(Last week the medical examiner reveals that the three deceased passengers in Chartan’s limo were brothers with brain cancer and that each had a black rosary bead in his stomach. Detective Moran orders the rookie Grimes to tail Chartan and Brazil.)
Brazil had a habit of looking out of the corner of his eye without letting others know he was inspecting his surroundings. After years of training and real-life practice, his eye movements were pure instnct. He easily saw Grimes creep up to the side window of the limo office.
“The flunky junior detective is outside by that window on my right,” stated Brazil. “If we talk loud enough he’ll hear us.”
Sloan whispered, “I don’t want any trouble with the police. I’ve told you all I know about these strange men.”
Brazil whispered back, “Do you have a security camera?” Sloan nodded. The special ops veteran leaned over and mumbled in Chartan’s ear. A few seconds later Chartan charged out of the office, jumped into the Bentley and sped out of the parking lot. Grimes pulled out a cell phone.
Five minutes later Chartan was in line at a Starbucks, aware a police cruiser had followed him. I don’t understand what Brazil is doing, but it seems safe and legal to be a diversion as he put it. Besides, I could use a coffee.
Back at Sloan’s the owner and Brazil stood in front of a computer screen on the office counter. The copy of the security tape given to the police was very grainy—it was impossible to make out the faces of the four men getting into the limo.
“I overhead one of the detectives say this wouldn’t be of any help,” said Sloan.
“They’re wrong,” countered Brazil. He whispered in Sloan’s ear while he caught sight of Grimes, mouth open on the other side of the store window.
Grimes looked down at the text message on the cell phone. Chartan was driving back with three coffees. The junior detective slumped down so his head fell below the window. Why was Chartan in a hurry to get coffee? Grimes knew the limo guru had splashed coffee in the car window bandit’s face and later thwarted a shooting in a coffee house. Grimes mumbled, “Coffee, coffee, coffee…”
Chartan, hands at ten-o’clock and two o’clock on the steering wheel, drove the posted speed limit of 35 mph with the cruiser about 200 hundred feet behind. His mind drifted to thoughts of being on the floor with Jake stacking toy wood blocks on top each other. The blocks were close to the ceiling when he pulled into Sloan’s.
To be continued next Sunday…