The man in the hoodie stood near Dawson’s SUV with Jasper beside him. His hat was on top of the cruiser. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties. His face was thin, and he had sunburn across his nose.
“This is Owen Miller," Dawson said. "Lives two towns over. Works part-time at a boat rental place. No record beyond a drunk and disorderly from four years ago.”
Owen pointed at Sterling. “Yeah. This is the guy I was supposed to make sure saw me.”
Sterling arched a brow. "Excuse me?"
“He was paid quite a pretty penny to wear this hoodie and that hat and parade through the bar in front of you.” Dawson planted his hands on his hips. "Show him the email."
Owen handed Sterling his phone.
Sterling scanned the words on the page. He checked the date. The time. And the name. None of it made sense. He lifted his gaze. “Do you know who this is?”
“No idea," Owen said. “I'm sorry. It was easy cash. And I really need the money. I mean, the dough was right where this guy said it was. But as you can see from the email, if I didn't do what he said after I took the payment—well, I couldn't risk him coming after me. I got a sick kid.” Owen glanced over his shoulder. "I'm scared he's watching."
“I can't promise you whoever this guy is that he's not,” Dawson said. "But Icanpromise you that my department and your local one will keep an eye on you as long as you cooperate."
Sterling handed the phone back. “Ten thousand? That's a lot of money just to wear a sweatshirt and a hat.”
"I thought it was a joke until I opened the locker." Owen swiped his eyes.
“Did anyone approach you at the station?” Sterling asked.
“No. I used the code. Took the bag and left.” Owen shrugged.
“Cameras?” Sterling asked Dawson.
“Already calling Port Vista PD,” Dawson said. “We’ll pull station footage. Anna’s waking up a judge for what we need on the email. Jasper’s taking him in for a statement, and I don't see any reason to book him.”
"I don't, either," Sterling said, even though he wasn't a cop, and it wasn't his call.
“You recognize anything in the wording?” Dawson asked. "Anything that matches a case you're working on? Or something that can help me?"
“Not really. But let’s talk in private at my house tonight, okay?” Sterling glanced toward the pub. “This might be connected to the Crab Shack situation, and that could be connected to something else.”
“I can do that,” Dawson said.
"See you later." Sterling turned on his heels and made his way back to the pub with the email committed to memory.
He eased back into the booth and held Doyle's gaze. “Unless my boss has a reason we shouldn’t, I’ll take the job.”
Buddy’s brows rose. “I'd still like some more intel, and I want to be read in on everything, but I'll let you go on this one.”
"Great." Doyle rubbed his hands together. "I'm looking forward to working with you again. Just let me know what you need. And feel free to call my boss.”
“I'll do that,” Buddy said.
Doyle checked his watch. “Well, I better go find Tara. She's been dying to see this movie, and while I'm hanging around this town, I'm enjoying hanging around her.” Doyle picked up one last fritter and popped it into his mouth. “Anything else before I bug out?”
“I'll touch base with you in the morning,” Sterling said.
“All righty then." Doyle jumped to his feet and groaned, grabbing his calf.
"You alright?" Sterling asked.
"Old injury. Acts up every once in a while." He shook out his leg. "Talk to you boys then." Doyle lifted a hand toward Juniper through the window and disappeared into the crowd, favoring his right leg.
Sterling lifted his beer and took a sip, scanning the room, waiting until he saw Doyle and Tara leave, arm in arm. "Did you notice his limp?"
