Camino Winds (Camino Island, #2) by John Grisham Read Online (FREE)
“I’m glad you said that,” Bob replied. “I had the same impression. What will he do when they find our fingerprints?”
“We have solid alibis,” Bruce said.
They inched along in silence, at times approaching ten miles per hour, at times sitting still. Bruce’s phone buzzed and he answered it. He listened, mumbled something about dogs searching, and shook his head in disbelief. He ended the call and said, “You’re not going to believe this. The cops have the road blocked this side of the bridge and they’re searching each car with dogs. Can you please tell me why?”
Bob, the ex-felon, had little use for the police. He shook his head and said, “Because they can.”
Bruce was exasperated. “I mean, these people just had their homes and businesses blown away, so why would they want to sneak explosives onto the island? These cops are out of control.”
Bob said, “For the same reason they send SWAT teams to arrest people for bad checks. Because they can and it’s far more dramatic. These guys think they’re as tough as Navy Seals and they have to prove it. Look at all that military garb they wear. Why does every Podunk police department have a tank these days? Because the Pentagon has too much of the stuff and sells it cheap. Why do they send canine units to sniff around the county fair? Because they have the damned dogs and need to use them. Don’t get me started.”
“I think you’ve already started,” Nick observed from the backseat.
“Why does every fender bender need three cop cars and four fire trucks? Because these guys are bored, sitting around the station, and they get their jollies racing up and down the streets with sirens screaming. Tough boys in action. They like to block traffic in all directions, makes ’em feel powerful. They control the situation. Sniffing dogs. Unbelievable. It’ll be midnight before we get there.”
Bruce paused a few seconds and asked, “Do you feel better now?”
“Not really. I got chewed up by the cops, okay, so I carry a grudge. I’d feel better if this traffic was moving. Whose idea was this road trip after all?”
“Blame me for everything,” Nick said. “I’m just the intern.”
Bruce picked up his phone and said, “Look, I’ve been putting this off, but I need to call Nelson’s father and tell him that his son is not only dead but was probably murdered. You guys want to help?”
“Sorry,” Nick said.
“He named you as his contact,” Bob said. “It’s all yours.”
The Tahoe stopped in a long curve. For miles ahead nothing was moving. Bruce found the number and punched redial.
Mr. Kerr could barely talk and handed the phone to his daughter, Polly. She introduced herself with “I’m Nelson’s sister, his only sibling. Thank you for what you’re doing.”
She sounded calm, in control. Bruce said, “I really haven’t done anything. I’m very sorry for your loss. Nelson was a friend.”