Page 61 of Midnight Creed

Maggie’s phone started vibrating in her jacket pocket. She pulled it out, took one look and said, “I have to take this.”

“Go ahead.”

“If there’s anything I can do for you or Julia, please just call me.” She dug out a business card from behind her badge wallet. Across the back, she’d scrawled her personal cell phone number.

Rachel nodded. “Thanks. And thanks for the coffee.”

Back in the hallway, Maggie finally answered Alonzo.

“Please tell me you found something,” she said in place of a greeting.

“Actually, Kuszak did. Remember the throwaway bag?”

“Yes. A pair of large shoes that led to nowhere. Latex gloves with fingerprints that identified no one. And some trash receipts. Was there something we missed?”

“The trash receipts. Kuszak got to thinking that wad looked a lot like when she cleans out her car. You know, you toss things you no longer need. There was a printed copy of an Amtrak eTicket. What you’d use for boarding.”

“Didn’t you already check out the name on the ticket?” Maggie started to pace the hallway.

“I did. And I got nowhere. But...Kuszak recognized that it was a ticket for the Auto Train.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“Neither did I, but Kuszak did. She has family members who’ve taken it in the last six months.”

“So it’s not Amtrak.”

“Oh yes, it’s Amtrak, but it’s a special train where you can take your vehicle along with you. You check it in, sort of like you would luggage. They place a magnetic number on your car so you can easily identify it at your destination site. But they also put the vehicle’s VIN number into their computer system with that corresponding number.”

“And the VIN number connected you to the name of the vehicle’s owner?”

“Bingo! Black 2018 Mercedes-Benz C300 four-door sedan registered to Peter Gregory of Miami, Florida.”

“Miami? He lives in Miami?”

“It’s an office address. An investment group that owns, operates and manages vacation homes. Sort of like Airbnb. These are all elite luxury places. He’s listed as one of five owner executives.”

“Does the train go all the way to Miami?”

“It does. More interesting though, it also goes to Jacksonville. And New York City.”

“Really?” She stopped in her tracks. The other murders. Is this how he traveled? “So what do you know about Gregory?”

“Not a lot so far. He seems like an ordinary guy. Thirty years old. Pays his taxes on time. No priors with the law. Not even a traffic ticket. I’m still searching. I’m betting he’s never been fingerprinted.”

Maggie let out a frustrated sigh and moved further down the hallway to stay out of the way of hospital workers.

“But here’s the thing,” Alonzo said. “Most criminals have a weak spot, right? I think this Mercedes might be his. I happened to access Amtrak’s computer system.”

He paused, as if waiting for a reprimand. Maggie knew Alonzo was a wizard when it came to “accessing” cyberspaces that perhaps he had no business accessing. She had played against the rules too often to lecture anyone else.

Satisfied by her silence, he continued, “He obviously used aliases when he booked his Amtrak tickets. I couldn’t find Peter Gregory or the name on the eTicket we found. I’m not exactly sure how it works, but it doesn’t look like vehicle registrations are checked to match the ticket holder’s name. Probably would take too long. Entering the VIN number looks to be strictly for backup. Who knows? I thought by tracking the Mercedes VIN number I could see what other trips it’s taken.”

“And you found Jacksonville and New York City.”

“Yes, and the timelines easily match to the homicides.”

“That only places him in those cities. Without fingerprints or some evidence—”