Chapter 5 - THE MAN BY THE TREES
I was back at Centennial Park before sunrise.
Officially, I wasn’t investigating anything.
Harris had made that very clear.
“You are under administrative review,” he’d told me. “Do not turn this into some cowboy detective situation.”
I promised him I wouldn’t.
Then I drove to the park.
Marcus met me beside the north entrance.
“You realize this is exactly what Harris told you not to do.”
“We’re walking.”
“At five forty in the morning.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I after you called me twelve times.”
We crossed the frozen lawn.
The scene looked ordinary now.
That bothered me.
Yesterday, Emily had almost died there.
Titan had almost died there.
And now joggers were passing within fifty feet as if nothing had happened.
We reached the bushes.
Animal control had removed the snake.
Yellow tape marked part of the area.
Marcus crouched.
“So the kid saw someone?”
“That’s what her mother says.”
“Could be nothing.”
“Could be.”
I searched the ground.
Dead leaves.
Mud.
Broken branches.
Then Marcus pointed.
“You see that?”
A narrow patch of disturbed soil sat behind the oak tree.
Not footprints.
Something had been placed there.
Then removed.
I crouched.
There was also a small plastic cap half-buried beneath the leaves.
I used a pen to lift it.
Marcus leaned closer.
“That from a bottle?”
“Maybe.”
I turned it over.
Tiny ventilation holes had been punched through the top.
Marcus stared.
“Why would a bottle cap need air holes?”
I didn’t answer.
A memory hit me.
Training.
Evidence preservation.
Illegal reptile transport cases.
Containers punctured to keep live animals breathing.
I looked toward the place where the rattlesnake had been.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Marcus shook his head.
“I really hope not.”
I photographed the cap without touching it directly.
Then I called Harris.
He answered after two rings.
“You had better not be at Centennial Park.”
“I’m at Centennial Park.”
“Mercer.”
“I found something.”
Silence.
“What?”
“A plastic container lid with ventilation holes near the snake location.”
Harris became quiet.
“That proves nothing.”
“Emily saw a man kneeling here.”
“According to her mother.”
“He may have released the snake.”
“Stop.”
“Harris—”
“Do not contaminate that scene. Do not touch anything else.”
“I didn’t.”
“I’m sending detectives.”
I stood.
Marcus looked toward the trail.
“Jack.”
“What?”
He nodded past me.
A man stood fifty yards away.
Gray hoodie.
Dark cap.
Watching us.
The moment I turned toward him, he walked away.
“Police!” Marcus shouted.
The man ran.
We took off after him.
He cut across the bicycle path, vaulted a low fence, and disappeared between parked cars.
Marcus went left.
I went right.
I rounded the corner just in time to see a dark pickup truck roar away.
I caught only three characters of the plate.
7KJ.
Then it vanished into traffic.
Marcus arrived beside me, breathing hard.
“You get the plate?”
“Partial.”
He looked back toward the park.
“Still think the snake was an accident?”
I didn’t answer.
Because something on the pavement had caught my eye.
A laminated card.
The runner must have dropped it.
I picked it up by the edge.
The logo belonged to a wildlife company.
PACIFIC EXOTIC REPTILE SERVICES.
Below it was a name.
ETHAN VALE.
And beneath that:
May you like
LICENSE REVOKED.
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