Karma: A Blayne Mitchell Novel

12

Chapter 12

Two hours later, Juan and Ramirez Rodriguez were arrested for attempted homicide. The victim and motive stayed unidentified, but there was enough evidence to support a good prosecution. Garrett promised that the state police would take charge of the case, leaving the Marysville Police Department free to clean up the seven homicides. Or the single frame-up.

Also two hours later, the Department of Motor Vehicles had finished tracing the plate. It was described as a rental from a Seattle Alamo Rent-A-Car, rented by the infamous Vance Mitchell. They gave the address for the Alamo, 1601 3rd Avenue.

Also two hours later, Alejandro was moved to the Marysville City Jail and Andrew, Garrett, Dunphy and I were examining the evidence that Garrett brought back from Angel's house. It was a room identical to the interrogation room. All white, no windows, and a single, plastic table lined with a few chairs. A single item lay on the table.

"A Glock 17," I said, "That's all you found."

Garrett sighed bleakly, "Yeah. They cleaned up well."

"Or you're just shit," Andrew replied sourly. Garrett shot him a resentful glare but didn't reply.

"Entirely a possibility," I smarted, "but probably unlikely as of right now."

"They probably sent a guy down to clean up before Garrett got there," Dunphy suggested. I shrugged, that's what I had thought of. And then something clicked. Something I had never thought of, but something I should have thought of.

"Andrew," I rolled the name slowly on my tongue, wishing hard that he would not answer like I thought he may, "what is your last name?"

"McGrath, why?"

He was Mr. McGrath. He talked to me about a friend that day. A man by the name of Mr. McGrath. That was the first time we had talked about anything of personal interest. He said Mr. McGrath had helped him with a job two years ago, and they had stayed friends ever since. Andrew McGrath had been my brother's friend.

"Hold on," I said, standing in a daze. How could I have been so blind!? The answer had been staring me down since I first arrived, and I had not once looked at it. My mind was putting the pieces together and making a picture so obvious I should have seen it from the start. But there were holes, and I didn't like holes. Two things needed to be clarified and I needed to clarify them soon.

"Give me a second, I got an idea," and with that, I left the others startled and sprinted to the police garage. Inside the steel building, I saw what I was looking for. A canister of gas. I heaved the container into my arms and hurried back out. After I regained my bearings, I strode towards where I knew my objective had been last. A ten minute walk brought me to the empty and abandoned Porsche. And then the looming storm broke. Softly at first, but after a few seconds, the raindrops had become the size of golf balls. They hammered down relentlessly, and I was soaked within a minute of pouring the gas. Once the gas canister was empty, and hopefully the car was full, I was half drowned and chilled to the bone. The air was almost unbreathable through the thick wall of rain.

I stuck the keys in the ignition and fired up the heater to full blast. I waited for my clothing to partially dry, and then drove off towards Seattle. It was supposed to be about an hour long drive, but it only took forty-five minutes because of the lack of beginning traffic. I felt almost shocked when I saw more than three people at a time, because I had grown used to Marysville's quiet isolation. Traffic grew heavier the closer I came to Seattle. I was taking the same route that Andrew had used when driving to Marysville from Seattle. I had memorized the road, as luck would have it.