The taxi dropped him outside the hotel and after fifteen grubby minutes and a lot of strong language he'd changed the wheel. He got in the car, took the photograph out of his pocket and studied it. He knew he was seeing what he wanted to see, but despite that there was no mistake about the bracelet on the unidentified arm. If it wasn't Sarah's then it was one identical to it. What were the chances of that? Of Ellie having two friends who owned the exact same bracelet. If Ellie had bought it for her, then okay, maybe she bought them in bulk and gave them to all her friends. But that wasn't the case—Evan had bought it himself and given it to her for her birthday and as far as he was concerned that made the chances of it being a coincidence pretty much zero.

He put it back in his pocket and went inside to book a room.

Chapter 29

Dixie needed to find a way to get rid of Crispy before he could start looking for Ellie. He didn't want to kill him—although if it came to it he would— but he needed him out of the way for a couple of days at least. He had something of a plan but he knew he'd end up playing it by the seat of his pants. Crispy might not have chaired many Mensa meetings but he had a certain animal cunning. Added to which, Dixie didn't know what Chico had said to him. If Chico had told him to keep an eye on Dixie, he might be expecting him to try something.

As it turned out, it was a lot easier than he expected.

'Hey Crispy,' Dixie said, 'you got any duct tape?'

'I think so, yeah.'

'You think so? Have you or haven't you? I don't want to wait until we've got hold of her and she's kicking and screaming to find out we need to stop off at the hardware store and buy some. It's called thinking ahead.'

Crispy looked offended. Everybody liked to treat him as if he was an idiot. Dixie was the worst.

'I think I've got some in the trunk.'

'How about we take a look, just to make sure?'

Crispy grunted something unintelligible, the second word sounded like you, but he pulled into an empty parking lot about a mile further on. He popped the trunk and they both got out to take a look. The trunk was full of all kinds of assorted crap.

'What a mess,' Dixie said.

'What do you expect? It's a car trunk.'

'Why don't we just go and buy some now,' Dixie said, 'You'll never find anything amongst all this junk.'

'It's not junk,' Crispy said. 'You never know what you might need. Just give me a minute, will you.'

Dixie gave a small shrug like it was no skin off his nose if Crispy wanted to spend a half hour rooting through the trunk.

'Whatever. Just don't be all day.'

He took a small step backwards to give Crispy some room and Crispy leaned in and started rummaging around. He moved a blanket to one side and Dixie saw a baseball bat underneath it.

Just what I need.

This would be the moment of truth. If Crispy was suspicious in any way it wasn't going to work.

'Nice bat,' he said, leaning past Crispy and picking it up.

Crispy ignored him. Dixie let out a sigh of relief and took a step backwards to give himself room to swing.

'Hey, Crispy.'

'What is it now?' His voice had taken on a sharper tone. Dixie didn't know if he was fed up with Dixie's interruptions or he was pissed because he couldn't find the tape and he was going to look stupid. Dixie smiled to himself but then his heart missed a beat. What if he didn't have any tape? He couldn't worry about that now. He might not get another chance.

'What's this stain on the end of the bat? It looks like blood. You need to wash it off after you've beaten some guy's brains in. What if the cops caught you with it like this?'

'What are you talking about?' Crispy said and pulled his head and upper body out of the trunk.

Dixie swung the bat and caught him right on the temple. There was a sickening thump but not a worrying sharp crack. He'd judged it just right. Crispy let out a loud grunt and started to crumple. Dixie took another swing and caught him across the gut, a flat, smacking sound. The air exploded out of Crispy like it wasn't ever coming back. He doubled over and Dixie finished him off—not permanently he hoped—with a blow across the back of his neck. Crispy dropped to the floor as if his someone had cut his legs off at the knees with a chainsaw. His head landed with a dull thud on the ground, inches from the exhaust tailpipe, the fumes washing over his face.

Dixie stepped over him and started frantically searching through the crap in the trunk. Then he stopped just moving it aside and grabbed an armful of stuff and dropped in on the ground next to Crispy. No tape.

He bent into the trunk again and scooped up another armful and dropped it on the first pile. Nothing. He started to turn back to the trunk and heard Crispy groan. Surely he couldn't be coming round already. He didn't want to hit him again if he didn't have to. He looked down at him but he wasn't moving. His breathing was very shallow which was probably a good thing—it was best if he didn't breath in too much carbon monoxide.

Dixie turned back to the trunk and offered up a silent prayer of thanks. There was a half roll of silver duct tape lying in the corner. He grabbed hold of it and knelt down next to Crispy. He flipped him onto his front, pulled his arms behind him and lashed his wrists together with the tape. He did the same with his ankles. What about his mouth? He didn't want the guy to suffocate but he couldn't risk him shouting for help. Crispy had an irritating, nasal sort of voice but did that mean he had problems with his sinuses? Only one way to find out.

Dixie tore off another strip of tape and pulled it tight over Crispy's mouth. His chest heaved a couple of times and he made a snorting noise through his nose but then his breathing settled down again. He wasn't going red in the face either so Dixie reckoned he'd be okay.

Crispy made what was probably another groan behind the tape when Dixie sat him up and rolled him onto his shoulder. Dixie got his legs under him and stood up like he was doing a squat in the gym and rolled Crispy off his shoulder and into the empty trunk. He landed at a strange angle but it was only a small drop so Dixie didn't think he'd done any damage. You couldn't break somebody's neck from that height.

It was a generous-sized trunk so there was enough room in there to pack all Crispy's junk around him. Dixie thought he actually looked quite comfortable—almost peaceful—lying there. He leaned in and dug Crispy's phone out of his pocket. He knew his gun was in the glove compartment so he could get that later. Then he slammed the trunk shut, got in the front and drove off.

He drove around for the best part of an hour until he found what he was looking for—an old abandoned factory near the railroad tracks. He drove in and around to the parking lot at the back which wasn't visible from the street. Nobody was likely to find the car here. In fact he'd probably have to let somebody know where it was unless he wanted Crispy to starve to death.

He thought he better check up on him one last time. He took Crispy's gun—a Glock 19—from the glove compartment and went to take a look. He could hear a very faint noise as he walked around to the back of the car. It sounded like Crispy was awake. He opened the trunk and looked in. He was right. Crispy was thrashing around making a guttural sound in the back of his throat. He stopped thrashing and stared up at Dixie. If looks could kill and all that sort of stuff . . .

'Save your strength, Crispy, you're going to be here for a few days.' He smiled down at him. 'Don't worry; I'll let them know where you are once I'm long gone.'

Crispy shook his head violently back and forth. Dixie patted him on the cheek. He briefly considered taking the tape off and trying to get him to tell him what Chico had told him do, but he decided against it. Crispy wouldn't tell him voluntarily and Dixie didn't have the heart for torturing people. Even people like Crispy.