I smiled. Zachary’s enthusiasm for boring surveillance never fails to charm me. “Jacquie just came and went. She wanted an update.”
“That’s too bad,” Zachary said. Hard to say whether he was talking about missing Jacquie or the fact that nothing was likely to be going on where he was. “Everyone’s here again today. All the same people as yesterday. Nick’s working on a Toyota. Megan showed up about twenty minutes ago and went into the office. Nick stopped her on the way there.”
Oh, really? “What did they talk about?”
“No idea,” Zach said. “I couldn’t hear them from where I’m parked. But Nick’s been acting weird. He keeps looking over his shoulder. And she was patting his arm like he was ready to bolt and she had to work to keep him there.”
Interesting. “Did talking to her calm him down?”
“Not so much as you’d notice,” Zach said. “He’s still doing it. Looking around like he thinks someone’s watching. He did it yesterday too, but it’s worse today.”
He paused. “You don’t think he knows that I’m here, do you?”
Of course he might. I’d already tipped Nick off that Jacquie was suspicious, and Megan might have—likely had—caught Zachary’s attempt to tail her home yesterday. If either of them had paid attention yesterday or today, they might have noticed Zachary’s car lingering in the Taco Bell parking lot for the second day in a row.
“How long have you been there?” I wanted to know.
There was a slight pause while he checked the time. “Since before they opened. About two hours now.”
That was probably long enough to make anyone paranoid. “All right,” I said. “Pack it in and head back to the office. I don’t want to spook him any more than he already is.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. You can try again later. I’ll take over for now.”
I hung up and looked at Rachel. “Can I borrow your car?”
She blinked. “My car?”
“Nick’s already seen the beater. And if he’s as paranoid as Zachary says, he might remember the Lexus, too. Your Toyota is different enough that he won’t connect it to me.”
Rachel hesitated, then reached for her purse and pulled out her keys. “Fine. But if you get so much as a scratch on it, you’re paying for the repairs.”
“Deal.” I stood up and grabbed my coat. “We should probably spend the money on a company car. Something normal and non-descript that no one will notice. Can do some research on what the most common car in Nashville is this year? Make, model, color, year? Or ask Zachary to do it when he gets in?”
Rachel said she could. “Leave Edwina here. You don’t want her giving you away again.”
She smirked. I made a face. No, I didn’t.
* * *
Rachel’s Toyota was about ten years old and had definitely seen better days, but it drove smoothly enough as I made my way across town toward Charlotte Avenue. I found a spot with a clear view of the Body Shop’s parking lot, but far enough away that I wouldn’t be immediately recognizable. Then I settled in to wait.
Without Edwina or Zachary for company, surveillance was even more tedious than usual. I spent the first hour watching cars come and go, customers dropping off vehicles and picking them up again. You know you’ve been sitting a long time when you’ve seen someone drop off a vehicle and then come back for it later. Nick appeared occasionally, visible through the open bay doors as he worked on one car after another. He moved with the easy grace of someone who knew exactly what he was doing, who could do his job in his sleep—but Zachary was right, there was something off. He kept looking over his shoulder, and every so often he’d stop what he was doing to peer up and down the street. I kept the windows closed and stayed behind the tint so he wouldn’t notice me sitting there, but the longer I watched, the clearer it was that he was either extremely sensitive to surveillance, and could feel my eyes on him, or something else was going on.
Around eleven, I decided I needed coffee and a better vantage point. I drove down to the Taco Bell and went inside, ordering a coffee and a burrito I didn’t really want, then claimed a table by the window. From there, I had a perfect, and much closer, view of the Body Shop.
Twenty minutes later, an older man emerged from the office and walked toward the bay where Nick was working. He was maybe in his fifties, with graying hair and the build of someone who’d spent years doing physical labor.
Sal Gomorra, I assumed. The olive skin and thinning black hair seemed right for someone Italian, and the dark circles under his eyes matched Nick’s. I zoomed my phone in as far as it would go and clicked the shutter a few times, so we could try to match the gentleman’s face to anything we could find online later. It was most likely Sal, no reason to think it wasn’t, but it was just as well to make sure.
I watched as he approached Nick, who straightened up and wiped his hands on a rag. The two of them talked for a few minutes before Sal put a fatherly hand on Nick’s shoulder. The gesture seemed designed to calm and comfort, although I didn’t get the impression that it helped much. Nick nodded in response to whatever Sal said, but his shoulders stayed tense.
As Sal made his way back toward the office, Megan emerged. He caught her before she could walk away, and they had their own brief conversation. Sal disappeared into the office, and Megan got into her car and took off. I thought about following, but I wasn’t getting paid to watch Megan, so I stayed with Nick. She came back fifteen minutes later, anyway, with a thin plastic bag and a couple of Styrofoam containers. Lunch for herself and Sal, I assumed. She disappeared back into the office with it.
I took a sip of my coffee—it had gone lukewarm in the time I’d been sitting here—and kept watching.
With the start of lunch hour, the Body Shop’s parking lot cleared out. Most of the mechanics left, leaving only a skeleton crew behind. Sal and Megan in the office, Nick and one more mechanic in the bays.
