His breath was shallow on the other end, a ragged whisper behind the static.
"You said you had a spare key for emergencies," I said, feeling the heat of the kitchen lights on my face.
"I… I didn't know you were watching the app," he muttered, the words sputtering like a dying engine.
There was a pause, then the click of a door closing somewhere far away.
"Dad gave it to me, huh? To your brother?" I asked, my tone flat but my heart thudding.
"It wasn't just me. He—" He swallowed. "He needed cash, okay? He needed cash." The words fell heavy.
"Cash for what?" I pressed, the smell of rosemary from the planter still lingering.
"Gambling," he admitted, a crack in his voice. "I lost everything. The wife—she's got appointments, but they're just a cover. I meet the guys after they’re done." He laughed bitterly, the sound echoing off the kitchen tiles.
"You sold the car?" I asked, the question hanging like a blade.
"I sold it to the crew," he said, the silence stretching. "They needed a reliable ride for their runs. I thought I could get it back after the next big score." He sounded desperate, the line crackling with his breath.
"Brother, you gave them a car I paid for," I said, the anger bubbling under the surface.
"I’m begging you," he pleaded, "Help me fix this. I can pay you back, I can—just don’t turn it on the cops." His voice cracked, a plea for salvation.
"You want me to lie?" I asked, the kitchen clock ticking louder than his words.
He sighed, the sound of a man cornered. "I need you to call someone. Someone who can get the car back before they try to move it again. Please." The desperation was palpable.
I stared at the glowing screen, the blue dot flickering towards the dock.
"Fine," I said, "but you better explain everything when we meet." The line went dead.
The Officer Returns with New Information
The patrol car idled, the engine humming low as the officer stepped out, his badge glinting in the streetlight.
"Got something," he said, eyes narrowed, the paperwork clutched in his hand.
"What?" I asked, the kitchen's faint hum still in the background.
"The GPS pinged the car at a warehouse on the east side," he replied, his voice tight. "Same place where they found the missing woman's car—burned to a charred shell." He held up a photo, the smoldering wreckage stark against the night.
I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach.
"That was her?" I whispered, the memory of the news flashing in my mind.
"Yeah," the officer said, "she vanished three weeks ago. No leads. This car shows up, and now the same vehicle we’re tracking is here." He gestured to the map on his tablet.
The blue dot blinked, a phantom moving toward the river bridge.
"We’re closing in," he continued, "but the bridge—its barriers are failing. The structure's old, and the weight is too much." He paused, the radio crackling to life.
