“I’ve got his address. He’s on the other side of Monahans from Sawyer’s place.”
* * *
They called Greet from the car, and she said she’d make inquiries about identifying cell phones calling from a particular location, but without the phone number. “I’ve never done that, but I think we can. There might be a price on it—I don’t know. If we have to rent an airplane or send out special equipment. If they’re at all security-aware, they’re probably calling from one unidentified burner to another.”
She said she would get back when she’d learned something.
The outdoor temperature had turned up several notches by the time they got to Monahans. Letty was driving as they cruised Max Sawyer’s and Victor Crain’s houses, and both seemed unoccupied, inert. Sawyer’s Jeep was gone.
They drove across town, passing through a much richer area of sprawling brick ramblers, and then back into a more run-down neighborhood. At Duran’s address, they found the two pickups they’d seen the night before, along with a tan Jeep that was newer and a higher trim level than Sawyer’s. There was no way to know for sure, but the Jeep might have been the one driven by the woman who’d shot at Letty. The Jeep was pulled into Duran’s yard, and was sitting sideways to the street.
“We need the Jeep’s plates, and we’re not going to get them with a cell phone,” Letty said. “Why don’t we have a decent camera with a telephoto lens?”
“We don’t need an Axel Adams photo, all we need is the tag number,” Kaiser said. They were sitting at a stop sign, looking down the block at Crain’s house. “I’m rolling down my window. Drive on past, don’t slow down at all. I’ll keep my head below the window, put my phone on video, nothing sticking up but the phone.”
“Ansel,” Letty said.
“What?”
“Ansel Adams.”
“No, I’m talking about the other guy. Axel Adams, from over in Lafourche Parish.”
Letty said, “Oh.”
Kaiser laughed and said, “Gotcha.”
* * *
Letty drove by the house and, at the end of the block, turned a corner and pulled over into the shade of a tree. “You get it?” she asked.
Kaiser was peering at his phone: “No. Can’t see it, the way the Jeep’s parked. We really need to know who she is . . . if it’s Jael. She was quick to jump you with that gun last night. If that’s actually her.”
“It’s her, she had that Jeep,” Letty said, letting a little irritation show.
“You don’t know that one hundred percent.”
“I feel it,” Letty said. “Not only is it her, that gang killed the Blackburns and would be perfectly happy to kill us. This is about more than stolen oil.”
“Remember what about six people have said—it’s only a little oil to the oil companies, but it’s a hell of a lot of money for anyone else,” Kaiser said. “Worth killing for.”
“All right, all right,” Letty said. “Let’s find a place where we can watch them.”
* * *
They found a spot on the opposite side of the block where they could see the cluster of vehicles by looking between houses. They’d been there for twenty minutes when a police cruiser pulled up behind them, lights flashing, and a cop got out.
Kaiser said, “Ah, shit. Busted.”
Letty rolled down the driver’s-side window, took her ID case from a hip pocket, and held it open outside the window, where the cop could see what would appear to be a badge case. The cop came cautiously up, took the case, looked at it, and handed it back.