Read Online Killing Britney by Sean Olin - Free Book Online Page B

leaping over each other in a race to the finish.
    “Who’s Digger?”
    “Ricky’s hockey buddy. Doug Dietz.”
    “Well, no. Should I have?”
    “I don’t know,” Britney said. “Probably not. He’s been telling people that someone threatened Ricky a few days before he got—passed away. But Digger’s the kind of guy who makes things up, you know?”
    “Hmm.” The detective nodded gravely. “That’s interesting.” She pulled a thick notepad from her belt and wrote something in it. “I’ll tell you what we have done. We’ve performed some forensics on the tire tracks into and out of the gas station, and we’ve ruled out the possibility that whoever was driving that truck lost control on the ice. There was too much salt on the road. And there wasn’t any fishtailing. If he’d lost control, we would have seen signs that he’d tried to brake. But we still haven’t ruled out a drunk driver. I mean, he would have had to have been blitzed out of his mind, but in a college town like this, that’s not at all inconceivable.”
    “Do you have any idea who was driving the truck?”
    Detective Russell shrugged. She looked around for an ashtray, and not finding one, she stubbed her cigarette out on the sole of her shiny black shoe. “We’re running some tests on the paint that scraped off onto Ricky’s car,” she said, “but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. There’s not a lot to go on. I mean, a red pickup? Come on, who doesn’t own one of them?”
    “Well … What about the Prairie Dogs? They could have done it, right? They were really pissed about what happened at the game. I mean, Digger—”
    “I’ve looked into them already. Most of the team was on the bus headed back to Sun Prairie. The only one who wasn’t, Todd Smaltz, and his girlfriend were at the hospital all night.”
    Britney stiffened. “Then you don’t know anything, do you?” She felt like jumping up and down, like pounding her fists against the detective’s chest and screaming, “What are you good for if you can’t even solve a simple hit and run?” But she didn’t. She bounced from foot to foot to help control her adrenaline.
    Detective Russell was popping more gum into her mouth. “I’m working on it,” she said. “You want to go back inside?” As she said this, the detective adjusted her hair in her reflection in the glass. She touched up her makeup. She seemed totally unaffected by the state she’d put Britney in.
    Back inside, just before parting company with Britney, the detective took her by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. “Listen, I want you to know I’m here for you whenever you need me. Here’s my private number.” She handed Britney a business card. “It doesn’t even have to be related to the case. Anything you need, just give me a call. You remind me of what I was like when I was your age.”
    Britney tried to smile. “Thanks,” she said.
    “Promise me you’ll use it?” the detective said.
    “Yeah, okay, I guess,” said Britney. “But I hope I don’t have to.”

eleven
    The Computer Rebooter, where Bobby Plumley worked, was more like a shed than an office. The whole place spooked Adam out. It felt like it could easily be the lair of an evil scientist. It was out on the Washington Avenue strip, in a low cluster of windowless buildings not far from the gas station where Ricky had been killed. It had no sign, and instead of a front door, it had a retractable garage door that could only be opened by remote control. Inside, there were computers of all makes and models piled shoulder high in a ring around the messy work area, a long wooden table on which Bobby could play around with seven computers at once. In the darkness along one wall was a row of routers and servers; their red and green lights flickered like the control panels of a spaceship. The only real light came from a fluorescent rod that had somehow been jimmied so it hung loose over the table.
    Bobby worked