Free Switch by Grant McKenzie Page A

again, we need to rest. Then, we’ll figure out how to hunt.’

25
    Detective Preston struggled to get comfortable in the passenger seat of a department-issue Nissan. He often cursed whoever had designed the car’s form-fitting bucket seats, knowing it was likely some smartass Asian computer that had never heard of Big & Tall stores or corn-fed cowboys from Texas.
    ‘Where do you think he would have gone?’ he grumbled to his partner.
    ‘I expected he’d end up back here.’ Hogan glanced out of the windshield at the navy blue Jeep parked against the kerb less than a half-block from their position. ‘It’s the only damn thing left he owns.’
    ‘What about parents?’ Preston asked. ‘You look into them?’
    ‘The wife’s folks live in Florida,’ Hogan replied. ‘But the housekeeper says they’re on stress reduction in Italy. Cycling and wine-tasting in the country, no cellphones or email allowed, and shedidn’t have a contact number. I issued an alert to the consulate in case they check in. His parents are AWOL, too. Seems they sold up last year and bought a land yacht to tour the desert states. Modern gypsies of the road.’
    ‘What a nightmare,’ Preston muttered. ‘Can you imagine being stuck with the wife twenty-four/seven in a tiny box on wheels? The Arizona boys must be bleepin’ swamped. I bet they get more bludgeoned codgers by the side of the freeway than we have splattered varmints.’
    ‘I enjoy spending time with my wife,’ Hogan protested.
    ‘Oh, I like mine fine, too, don’t get me wrong, but you wait and see.’
    Preston reached for the dashboard handset and pressed the transmit button.
    ‘Darlene, you there, honey? Come on back.’
    ‘I’m here, cowboy,’ replied the unit dispatcher. ‘What’s your twenty?’
    ‘Are you flirting with me, darlin’? I am a large man, but twenty may be pushing it.’
    Darlene’s cackle sent a shiver down Hogan’s spine. How she could possibly believe his partner’s B.S., he didn’t know. Darlene had a face like a Louisiana alligator and, to every officer but Preston, the personality to match.
    ‘What you needin’, cowboy?’
    ‘Patch me through to Cosmo, will you, honey?’
    Preston winked at his partner.
    ‘I took a look through the actor’s wallet,’ heexplained. ‘Then had Cosmo run a few numbers and keep them active.’
    The radio squawked and a clipped voice announced, ‘Kostyuchenko.’
    ‘Cosmo, any new hits on the Visa I gave you?’
    ‘Hold.’
    Preston turned to his partner. ‘Real chatterbox, huh?’
    Hogan shrugged. ‘He doesn’t like you.’
    ‘You kiddin’? The geek worships me.’
    ‘You call him Cosmo. He hates that.’
    ‘If I used that Russian handle, I’d be so tongue-tied I’d need to arrest him for assault.’
    The radio hissed. ‘Hello? You are there?’
    ‘Talk to me, Cosmo.’
    ‘Card used to check into Bluesman Motel. It’s located at—’
    ‘Yeah, we know it,’ Preston interrupted. ‘Good work, Cos. I’ll talk to the captain about those sheep you wanted.’
    ‘Sheep?’ Kostyuchenko blurted in a panic. ‘Not sheep. RAM! I need more RAM.’

26
    Sam woke with a jolt and swept a thin polyester blanket from his shoulders. His skin was flushed and damp, his mind instantly abuzz with anxiety and guilt.
    He sat up in the small bed set adjacent to the only window. Through sleepy eyes, he took in his surroundings: one medium-size room decorated in basic primer white with a wash of nicotine. Twin beds, their bare metal frames bolted to the floor; and two narrow, sawdust-board nightstands.
    A 24-inch colour TV, its remote firmly connected to its side with a two-foot-long curly telephone cord, sat atop a solid three-drawer dresser. A black Bakelite phone, from which he had made frantic but fruitless calls to Hannah’s parents and his own, rested on the nightstand beside Zack’s bed.
    On the far wall, a hollow-core door led to the tiny bathroom.
    Zack stirred on the matching bed and openedone eye,