Free Mind Games by TJ Moore Page B

her mind. The image she’d just seen shifted into sound : Highway 17. Highway 17.
    What the hell did that have to do with Stefani’s weapon business? Or the bombings? Or anything?
    Amy knew the Captain would be over to check in with her later that afternoon, and she needed something. Anything.
    Scanning furiously, Amy’s eyes stopped on another picture. It was a local address to an apartment building with stained glass windows at the entrance: 445 Timber Circle, San Francisco.
    When Amy was stuck, she would often play th e “What if ” game.
     
    What i f the bombings weren’t about revenge but about creating a distraction? Or even possibly leading up to something bigger?
    What i f Stefani was plotting to use the gun business to formulate more attacks in San Francisco?
    What i f he’d been planning it for a long time, and his death really was a rash murder by Derek Hansen?
    What i f Hansen was discussing something important with Stefani – something he didn’t agree with? Possibly even something to kill for? Hansen might have just been trigger-happy.
    There was still the issue of the address. Where did Stefani get it? Was he buying drugs or more weapons?
    Apartment 445.
    Why did Stefani post the address on his terrorist board?
    There must be a reason.
    What i f the person living at apartment 445 was actually Stefani’s drug supplier? Yeah, and Stefani wanted him dead because he ran out of money. (Financing an underground maze system would do that to a guy.) Since Stefani seemed to be organizing some kind of violent group, he needed recruits.
    Vince casually walked by Amy, slurping a can of diet Coke. “You got anything yet?”
    “Yeah, I think I’m finally getting somewhere. It doesn’t help when our main suspect, accomplice, whatever he is, goes missing.” She pointed to the board. “See this one? Apartment 445. I’m starting to think Stefani’s drug supplier lives there.”
    “That can’t be right,” Vince said.
    “Why not?”
    “Those apartments aren’t cheap.”
    “What? You don’t think a drug lord would have cash to burn? “
    “Good point. Black-market sales are tax free.”
    “Wait,” Amy turned to Vince. “You know these apartments?”
    “Of course. Look at the photo. There are only so many apartments that have stained glass windows near the entrance. I believe that complex is on the south side of the city. I investigated a homicide there last fall.” He stepped closer to the board and crumpled the aluminum can. “Yeah, those are definitely the same apartments. What are we waiting for? Let’s get over there.”
    He tossed the mashed can towards the trashcan and missed again. The office busted into whoops and hisses. Sometimes Vince missed on purpose, just for the attention.
    “Cameron, wake up,” Amy smacked him in the back of the head. He had fallen asleep again – this time leaned against the water cooler in the break room. His arm was slumped over the edge of the plastic water dome, but it was slipping off. Amy caught his arm and used it to lightly slap his face. “Cam, we’re all tired. But you make a better photographer than a vampire. Let’s go bust some drug lords.”
     
     
     
    Amy knocked on the stained glass windo w of apartment 445 Timber Circle. Vince was right. This was the place pictured on Stefani’s web of photos.
    Loud music blasted from inside the apartment. Amy could feel the vibrations pulsating through the door. She knocked again, but the blaring music continued. The volume increased as if someone turned it up. She knocked a third time and the music suddenly stopped, replaced by shouts from inside.
    “Teresa, get the gun! It’s the cops!”
    Amy heard rustling from within the apartment, then a muted whisper. A few drawers opened and shut, and Amy readied her gun.
    “SFPD, open the door!”
    A woman inside 445 cleared her throat and Amy saw a figure slowly move towards them from behind the stained glass. The figure unlocked the door and opened it only a