Chapter Seven
I’m not quite sure what I expected. A notepad densely jammed with scribbled writing, bound shut with rubber bands. Piles of cassette tapes, each labeled in black magic marker with dates and times. Maybe an old revolver crusted with blood.
But all that lay inside it was a black, rectangular object, about the size of a pack of cigarettes. It was metallic, with a silver stripe down its side and big “Made In Taiwan” letters in silver. The other side said “CX-990.”
I looked to Jack in confusion. “What is it?”
He stared at it for a long moment. Then he quietly spoke.
“It’s a wireless receiver.” He pointed to the side of it. “And it’s still set to on.”
I creased my brows. “What do you mean – is it actually recording this very moment?”
He shook his head. “Average batteries on these things record for forty-eight hours. If the thing was buried when it was turned on, it’d only receive for forty-eight hours, recording whatever it heard, before it stopped. But everything it recorded during that time would still be on the memory card.”
I stared at the unit within the box. “So you’re telling me that your brother turned on the receiver unit, put it into this box, buried it … and then what? What kind of a range does it have?”
“About a half-mile.”
I blinked in surprise. “Really?” I looked around me. “So he could have been anywhere within a half-mile radius of this spot, had a transmitter on him, and this unit would have heard everything he said. Why would he have done that?”
Jack closed the lid of the toolbox and sealed the clasp. He stood, bringing the toolbox up with him. “That’s what we need to find out next. I’ll take the receiver back to the station, get the case dusted for prints, and then we’ll play the memory card. Tony went through a lot of trouble to ensure, if something went wrong, that I’d be able to find his record of events.” His eyes shadowed. “I think something did go wrong. And now, maybe we can find out what.”
He turned to me. “I can still bring you back to your car, if you want –”
I shook my head. “I’m with you, through to the end, if you’ll have me.”
His smile eased the shadows in his eyes. “I’d like that.”
We turned to go.
A man stood before us. Six-foot-one, stocky, in a black wool coat and a matching watch cap. Swarthy, probably Italian, and definitely not in a good mood.
A Ruger pistol was in his hand, pointed straight at us.
Thank you for reading Rumble Strip! The next book in this series is Old School – learn about it here!
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Dedication
To Ruth, who always supports and encourages me in all my projects.
To Martin and Rick who read through an early version and pointed me in the right direction.
To my Dad, who is a great typo-spotter!
To the entire Boston Writer’s group who cheerleads and provides ideas. Tom H offers insightful suggestions.
Most of all, to all my loyal fans on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, GoodReads, and other platforms. Together we make a difference!
About the Author
Lisa has lived in Sutton, Massachusetts for over nineteen years. She loves the Blackstone Valley with all its history, beauty, serenity, and artistry. It is a wonderful part of our great, diverse world.
Lisa has written 39 fiction books, 81 non-fiction books, and 37 short stories.
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