Page 95 of Fire and Bones

A handset clattered.

The Boys sang about Elvira. Bobbie Sue.

I checked my mailbox. Replied to a few messages.

Thumb-nailed a dark intruder from between my upper left molars. Hunk of raisin?

Considered rehab plans for my nails.

An eternity, then Baxter was back.

“Took some creativity but I got it. The sticker was for residential parking in a neighborhood in Silver Spring, Maryland. Issued in 2019 to one Willie T. Pope.”

He read off an address. I wrote it down.

“Did you happen to note the vehicle type?”

“Why do you need that?”

“I want to be certain it’s my good Samaritan’s car.”

Uber patient, Baxter complied.

Totally pumped, I thanked him, disconnected, and punched an autodial number.

CHAPTER 22

Doyle picked up right away.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“In my room.”

“What’s happening?”

I considered telling her about my upcoming rendezvous with the female caller. Decided against it. Meeting someone of my gender in the late afternoon on the grounds of the National Academy of Sciences seemed perfectly safe. And the woman had been adamant. And I had promised. Besides. The whole thing was starting to feel a bit too Spy vs. Spy to me.

“I have a name and address for the owner of the piss-yellow Camry,” I said.

“No shit. Have you contacted Deery?”

“I just met with him. You’re right. The guy’s a barrel of laughs.”

“You should tell him.”

“I will.”

“Burgos, too. Give Sergeant Sunshine my love.”

With that, Doyle was gone.

I dialed the mobile number the arson investigator had reluctantly shared. He answered on the second ring.

“Sergeant Burgos.”

“It’s Tempe Brennan. Sorry to bother you on a weekend.” I was saying that a lot.

Burgos said nothing.