Page 83 of Justice for Samara

“Got some bad news. Bud and I called the Post1 commander and told him we needed to talk to him about Stadler. And he informed us the trooper hadn’t been at work in three days. Nobody’s seen him or knows where he is.”

“We’ve got another dead body here and an attempted. One of the women Futrell reinterviewed. He’s picking them off one by one, Amos. I’ve got reinforcements coming in from LyonCounty, but this is quickly getting out of hand.”

Before Amos could say anything, the radio in Carter’s cruiser bellowed, “TCSD, this is central dispatch. Have a five-oh-three at the Budget Inn behind Broadmore Gifts. Repeat, five-oh-three behind Broadmore Gifts. Copy?”

“Hang on, Amos. Roger that, dispatch. TCSD is ten seventy-six to that location. And ten seventy-nine to the location on Byford’s Ridge Road. Copy?”

“Roger that, TCSD. Notifying the coroner now.”

“Show us ten six at that location. Out.” Carter looked up at Michael. “You take the five-oh-three at the motel. Let me know what you find.”

“But I need to?”

“Go do that. I have this feeling it’s related.” Without another word, Carter turned back to his conversation with Amos, so Michael headed to his SUV and tore out of the scene.

When he got to the motel, he didn’t even make it to the office before a man came running out of a room. “Hey! Hey, it was me. Somebody took my car.”

“Yes, sir. Where was it?”

“It was sitting right there.” The man pointed to a parking space.

“And when did you notice it missing?”

“Right before I called. I was going to load up my stuff and it was gone.”

Michael glanced around. There was no sign that anyone had broken into the vehicle?no glass, no tool of any kind. He took one more look around, and that was when he homed in on it.

The pale gold pickup truck sitting down the way in the parking lot. “Have you seen the person who drives that truck?”

The man shook his head. “No. Nobody.”

“Stay here.” Michael ran to the office and threw open the door. “That truck down there. Do you know who it belongs to?”

“One of the guys staying here,” the clerk said, a look of confusion on his face.

“Is his name Stadler?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

When he reached the man in the parking lot, he barked, “What kind of car do you have?”

“Two thousand seven Chrysler 300, gold.”

Michael grabbed the radio from his tool belt. “All units, all units, this is TCSD unit one forty-eight. Looking for a gold-colored Chrysler 300, two thousand seven model. Suspect in the incident on Byford’s Ridge Road.” He stared at the man. “Do you know the license plate number?”

“No, sir. I don’t.”

“Central dispatch, I need a plate number on a gold Chrysler 300, two thousand seven model, registered under the name…” He pointed at the man.

“KennyHart.”

“Registered under the name KennyHart.” Ten seconds later, dispatch had relayed it. “All units, gold Chrysler 300, Kentucky plate number…” He read it off, then finished the transmission before he turned back to the theft victim. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. Here’s my card. Give me until tomorrow and call me back, and I’ll make a report on it, but we’ve got an emergency right now and I have to get going.”

“Okay. Um, just call you?”

“Yes, sir,” Michael called back as he ran to his cruiser.

As soon as he was on the road, he called Carter, and the sheriff answered, “Please, god, tell me you know something.”

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