Killer View by Ridley Pearson Read Free Book Online Page B

turned off all the phones and was sleeping in. Possible, but unlikely.
    As a small-animal vet, Mark lived with death. No matter his emotions, he was not a person to hide himself away. And even if he had needed some time, Francine would be fielding calls.
    He rang the front bell to no success. Maybe they’d headed south to Mark’s parents and the family farm.
    He walked around back and tried to see into the kitchen. He knocked loudly on the living room’s French doors. But there was no sign of life.
    He tried the back door. Locked. Tried it again. Stared at it.
    Mark never locked his doors. The fact that he’d done so now and had apparently left town—in the middle of an awful night—told him something was terribly wrong. Mark not answering his cell phone also needed explanation—he was on call 24/7.
    The more Walt looked at this, the more it stank. Mark had brought up politics the night before, had done so with difficulty. They never talked politics. Coincidental or related? Had it had something to do with Randy?
    Returning to his Cherokee, Walt took a minute, sitting on the back bumper with the tailgate up, to clean the snow out of his boots and brush off his socks.
    The rumors about Randy had to do with big-game poaching. Hunting violations belonged to Fish and Game, so Walt had steered clear.
    No doubt, Mark had heard the same rumors, might even know of Randy’s associates. Was he trying to protect the family name by running?
    Or, knowing Mark, was he determined to handle this himself?
    Politics?
    Back behind the wheel, Walt drove fast now, intent to keep his friend from exacting vengeance yet having no idea where to begin.

9
    ELBIE, OF ELBIE’S TIRE AND AUTO, WAS A STOUT MAN WITH a potbelly whom Walt had known since back when the man had hair. Elbie greeted Walt with a calloused right hand that had the feel and texture of a gardening glove left outside for the winter.
    “Come on in,” he said. “Show me what you got.”
    An air gun rattled periodically from the garage, interrupting music playing on an oldies station. Since when had Talking Heads become oldies? Walt pondered this, as they reviewed Fiona’s photograph.
    “I need the make of the tire,” he explained, “and what kind of vehicle I might be looking at.”
    “I repair flats and do alignments. We’ve got a special right now on wiper blades.”
    “Please?”
    “It’s a Toyo tire.” Elbie had the nasty habit of making a whistling, wet, sucking sound between his teeth when he paused to think. He led Walt across the garage, past three kids in soiled jumpsuits who were busy with machinery, and he tugged a tire down from the rack. “They call it the Observe. See this center pattern? Easy to spot. It’s a good, solid tire. Expensive, though.”
    “Vehicle?”
    “It’s a truck tire. Pickup. SUV.”
    “That doesn’t narrow it down much, does it?”
    “We sell a lot of them. And they come standard on some Toyota all-wheel drives.”
    “This same size?”
    “You scaled the photo with a glove, Walt. Kinda hard to pinpoint a particular size.”
    “Anything at all to help me narrow it down?”
    “It’s underinflated. See how wide it’s spread?” Elbie said, pointing to the photo. “And it’s worn to the outside. Overloaded and underinflated. Or maybe someone just wanted better traction in all this snow. It’ll hold better this way, but it’ll cut the life of the tire in half if it’s not corrected.”
    “An overloaded pickup truck driving on snow,” Walt said disappointedly. “Only a couple thousand of those to pick from.”
    “I can put you into a new set of wiper blades.”
    Elbie noticed Walt eyeballing one of the workers.
    “Listen, Walt, I know Taylor’s history with you. With your office. But he’s a hardworking kid, and I’m giving him a fresh start.”
    “Did I say anything?” Walt asked defensively. “I’m glad to see him gainfully employed. But what the hell happened to his face?”
    “Said he hit a tree, skiing