Killing the Blues by Michael Brandman Read Free Book Online Page A

in roughly the same spot. Peter Perkins sat in his Chevy. Jesse was in his Explorer.
    The time passed slowly. Jesse was forced to consider the possibility that the parking-lot murder had caused the crime ring to go to ground.
    Then he became aware of the presence of a black BMW sedan. It had already circled the parking lot once and was in the process of doing so again.
    Jesse noticed Perkins slide lower in his seat.
    In the Explorer, Jesse picked up a newspaper and held it as though he was reading.
    The BMW circled the lot for a third time, then slowly descended on the Civic. It pulled to a stop. After several moments, the passenger door opened and a smallish, wiry-looking man got out. The BMW drove away.
    The wiry man produced a thin plastic sleeve, which he inserted between the window and the door frame on the driver’s side of the Civic. Within seconds the door was unlocked and the wiry man was inside the car.
    He took a pair of screwdrivers from his tool kit. He used them to remove the center console. He leaned over and reached inside with both hands. He fidgeted for several seconds. The Civic roared to life.
    The man readjusted himself in the driver’s seat. He looked around to make certain no one was watching. Then he pulled out and drove away.
    Peter Perkins took up his position as the lead pursuit vehicle. After allowing the Civic a brief head start, he followed.
    After several moments, Jesse pulled the Explorer into the traffic flow. He was a dozen car lengths behind Perkins, who was perhaps six or seven lengths behind the Civic.
    The Civic drove east on Paradise Boulevard. At Beach Road, it turned left, heading away from town. Merging with other traffic, Perkins lagged far enough behind so as not to alert the driver to the fact he was being followed.
    Jesse lagged even farther behind. He called Perkins.
    â€œThat you, Jesse?”
    â€œYes. Make the turnoff as we planned. Did you call in the BMW?”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œThat’s good police work, Pete.”
    â€œThanks, Jesse. Go get ’em.”
    About a mile up the road, Perkins turned left and abandoned the pursuit. Jesse continued to follow the BMW.
    When it reached Paradise Highway, the Civic transitioned onto it, heading north. Jesse slowed and made the same transition.
    Fewer cars were now on the road. Instinctively, Jesse dropped farther back so as to barely appear in the Civic’s rearview mirror.
    They drove like this for twenty or so miles. Then the Civic turned onto Orchard Road with Jesse a safe distance behind.
    Orchard was a rural two-lane highway. It ran through a heavily wooded area that was home to a number of farms that were set far back from the road.
    Jesse lost sight of the Civic. He slowed and paid particular attention to each driveway he passed. He spotted the tail end of the Civic only moments before it disappeared around the bend of a rutted pathway. He kept going.
    He pulled the Explorer to the side of the road about threetenths of a mile farther on. There was no other traffic. He turned off the engine and called Perkins.
    â€œTrack me, Pete,” Jesse said. “The device is activated. When you find the Explorer, park behind it. Alert the troops, as we discussed. If I don’t turn up before winter, come find me.”
    Jesse got out of the Explorer. He strapped on his service belt and proceeded on foot toward the pathway.

16
    J esse stayed close to the shrubbery growing on both sides of the rutted driveway. He moved cautiously, stopping frequently to listen. From a distance he could discern the high-pitched whine of heavy equipment.
    He had traveled about a hundred yards when the driveway widened into an open field. Jesse inched closer to the brush and edged his way along the perimeter of the field.
    Ten yards ahead, he spotted an unpainted barnlike structure with a corrugated metal roof and heavy-duty double doors at each end. The BMW was parked in front.
    Inside the structure stood a hydraulic