The Depth of Darkness (Mitch Tanner #1) by L.T. Ryan Page A

turned right, drove a hundred yards or
so, and pulled into the Quik-Pit parking lot. A dark red overhang
covered the empty bay of gas pumps. Yellow police tape secured the
perimeter of the pump area and the entrances to the store.
    That’s how you do it, Jennings.
    “They’re losing more in revenue by not
pumping gas than Miller and his accomplice took off with,” Sam
observed.
    “Most likely. Not our business or our choice
though. These cops have their own protocol.”
    “Think it was the state police?”
    “No idea, Sam. Don’t know much about how they
operate out here.” While I had experience working with detectives
in various police departments in the tri-state area, this area was
a mystery to me.
    “Come on,” Sam said. “Let’s go check this
place out before that police tape gets cut in two.”
    We both exited the Camaro and walked up to
the front of the store. A painted striped line covered two-thirds
of the glass. Sam could see over it easily. I had to rise up on the
tips of my toes. The area in front of us was where the clerk would
have stood. They had to work all day with their backs to the pumps.
Not a great idea in my experience. The cash register hung open, no
one behind the counter to close it. The aisles were barren. So we
went around to the left side of the store. The doors there were
locked. I knocked on the glass door while Sam headed around back.
No one answered or appeared from the back of the store. I knocked
again. A minute later I saw Sam through the glass, on the other
side of the store. He gave the door there a yank and then shrugged
his shoulders. We met in front of the building.
    “I’ll call Huff,” I said, pulling out my cell
phone.
    Huff answered on the second ring. “You guys
there?”
    “Yeah, Huff, but the kid’s not.”
    “Where is he?”
    “How should I know? Ain’t no one here,
man.”
    “Sit tight for a few. I’ll make a few calls
and get back to you.”
    I wrapped my hand around my phone and stuffed
both in my pocket. I stared over the hood of the Camaro at the fast
food joint across the street. A line of cars wrapped around the
side and back. A little early for lunch, I thought. Perhaps the
late breakfast crowd.
    “What’s the deal?” Sam asked.
    “He’s gonna call us back.”
    “Sounds promising.” Sam shook his head and
looked at the ground. He kicked a cigarette butt off the
sidewalk.
    “Sounds like we’re wasting an hour of our
time.”
    “At least we get paid no matter what.”
    “Screw the paycheck. I want Roy Miller in
custody.”
    “I know, Mitch. Just giving you a hard
time.”
    “Every minute we stand around here, Miller
gets that much farther away.”
    “He’ll slip up. Don’t you worry about it. The
guy ain’t that smart. Before you know it, he’ll make a mistake and
we’ll have him in custody. Someone’ll have him in custody.”
    Sam, my ever-optimistic partner. I never
understood it. With all the crap he saw in Afghanistan as an Army
Ranger, how could he be so positive? He’d always said it was
because he came home alive. Many of his friends didn’t. But I knew
there were thoughts he did not share with me. Memories that were
too painful. I could see it in his eyes and that distant stare out
to nowhere.
    “He should have never escaped our custody,” I
said. One of us had to be pragmatic.
    We fell silent. The rolling tide of vehicles
filled the void, like at the beach. As soon as one wave headed back
into the ocean, another broke. By this time of day, the morning
commuters were already at work. These cars belonged to people
heading from one far off destination to another. Truckers making
that long haul up and down good old I-95. One long boring strip of
highway that would take you from Miami to the Houlton–Woodstock
Border Crossing, just east of Houlton, Maine, at the Canadian
border.
    My phone vibrated in my hand. “Yeah, Huff,” I
said.
    “Trail’s dead, Tanner. Lost my lead on the
kid and nothing new on Miller.”
    I