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Deputy KC Kingma walks over and leans in to get a look at Tessa’s screen, where she has frozen the image of the back of the pickup truck.

“Trying to ID that truck, but it’s too damn blurry. I’m having a hard time telling the make, let alone the license plate,” she complains.

“Is that from a security camera?”

“Yeah.”

She hits the play button and on the screen the truck turns right onto the road again.

“What day was that?” KC wants to know.

I turn to him. “Why does it matter?”

He flashes a shit-eating grin at me. “Well, it’ll make it easier to find the truck on the traffic cams.”

“There aren’t any south of the hospital,” Tessa points out.

“True, but if he would’ve turned left, there is one at the intersection with Ridge Road. He may not have left that way, but maybe he came in that way.”

“Shit,” Tessa mutters, immediately rewinding the security feed.

She finds what she’s looking for at three minutes past five, when the same truck can be seen turning into the parking lot and backing into the spot on the far side.

It was coming from the direction of town.

“Bingo,” KC says triumphantly before retreating to his desk boasting three large computer screens. “Let me see if I can get a better look at that truck.”

The guy is a bit of a computer wiz and is often called on for his technical savvy.

If you ask me, he’d make an ace investigator with his skills, but he doesn’t seem interested in specializing and is happy in his role as deputy. He’s not the only one in our office, Warren Burns came here from the Seattle PD, taking what I’m sure was a step down. But he’s content working as a deputy at a lower pay grade.

Now that I think about it, there are quite a few of us here who were willing to take a pay cut in return for a less stressful work environment. I transferred from the Coeur d’Alene Police Department, Tessa worked for the Washington State Patrol Criminal Division. We all opted for a simpler existence, but the sad truth is, even here, in quiet and generally peaceful Edwards County, crime rates are growing, keeping us busy.

While KC works his magic, I return to my desk and start drafting warrants for access to financial and phone records for Doug Severin. As soon as I have the coroner’s report in my hand, confirming his identity, I can take it over to the courthouse for Judge Crombie’s signature.

Hopefully, I can get that done before the end of the day.

“Got it,” KC calls out maybe fifteen minutes later, turning his chair around. “The license plate on the truck is CPM9130, but according to the DMV it belongs on a Subaru Crosstrek owned by one Samantha Felix, Deer Park, Washington. But the truck looks to be a GMC Sierra.”

Interesting.

“Stolen plates,” Tessa concludes.

“Looks that way,” he confirms. “The Subaru was reported stolen from a parking garage under a medical building in Deer Park back in June.”

“Can you shoot me over that report? I’ll try to get hold of the owner,” Tessa volunteers.

It’s doubtful the four-month-old theft is somehow connected to Doug Severin’s murder. One of the first things the thieves would’ve done is swapped out the license plates on the stolen vehicle. The original plates could be discarded in a host of ways. Sometimes they’re ditched, sold for scrap, or could end up being used in other crimes. But we need to make sure.

“Sure, and I’ll also send you both a close-up I was able to pull from the traffic camera showing the driver. You can’t see his head because of the angle of the camera, but you can see it’s a guy, and there’s an interesting detail that jumped out at me.”

I click on the link he attached to his email, opening up the grainy image through the windshield of the truck, showing the torso of a man behind the wheel, wearing what looks to be a sweatshirt with some kind of patch or logo on his chest. The quality of the image is too poor to make out any details, other than it appears round.

I do, however, recognize what is hanging off the rearview mirror.

It’s a novelty air freshener in the shape of a key, a company name printed on the side. I saw one of those the other day.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”