Page 66 of Solid as Steele
“Well, shoot, yeah.” Ernie’s tone raised and bounced around the room. “Glad to help. It might help to know that this guy has flaming red hair. Can’t miss him.”
“We can go by the casting company first thing in the morning,” Owen said.
“If you don’t want to wait, they run twenty-four seven, and the night manager might be able to help. Guy’s name is Frank Urban.”
“Good to know,” Owen said. “Will you be working tomorrow?”
“All day.” Ernie rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t tell me this murder happened in our sleepy little town?”
“Not in town, no.” Owen opened the contact app on his phone. “Can I get your phone number so I can text pictures to you?”
Ernie rattled off his number. “Just let me know what I can do to help. You can count on me.” He marched away, a purpose in his step.
“What do you make of Cassie’s hair color change?” Mackenzie asked. “Do you think she was running from someone and trying to hide out here?”
He set down his phone and grabbed his sandwich. “But from who? There was no one in her life who wanted to do her harm. At least no one who turned up in the investigation.”
“What about her husband?” Mackenzie reached for the ketchup and dumped a liberal portion on her plate.
“Keith? Nah. They had a solid marriage, and he was thoroughly investigated. Besides, he’s a cop.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt her.” Mackenzie paused, hands above her burger. “Cops abuse women more often than I would like to admit.”
“I never saw a hint of abuse. No signs of intimidation. Besides, Cassie would’ve told me.”
“Most women are too embarrassed to report it.”
“True.” He dunked his sandwich into the small bowl of au jus sauce.
She cut her burger in half. “You plan to follow up on this trucker tonight?”
Owen nodded. “We have to, right? Sounds like a promising lead we can’t pass up.”
Owen stood in the casting company foyer waiting for the manager to come out of his office. Mackenzie had taken a seat, but Owen was too antsy to sit so he walked around the space. He examined a bulletin board in the corner where the company posted the driver of the month’s photo and name. A redheaded man stood in front of a red extended cab linked to an eighteen-wheeler.
“Come look at this,” he said to Mackenzie.
She joined him and stared at the board. Her gaze flashed to his. “Could be our driver.”
“Yeah, unless they have two truckers with red hair and red cabs.” Owen dug his phone from his pocket and snapped a couple of photos. Owen texted the picture to Ernie and tapped his foot while waiting for a reply, but the dinner rush was a busy time and Owen might not get a quick answer.
The lobby door opened, and a stout man with a thick black beard and head of coffee-brown hair poked his head out. “Frank Urban, manager. You people want to see me?”
Owen got out his identification and displayed it then introduced Mackenzie as an associate. “We’d like to ask you questions about one of your trucks.” Owen purposely said the truck instead of the driver to make his request less threatening. “Mind if we have a talk?”
Frank creased his high forehead. “Was one of my trucks involved in something bad?”
“Nothing like that,” Owen said. “We only want to talk to you. In private.”
“This way.” Urban disappeared into a dark hallway.
Owen waited for Mackenzie to enter first, and they both had to hurry not to fall behind the man’s long strides. He turned into a room at the end of the hallway. It was a small dark office with a single desk and three chairs, two of them metal folding chairs. The desk looked handmade from rough timbers perhaps harvested from Oregon forests. A ceramic ashtray loaded with cigar butts sat near the computer, the monitor was yellowed from smoke and the room reeked of it.
Urban dropped onto the cracked blue chair behind the desk. Owen didn’t bother sitting. He wouldn’t be here long enough. “Mind describing your truck fleet? Especially the cab design.”
“All of our company trucks have white cabs with our black logo painted on the side.” Urban leaned back, and the chair groaned as if wanting to die. “We also use contract drivers, and they drive their own rigs.”
“Any of them have a red one with a sleeper?” Mackenzie asked, still standing next to Owen.
