The Killing Moon by Dan Padavona (books you have to read TXT) 📗

security cameras. Her eyes settled on a well-lit storefront with an expensive necklace displayed in the window.

Schuman Jewelers. Schuman notoriously overcharged for jewelry, repairs, and cleaning. Last year, Aguilar had inquired about replacing a missing stone on a ring her grandmother handed down. The snooty woman behind the counter wanted almost two-hundred dollars. Aguilar wanted to arrest the woman for highway robbery.

But if any store on the block utilized multiple cameras, it was Schuman.

Aguilar adjusted her hat and pulled the door open. The interior of the jewelry store felt like a sauna compared to the cold wind ripping through the village center. Aguilar muttered to herself when she recognized the same woman behind the counter. The self-important store owner examined a ring with a loupe.

“May I help you?” the woman asked without looking up.

“Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department, ma’am.”

The jeweler possessed a hawk nose that extended to her upper lip. The round, orange Bob framed a face that had benefited from a few lifts. Aguilar didn’t expect a respectful reaction from the woman.

“I gave at the community fundraiser last spring,” she said, still focused on the ring. With a huff, she set the ring aside and planted her palms on the glass counter. “How much do you want this time?”

“I’m not collecting donations.”

“Then perhaps you’re in a buying mood. I’m Lois Schuman, proprietor of Schuman Fine Jewelers. How may I serve you today, Deputy?”

Aguilar fished the photograph out of her jacket and laid it on the counter.

“We’re searching for this man. Have you seen him?”

The woman gave the photo a cursory glance and returned her gaze to Aguilar.

“I would think not. He doesn’t look the type to shop for fine jewelery.”

“He was last seen two stores down from you around eleven o’clock.”

“Well, if he walked past, I didn’t notice him. I’m quite busy today. What did he do, anyway? Steal a monster truck?”

“He’s a kidnapper and escaped convict.”

Schuman grunted.

“Then I’ll remember to never donate again. Seems you can’t contain the criminals you catch.”

Aguilar knew better than to waste time explaining Benson had served time in a federal penitentiary. Schuman returned her focus to the ring.

“Do you have security cameras that cover the sidewalk?”

Aguilar noticed the camera above the storefront window. Sometimes, shop owners placed fake cameras to deter criminals. Aguilar doubted Schuman spared any expense to protect her shop.

“We do.”

“May I examine the footage?”

“You may not. The Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department doesn’t have the right to demand security footage. No crimes were committed here.”

“Please, Mrs. Schuman. It’s important we establish when the fugitive came through the village.”

“That’s not my problem. If you want the footage, come back with a warrant.”

Aguilar clenched her jaw. Some people clung to their rights. Others considered it a badge of honor to act difficult.

“We both understand no judge will grant me a warrant for the footage. Not in a timely manner.”

“Then our conversation is finished. Good day, Deputy.”

“This man kidnapped and tortured two women from Wolf Lake. He’s desperate for money.” Aguilar ran her gaze over the sparkling jewelry beneath the glass display cases. “Hitting a place like this would solve his financial issues in a hurry.”

A vein pulsed in Schuman’s neck.

“Fine. I’ll show you to the back room where I keep the recordings. You have fifteen minutes. After that, I’m phoning the sheriff.”

“Thank you.”

“And don’t bother my customers.”

What customers? Places like Schuman Jewelers only needed one fool to wander off the street and overpay for a necklace or engagement ring.

Schuman led Aguilar to a closet-sized room with a computer monitor fixed to the wall. The woman pushed a rolling chair to Aguilar and closed the door on the deputy without asking. Aguilar didn’t mind. She wanted to study the footage without Schuman staring over her shoulder. One eye on her notes, the other perusing the footage, the deputy didn’t expect Benson to walk across the picture.

So it shocked her when he did.

The digital clock in the lower right corner read ten-twenty-one when a gray-haired, muscular man in a gray hooded sweatshirt walked past the florist’s shop. He’d shaved off the mustache and pulled the hood around his face, making it difficult to recognize the fugitive. But Aguilar spotted him. She sat forward and paused the video. What was he doing?

It occurred to Aguilar Benson stood a block from Ellie Fisher’s apartment. Had he returned to ransom off the woman he’d kidnapped?

She restarted the video. The former owner of Benson’s Barbells merged with the crowd. Aguilar lost sight of him until he crossed the road, jogging to dodge traffic. Then he vanished.

Aguilar paused the video and noted the time. She needed another security camera view.

She clicked play and sat back, hoping against hope the fugitive would reappear on camera. After another minute ticked past, she gave up on finding him.

Until a red Mitsubishi Mirage shot off the curb and cut off a Volvo. She couldn’t see the driver. But her instincts told her Benson was behind the wheel.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

October 31st

12:35 p.m.

The line inside the sandwich shop stretched halfway to the door. Thomas lifted himself onto his toes and read the menu for the fifth time, fixated on memorizing Presley’s order. A turkey avocado BLT sandwich on a croissant roll. Tomatoes and lettuce. Hold the onion. That was a mouthful to remember, and he kept confusing Presley’s order with his own. He swung his head around and spied the cruiser parked along the curb. The detective was on the radio with the Kane Grove PD dispatcher while Thomas grabbed them lunch.

The sandwich shop catered to health-conscious connoisseurs in their twenties and thirties. Most everyone in line pressed a phone to an ear or sent texts. Someone’s phone rang, blasting out a Daft Punk song. As the crowd pushed against each other, a woman at the counter grabbed a microphone and said, “Order twenty-nine is ready at the pickup window. Straws and napkins are located beside the salad bar.”

A bear of a man bumped him from behind, noticed the uniform, and apologized.

“Not a