Free Requite by E. H. Reinhard

Hank asked.
    “Yup. This was the best image we got so far. It’s them leaving the bar at 2:52 a.m. I have Murphy going through the other video feeds now trying to find them inside.”
    “The guy let you take the video?” the captain asked.
    “Made me copies and put them on a USB drive.”
    “How much footage did he give you?” the captain asked.
    “I got between midnight and 3:00 a.m. on four different cameras.”
    “It looks like the camera that caught this covers a good amount of the street. Call down to him and have him keep an eye out for a light colored van or SUV driving by,” the captain said.
    “Sounds good,” I said.
    “We better get moving, Kane. Supposed to meet that witness in like forty-five minutes,” Hank said.
    “Yeah, I’m ready. I’ll call Murphy on the way.”
    “Keep me posted,” the captain said.
    We left Captain Bostok’s office and headed out of the station. With a half hour left to get there, we had a good shot at being late—even later if we hit traffic. For the safety of us and everyone else on the road, I wouldn’t normally let Hank drive, but he insisted. He might have been the single worst driver I had ever been in a car with. Hank couldn’t regulate speed—one minute he was doing ten over, then next ten under. He stopped for every yellow and almost got in an accident some way or another every time he was behind the wheel. How he made it to forty years of age without dying in an auto accident was a miracle.
    “IHOP, huh?” I asked.
    “That’s what she said. I’m guessing she’d rather not meet with two cops at her workplace.”
    “Where does she work?”
    “Health club across the street. She said she only had an hour break. It looks like we’re a little late.”
    “If you didn’t drive the whole way like an old woman, we would have been there ten minutes ago,” I said.
    “I drive defensively, Kane. I have a perfect driving record and would like to keep it that way.”
    “Hank, your defensive driving is after you initiate the other vehicles being defensive to you.”
    “What?” He turned on his directional and started to switch lanes for the off ramp.
    “Car. Car. Car!” I yelled.
    The man driving the Corolla in Hank’s blind spot laid on the horn and swerved on to the shoulder.
    “What’s that guy’s problem? I had my blinker on.”
    I shook my head. “Yeah, just get us there alive please.”
    We exited I-75 onto Brandon Boulevard and made the couple mile trip toward the restaurant. We pulled in the drive and lucked ourselves into a parking spot up front. Hank killed the engine.
    “Is that her?” I asked.
    A woman sat alone on the bench before the entry doors.
    “Might be?”
    I heard Hank’s stomach grumble from across the car.
    “Want to grab some food while we’re inside?” I asked.
    “I’d be fine with that. We’d be killing two birds with one stone and all.”
    We got out and approached the woman on the bench. She stared down at her cell phone. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and wore athletic apparel.
    “Are you Miss Collins?” Hank asked.
    She looked up at us and brushed her long blonde hair from her face. “Yes, I’m Michelle Collins. Are you who I talked to on the phone?”
    “Hello Miss Collins. Yes, I’m Sergeant Rawlings. We spoke earlier. This is Lieutenant Kane. We are leading the investigation for the Tampa Police Department on this case. Shall we go inside?”
    “I guess. I already told the officers last night everything I saw though.”
    “That’s fine, we’d just like to hear it from you first hand,” I said.
    We walked into the packed IHOP and were informed that we’d have a ten minute wait. We sat on the bench and exchanged uncomfortable small talk until the hostess called us for seating. She planted us in a booth looking out onto the busy street in front. Two noticeable detectives on one side, and a nervous looking young women on the other, drew stares from the restaurant’s patrons.
    “Your waitress