Returning to the van, Frank told me that the lights had gone off in the home. Cassie hung up with Richie, who had been doing research on Regnar’s cousin.
“His name is Bayard Hemmings,” she said. “Juvie record. Plus four years in Gulf Correctional for assault. Now he’s graduated to murder.”
I told them about the morning surveillance, and we set a sleep schedule.
“So this guy’s got enough ammo for a small army,” Frank said, “but we’re not taking him down now because he’s the small fish?”
I nodded, but heard the skepticism in Frank’s voice and knew what was coming next.
“Yes,” I said.
“Well. Obviously I’m still wrapping my head around this case.” Frank raised his eyebrows at me. “But, uh… small fish are starting to pile up.”
“Not for much longer,” I said to Frank. “This house in D.C.… that’s our endgame. We spook this guy, and we don’t get there.”
This seemed to quiet Frank’s doubts, and I closed my eyes, resting my head against the passenger-side window.
As I drifted off, I thought of my mother. Before her attack, I would call her at odd hours like this, and she’d see my picture on her phone and pick up. Often, when she was roused unexpectedly from sleep, her mind was clearer than during the day.
I wondered: Would she return to her former self, even if it meant that the Alzheimer’s would still attack her without notice? And now that she’d left her old home behind, should I move her to Miami, where she could be closer to Camila and me?
At 3 a.m., I was roused by Frank, who seemed wired. Cassie had been up for an hour, and now it was Frank’s turn to rest.
“Before I hit the sack,” he said, “I’m going over there. If Hemmings was scanning for some signal at the back of the U-Haul and picked up Cassie’s tracker, we need to know that.”
We all agreed, and Frank pointed down the street. “Gardner, you take the binocs and go for a walk. Make a triangle on my position and bring your cell. Text me if you see anything.”
“And me?” Cassie asked.
Frank handed her the keys to the van. “Stay at this position. In the driver’s seat in case there’s a need to move.”
I reached up and flicked off the dome light, then got out of the van and began walking, moving down the opposite sidewalk from Hemmings’s house.
Frank took off, moving in a crouched position across the road. I was about eight houses down when he got to the space in between the U-Haul and Hemmings’s garage.
I glanced back at Cassie in the van, then at Frank. As I did, a small burst of light ignited between the U-Haul and the front door.
“Shit,” I said softly, taking my phone from my back pocket. I texted Frank:
Don’t move.
I stayed still, waiting for my phone to light up. It vibrated, and I picked up the call without saying hello.
“What is it?” Frank whispered.
“You triggered something,” I said. “Look down.”
I waited, and he came back on. “It’s pitch black over here,” he said quietly. “What am I looking for?”
“Some low-voltage wire,” I said. “Thin. Running from the back of the truck to the front of the house.”
“Oh hell,” Frank whispered.
From across the street, I thought I saw something stir inside the front window and held still.
“Don’t move,” I said and typed a response instead, wanting to keep Frank from talking.
There might be more wires you can’t see. And Hemmings probably crashed on that couch by the front window.
