of snacks Marcus had given me. We switched off NPR and Scotty plugged his iPod into the car’s dock. He agreed to let Marcus DJ if he promised to compromise, although Marcus’s idea of “compromise” was different from everyone else’s, so we ended up listening to an odd assortment of Frank Sinatra, Aretha Franklin, seventies folk music, and the occasional alternative hit insisted upon by Scotty. They sang along to some of it, and I pitched in when I knew the words. We were all singing “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley, the sun just beginning to paint the sky a pale orange, when Scotty took the exit for Yreka, California.
“Let’s grab breakfast and a room for a few hours,” Scotty said, following the sign that indicated gas, food, and hotels to the left. “I’m beat.”
I leaned forward in the backseat. “Are you sure we shouldn’t drive straight through?” I asked. “Marcus and I can help. That way we’ll get there faster.”
“But then we’ll all be tired and out of sorts when we get there. No one sleeps well in a car.” He turned into the parking lot for a Holiday Inn. “I know you’re worried, but we’ll get some food, sleep for a bit, and be back on the road before you know it.”
I knew he was right, but I was itching to get to Seattle, terrified that Cormac would be gone when we got there. Where would Parker be then? I thought about Renee. Would I be willing to entrap her if we couldn’t find Cormac? Pretend to take her up on her offer and then hand her over to the police? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to think too hard about why I hadn’t considered it already. Could I really still care about her? Feel connected to her in spite of all she’d done? If so, I was more screwed up than I thought.
The hotel lobby was like that of any other midlevel hotel: the smell of coffee and carpet, generic artwork, and potted plants strategically placed in the corners. Marcus reserved adjoining rooms from a sleepy-looking girl who probably wasn’t much older than me, and we went upstairs to drop our bags before heading to the attached café for breakfast.
Marcus took full advantage of the opportunity to order all the greasy food he could find on the menu. He dug into a sausage and cheese omelet with gusto while Scotty, a bowl of oatmeal and fresh fruit in front of him, looked on with a mixture of shock and disapproval. When we were done, we went back to the hotel. I closed the door that connected our rooms and took a hot shower, got into my pajamas, and climbed into bed. Scotty had been right: it was a lot nicer than curling up in the backseat, and I was more tired than I’d realized.
Still, I couldn’t sleep. I thought about Parker and Logan, wondering what they were doing, if they were okay out there, battling their respective demons, both in some way because of me.
The room suddenly seemed smaller, like the walls were gradually closing in on me. Maybe it was the taupe paint, the framed desert scenes on the walls, the wheeze of the air conditioner near the window, but I was suddenly back at the Motel 6, scared and alone when I first came back to California.
I sat up and slid out of bed, padding across the room on bare feet. I hesitated at the door that connected my room to Marcus and Scotty’s room, then knocked.
“Come in.” Scotty’s voice came from the other side of the door. I opened it hesitantly and peered into the room. He was propped up on one arm, the bedside lamp on, Marcus snoring softly beside him. “Is everything all right?”
“I . . . I’m not sure,” I said, feeling stupid. “I felt . . . I was a little scared. I don’t know why.”
“Are you okay now?” he asked. “Can I get you anything?”
I shook my head. “I think I’m better now.”
“Do you want to leave the door open?”
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “Marcus is out anyway, and I can barely keep my eyes open.”
I nodded. “Maybe I will. Thanks.”
I walked quietly back to my room and got into bed, keeping my eyes on the faint wash of light coming from the open door between our rooms. A few minutes later, I heard Scotty’s voice.
“Sweet dreams, Grace.”
“Sweet dreams,” I said.
I turned out the light and was asleep almost instantly.
Thirty-Seven
We got to Tacoma about six that night. It was nothing like Bellevue. Bellevue was urban chic: organic food markets, expensive bistros, and high-end retailers, all of it frequented by rich people who liked to pretend they were just like everyone else. A little seedy and run down, Tacoma was Bellevue’s ugly older sister. It was easy to picture the little gas station where I’d spotted Cormac on one of the pitted streets lined with sad minimalls and fast-food places.
Scotty checked us in to a Best Western near the stadium and immediately left to meet his contact at the Tacoma PD. While he was gone, Marcus and I unpacked and went to a nearby diner for food. We were back in Marcus and Scotty’s room watching an old episode of 24 when Scotty finally returned. He didn’t have much to tell us. He was going to meet Detective Wilson Ling, an old colleague from the LAPD, at the station the next day and see what kind of resources they could drum up from inside the department. In the meantime, Marcus and I would visit the used-car lot and look into the surrounding area. We’d brought pictures of Cormac—both the one in disguise and the one that had been Photoshopped by Scotty’s friend—to show hotels and restaurants in the area. It was the only thing we could do with the information we had, and I was all too aware of how little it was, how thin the string on which Parker’s freedom hung.
I took a shower and got into bed. I was reading when a knock sounded from the door between our rooms.
“Come in.”
Scotty poked his head into my room. “Mind if I leave this open a crack tonight? I’m probably just being paranoid, but I’d feel better.”
I smiled. He was trying to make it seem like he wanted the door open for his own peace of mind, when really, he was trying to make me feel less alone. “Sure.”
“Great. Sleep well, honey.”
“You too.”
I read a little bit longer, the sound of Scotty and Marcus’s softly spoken conversation in the other room a soothing backdrop to the hum of the room’s air conditioner. When I turned out the light, I had no trouble falling asleep.
Detective Ling picked up Scotty early the next morning, and Marcus and I took the Range Rover to the used-car lot. I was more than a little surprised by the tiny, run-down lot lined with cars. Without the context of everything around it, the security camera had ma
de the place look big, but really it was no bigger than the small parking lot above the Cove.
Marcus parked the car in one of two open spots near a stucco building with dirty windows. He leaned forward, gazing at the office through the windshield of the Range Rover. “Tough times, eh, Cormac?” he said under his breath.
There was no malice in it, just a kind of casual resignation, like Cormac was right there beside him. I was suddenly nervous. I’d gotten comfortable with Marcus and Scotty, but I was on the run, too.
“Can’t we just break in later tonight and look at the sales records?” I asked. “It doesn’t look like there’s any security, and we already know where the camera is.”
Marcus shook his head. “Won’t work. If Cormac did buy a car here, he did it under the table. I doubt he’s had the money for a good ID, and certainly not one that will pass muster with the government. He can’t exactly waltz into the DMV and register a new vehicle.”
I sighed. “Okay, then.”
Marcus turned to me. “You okay?” I nodded, and he opened his car door. “Let’s go, kid.”
We got out of the car and went inside. Immediately a potbellied man with skinny legs approached us with a smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and his hair was thick and a little too brown. After all my running, I knew hair dye, and I pegged the guy for someone who was covering his gray with cheap bottles of drugstore color.
“Morning!” he said. “Nice day to buy a new car!”
“Morning,” Marcus said. “I suppose so.”
He sounded different, minus the ever-present sarcasm and at-everyone-else’s-expense humor that I’d come to love. He was in work mode, his expression earnest as he looked out the window, surveying the lineup of old cars.
The man extended his hand and Marcus shook it. “I’m Ron Lysinsky,” the guy said. “What can I do you for?” He laughed a little at his joke.
Marcus clasped the man on his back. I almost felt sorry for him. He looked so happy that Marcus was friendly, like Marcus was a guaranteed sale, but I knew it was a gesture meant to establish subtle dominance.
“I’m hoping you can help me out,” Marcus said conspiratorially. “You see, I’m looking for a friend of mine. Thought he said he’d meet us at the Travelodge, but he never showed. Now I’m thinking I got it wrong, but I lost my damn cell phone on the ferry. You know how it is. Goddamn technology. Can’t live with it, can’t live without it.”
Ron shrank a little under Marcus’s hand, his demeanor becoming more guarded, even a little pissed off with the news that we weren’t there to buy a car after all.
“I don’t know how I can help you,” he said, stepping away from Marcus’s hand. It was an evolutionary reflex, survival instinct: try to get out from under the hand—figurative or literal—that held you in submission.
“Thing is,” Marcus said, “he mentioned buying a car here. I’m hoping you can point me in the right direction with an address or something.”
Ron shook his head. “Can’t do that. It would be a violation of our customers’ privacy.”
Marcus nodded, like he was considering the argument. After a few seconds he took ahold of Ron’s arm. “Ron—can I call you Ron?” The guy barely had time to nod. Marcus cast a quick glance at me and continued talking. “Can I talk to you in private for a second?”
But Marcus was already leading him to the wall that separated a glass-fronted office from the rest of the space. I watched as he lowered his head toward Ron’s very brown hair, murmuring in low, soothing tones. I didn’t mind that I was left out of the negotiation. I just wanted to find Cormac. I didn’t care how we did it.
The two went back and forth for a couple of minutes. At one point, Ron glanced up at me before turning his gaze to the concrete floor under his loafers. Marcus said something else, and then Ron was talking, speaking in an anguished almost whisper that told me he wasn’t happy about the information he was giving up. Marcus shook his hand, and less than ten minutes after we walked into the place, we were on our way back out to the Range Rover, Marcus’s hand draped protectively around my shoulder.
“Did you get anything?” I asked when we were back inside the car.
Marcus glanced over, a look of surprise on his face. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I wasn’t sure. What did you tell him?”
Marcus started the car and reversed out of the parking space. “I told him your dad had run out on you, that I was your uncle and was trying to catch up with my bastard of a brother to make him do right by his kid.”
“Wow . . . good one,” I said, thinking it wasn’t far from the truth. “So what did he say?”
Marcus turned onto the main road and headed back for the hotel. “He said the guy in the picture came in about two weeks ago, wanted to buy a car under the table, no records.”
“And?”
“And Ron said no, which proves that he’s smarter than he looks. Selling a car without officially transferring title and registration is a good way to get yourself locked up.”
“So we didn’t get anything.” I heard the defeat in my voice.
Marcus grinned. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then what? You’re killing me,” I said.
“Ron said the guy was nervous, tried to make small talk before he approached the idea of a car, mentioned that he was staying in a motel in the area.”
I waited for him to say more. He didn’t. “That’s it? That’s our lead? ‘A motel in the area’?” I took a deep breath, realizing that I sounded a little hysterical.
“It’s not much,” Marcus admitted, “but look on the plus side: Cormac probably hasn’t been able to get out of town without a car. And he walked into that gas station to buy cigarettes, so I’m betting he’s somewhere in close proximity to it.”
“Did the used-car guy—”
“Ron,” Marcus corrected.
I sighed. “Did Ron know Cormac’s name—the name he’s using right now?”
“No, but that’s okay. If everything else is any indication, Cormac’s staying in some shithole near that gas station. Shitholes don’t have a lot of rooms. We’ll work outward from the station, start watching them for people coming and going.”
I thought about it. “What about the gas station itself?”
“What about it?” Marcus asked.
“Maybe one of us should watch it, just in case it’s his regular cigarette-buying place, while the other one checks out the motels.”
Marcus raised his eyebrows. “His regular cigarette-buying place? Is that a technical term?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
He nodded. “It’s a good idea.” We stopped at a red light and he looked over at me. “You know, kid, you’re not half bad at this. Not that I recommend it for you going forward.”
Thirty-Eight
Scotty’s news was better than ours. Thanks to Detective Ling, an APB had been put out on Cormac in the Seattle-Tacoma area. We were back in the hotel, debriefing, when Scotty handed me the sheet of paper.
There were two pictures of Cormac: one with the disguise he’d used at the gas station and used-car lot, and the one that Scotty’s friend in LA had doctored to look more like the Cormac I remembered. But what really surprised me was the name—or names—underneath the photograph.
WANTED AS A PERSON OF INTEREST IN GRAND THEFT:
PETER BUKOWSKI
aka PETER AIKEN
aka CORMAC AIKEN
aka CORMAC LITHGOW
aka CORMAC McBRIDE
aka CORMAC NEIL
aka CORMAC SINCLAIR
aka CORMAC ROLLINS
aka CORMAC FONTAINE
I’d known Cormac had other aliases. I just didn’t realize how many.
“Where did these come from?” I asked.
“Some of them came from you,” Scotty said. “The rest came from Marcus.”
“And I’m sure there are more,” Marcus said. “There was a good ten years betwe
en the time he ditched me and found Renee and then adopted you and Parker. He wasn’t watching Oprah and eating bonbons all that time.”
I handed Scotty back the piece of paper. “So what now?”
“I’m going to work with Detective Ling tomorrow. The TPD won’t give us anybody else, but the chief agreed to let Wilson and me run down some other car lots in the area, see if Cormac tried to buy something from someone else. It’s the best I can do given that I told the department my interest in the case is personal.”
“That’s great,” I said. “With you and Detective Ling on that angle and Marcus and me on the motels and the gas station, we’ll make good time.”
“Why don’t you let Wilson and me take the motels and the gas station?” Scotty asked it like a question, but I had the feeling it was more of a statement. “I’m sure once we hit the used-car lots tomorrow I can get some more time out of the department to case the other places.”
“No way,” I said. “I’m not sitting here watching TV and ordering room service while you’re out looking for Cormac. Besides, it’ll be faster if we split up.”
“Kid’s right,” Marcus said. “Cormac could leave any second. We can’t afford to wait around and see if the TPD will give you the go-ahead to question motel managers or case the gas station. Grace and I are here. Let us do it.”
Scotty rubbed his chin. “I don’t like Grace being in the line of fire.”
“What line of fire?” I asked, desperate to make my point. Parker’s trial date was less than two weeks away. The window to help him was closing. “There’s no line of fire. I’ll be out of the way, an observer.”
“I don’t want Grace in danger any more than you do,” Marcus said to Scotty, “but I can put her across from the gas station while I check out the motels. We’ll be within blocks of each other. If Grace spots Cormac, all she has to do is text me and I’ll be there.”
“It’s not like I’d confront him on my own,” I said. “Please, Scotty . . . we’re running out of time.”