Chapter Twenty-five
Sam drove to Martinez and followed the directions to the auto shop where her car was being worked on. It was just after four and the mechanic was almost off duty, so she did her best to hurry. Traffic on 680 was packed, and Sam wondered how people lived this far out and commuted to the city. Martinez was flat and industrial, and she was glad that she didn’t need to visit often. The police station and Hall of Justice were the city’s proudest buildings—the only ones with a solid chance of surviving against the city’s vandals.
Sam found the street, took a right, and turned into the driveway where she saw three black-and-whites parked. Good business, fixing cop cars. Contra Costa County had spent three million dollars on new cops and cars just last year, and at least they were keeping the cars in good shape. She glanced up at the name on the mechanic’s sign: Epifani Brothers Auto Body. The Epifani brothers were doing well. It probably helped to have some friends in law enforcement.
Sam stepped out of the car and met a man with graying at the temples and a thick mustache as he came out of the entrance.
“Agent Chase?”
She nodded. “Ken?”
“That’s me. I was hoping it’d be you. I was getting ready to close up.” He waved her in. “The Caprice is out back.”
“Have you had a chance to look at it yet?”
“Oh, yeah. The front’s all banged out and the lights are replaced. I’m waiting for the right color paint to finish it. I can have it done by tomorrow. I’ve got a pickup in Walnut Creek, if you want my guy to drop it at your house.”
She shook her head. “I’ve got someone to drive it back to the city for me.” She wasn’t eager to drive the car again. It could sit in the garage at the D.O.J. for a few weeks. “You look at the brakes?”
Ken whistled long and low and nodded. “That’s some fancy handiwork.”
Sam ignored the tight sensation in her throat and said, “So someone cut the brakes?”
“It’s not nearly that easy in these new cars. But someone definitely got to ’em. Come back here and I’ll show you how it works.”
Understand it. Working through a problem had always been Sam’s response to fear. But these days it crept up her neck and gripped her back and shoulders despite her attempts to shake it off. Someone wanted her dead.
Pushing the thought aside, she followed Ken into the garage and to the back, where the Caprice was parked. He lifted the hood and locked it open. Then he walked away. Less than thirty seconds later, he came back carrying two flat wood crates with wheels. He sat on one and pushed the other toward her. “You want to get under and look at it or are you afraid to get dirty?”
“No fear here,” she answered easily. She sat down and leaned back on the crate, feeling the wood rough against her shoulder blades as she adjusted her position.
Ken rolled under the car so she could see only his feet.
She followed, thankful she wasn’t a mechanic. She wasn’t great with small spaces.
Ken turned on a flashlight, and Sam stared up at the underside of her car. He reached up and pointed to a black hose that ran from the frame of the car to the front left wheel. “This is the brake line. You’ve got one on each side.” He turned his light to shine directly on it. “You see the small punctures?”
“Yeah. Someone did that?” Seeing the evidence of his handiwork made the fingers of dread tighter around her neck. Who hated her this much?
“Yep. On both sides. Basically, the brakes work okay for a day or two, depending on how much you use them. Each time you brake, some of the fluid leaks out and the hose weakens. Eventually, the brake fluid’s gone. That’s what happened to you.”
Ken moved over and showed her the punctures in the brake line on the right side.
“That’s someone who knew what they were doing.”
“How long would they have needed access to the car to do this?” she asked.
“Five minutes at least, with good light. You got to think about who had that kind of access to your car.”
Sam pictured the front of her house. It would have been tough for someone to work out there without being seen, but late enough at night anything was possible.
“How long would it have lasted, working like that?”
“As I said, about a day or two, depending on how you use the brakes. Freeway miles, you could go a while, but one hard brake and you’d be done.”
Sam thanked Ken for his help and slid out from under the car, thankful to be on her feet again. As she headed home, she considered who had had access to her car a day or two before she’d had the accident. She’d driven in Nick’s car for most of the week. In a hurry to get to Eva Larson’s scene, she’d taken her Blazer because the Caprice was in the garage. She frowned. The Caprice hadn’t been parked in front of the house. It had been in her garage at home that whole week. How the hell had someone gotten to it?
The only other possibility was when she’d been at work. She thought about Williams, the blackout, and the missing file. He had certainly had access to the car at work. But wanting her dead seemed so extreme. Was it even possible?
Or was there someone else out there who hated her enough to want to kill her?