Cry From The Grave (Chapter 45)

Cry From The Grave

Chapter 45

     "If you want to tie up that final loose end, I'd suggest we do it on the way," said Tori as she gunned the Sprinter down Big Bend back toward Webster Groves.

     "Yeah, I'd feel more comfortable if we had one more thing in our hip pocket," replied Ballack, "and if Helen Smith believed she saw someone head toward the seminary over the grounds, maybe there's evidence of it."

     "We're at three o'clock," Crabolli called from her bean bag chair, grimacing every time Tori made a sharp turn. As much as she wanted to finish the case with her colleagues, the pain in her shoulder was unforgiving.

     "Okay, from my vantage point, we've got a decent case," shouted Tori over the roar of the tires, which badly needed replacing. "I'll call Stu; you two go on in and I'll meet you in there. Hopefully, this won't be a messy arrest like the last one. Bowie had better cave gently."

     "I can't guarantee the gently part," said Ballack, whose lungs were feeling much better than the day before, "but Bowie will cave."

Tori had turned off Bompart, having shot past St. Matthew's Grove and entered Eden Seminary's campus. She slowed down as they passed South Hall and wheeled into a large parking lot.

     "Over there," said Crabolli, pointing off in the distance. "That looks like a maintenance and grounds building. They might know something about it."

     The person in the operations office was Terry Rehm, and although he worked afternoons, he said one quick phone call would solve their query.

     "Joey Cole comes in super early," he yapped, unaware of his voice's deafening volume in the small room. "Let me give him a ring."

     He punched some keys on the main phone on his desk. While he waited for an answer, Tori walked in finishing up her call.

     "Sir...Yes, good." She waited in silence for about fifteen seconds, during which Rehm's booming voice told them all he had connected with Joey Cole.

     "That's a plan, then. See you at three-forty, sir." She hung up. "Stu is on his way."

     "Great," replied Ballack. "Wish Zane was here for the festivities."

     Crabolli sighed.

     "Thank you, Joey," thundered Rehm before turning to the detectives. "He did have a 'transgressor', as he likes to call 'em. He saw the car Sunday night parked in the lot next to Goestch Hall over there. He let it go even though it didn't have a sticker and wasn't in the visitors' lot. But then he saw the same car this morning and he ticketed the thing. Looks like I have the duplicate copy here in this rack. Anyhow, same spot. No second chances. Here you go. You can see the ticket for yourself."
     He handed over a four-by-six-inch slip of paper with the seminary's logo at the top. It was a generic ticket used for a variety of automobile infractions, obviously made from a computer template. The items they noticed, however, were the make, model, and license number of the vehicle.
     "We've seen that make and model parked at St. Matthew's Grove before," said Ballack. He nodded to Crabolli. "You know what to do, Missy. I hope this is enough twine to tie everything up."
     They thanked Rehm and exited the building with slightly less hearing than before. It took Crabolli only a few seconds to make contact on her phone and relay the information. A minute later, as Ballack headed up the ramp of the Sprinter, she let out a celebratory yip.
    "Spot on, C.B.," she cheered, rubbing his head as if for good luck. "You should have these premonitions more often."
     "Forget that," he replied, looking in the distance, beyond St. Matthew's Grove and past Lockwood Avenue, toward the grounds of their coming rendezvous. "Let's go arrest Bowie."