She hesitated, and I watched her turn. Search the place.
“One’s by the inflatables,” she said.
I found the guy. Looked from screen to screen for the others. But the place was getting crowded, and it was hard to pick out individuals on camera.
On monitor one, Travis leaned over the bar. He lined up another shot. Threw it back.
“I’m tracking a guy to the exit,” Cassie said. “I think the third just came out of the bathroom.”
On the outside camera, one of the big men got in the second Escalade.
Horne, I thought.Shit.
“Get into that restroom,” I said to Cassie.
I saw her move toward the corner of the screen, past the pool tables and out of my view. On screen four, another man got into the second Caddy, which took off.
“It’s a men’s restroom, Gardner,” Cassie said, even though I couldn’t see her on camera.
“Just go,” I said. “And stay on the phone.”
I heard her knock. Then the creak of a door hinge.
“There’s someone in a stall,” she said to me. Then louder, “Hello?”
There was silence, and another creaking sound.
“Oh my God.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“He’s sitting on the toilet, Gardner. Fully clothed. But… I took his pulse.” She exhaled loudly. “Nothing.”
“His head and shirt are soaked?”
“Yeah,” she said, not having heard the audio that Vincent and I had. “Why is that?”
“Shit,” I said. We had two agents and three cameras in the bar, and a man had been drowned in the toilet, right under our noses. Ithought of what Poulton would think. Then I thought of what the director would do ifhewere here, trying to preserve an undercover op.
“Close the stall door,” I said. “Put on your game face and grab Shooter.”
“And Horne?”
“Leave him,” I said. “Take the pin cameras with you and go. We’re done for the night.”
Cassie and Shooter settled their bill and made their way to the parking lot. I told Vincent to get up front, ready to leave. When everyone was in, we took off, heading toward the interstate.
A man had been killed on our watch, and the mood was quiet. Vincent drove without making small talk, and I had my laptop open but wasn’t typing anything. Just thinking about J. P. Sandoval. He’d made sure the waitress knew he left, well before Horne would be found dead in the bathroom. And he’d disarmed Horne in advance of his men drowning him.
“What are you thinking about?” Cassie asked, her breath smelling of rum.
“I dunno.” I motioned at my laptop. “I was gonna read up on Justin Seethers, the DA.” This was the guy who’d been prosecuting DUIs as third strikes. I closed the lid of my computer. “No point now, I guess.”
Vincent made his way through swamp country, and the shadows of giant cypress trees fell across the road.
At PAR, one of us usually came up with a solution. But right now, Shooter and Cassie were both quiet.
“The plan with Travis was sound,” I said. “Until it wasn’t.”
