Chapter 5 - Cole’s BreadcrumbsThe BMW stolen on April 27 had been recovered near Eugene.
Police impounded it for three weeks.
Then the insurer sold it at auction after damage classification.
The current owner lived outside Portland.
Oregon authorities retrieved the bike.
Evan flew north under official assignment.
He hated flying.
Cole always teased him about being a motorcycle officer afraid of turbulence.
The owner, a fifty-eight-year-old dentist named Patrick Dunn, watched nervously as investigators examined the BMW.
“I bought it legally.”
“We know.”
Evan crouched beside the left saddlebag.
Nothing obvious.
Then he noticed a stainless bolt with the wrong head.
Torx instead of hex.
Cole hated mismatched hardware.
Unless intentional.
Evan removed the inner liner with permission.
Behind it:
A small aluminum washer.
Hand-scratched.
Evan’s heart pounded.
May 11.
Another date.
They searched theft reports.
May 11.
Indian Pursuit stolen outside Medford.
Recovered in Boise.
Evan stared at the route.
Sacramento.
Elk Grove.
Eugene.
Medford.
Boise.
North and east.
Cole had been moving.
Or tracking movements.
The Indian was still in police storage.
Idaho investigators found another mark.
June 2.
A Harley Road Glide stolen in Twin Falls.
Recovered outside Salt Lake City.
Next mark:
June 19.
Las Vegas.
Then:
July 4.
Phoenix.
Evan looked at the chain.
“They moved him south.”
Lena studied the map.
“Maybe.”
“Every marker corresponds to a stolen touring bike.”
“Could be Cole marking shipments, not himself.”
“He knew the routes.”
“Yes.”
“Why leave dates?”
“Because he expected someone to trace them.”
Evan stared at July 4.
“What happened after Phoenix?”
No obvious mark yet.
The recovered Phoenix bike had been destroyed after an insurance fire claim.
Evan slammed his hand against the table.
Lena looked at him.
“Stop.”
“We lost the trail.”
“No.”
She pointed at theft reports.
“If Cole understood the network, he might switch methods.”
They searched July.
August.
September.
A pattern emerged.
After July 4, stolen touring motorcycles became less frequent in Arizona.
But Nevada thefts increased.
Maybe network route changed.
Maybe Cole moved again.
Blaire supplied another clue.
She agreed to a cooperation interview with counsel.
“I saw a man in Phoenix.”
Evan was not allowed in the room but read the transcript.
Blaire described a prisoner doing mechanical work inside a fenced repair yard controlled by Rourke associates.
“Age?”
Early thirties.
Dark hair.
Beard.
Scar on left forearm.
Cole had a burn scar there.
“Name?”
Nobody used it.
But one guard called him “Cross.”
Evan sat back.
Alive in July.
Three months after disappearance.
Lena said:
“That’s significant.”
“July was five months ago.”
“I know.”
“Where did the yard send people?”
“We’re asking.”
Blaire remembered trucks leaving toward Nevada.
Sometimes Mexico.
Evan’s fear deepened.
Mexico changed the search.
Federal agencies became involved.
But then Blaire said something unexpected.
“Rourke doesn’t sell people.”
Lena frowned.
“What does he do?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“What they’re worth.”
“What was Cole worth?”
Blaire looked down.
“A lot.”
“To who?”
“Rourke.”
“Why?”
“Because Cole knew motorcycles.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“He knew police procedures because of Evan.”
Evan read that line twice.
Cole had never been police.
But he knew enough from family conversations to understand how motor officers operated.
Not confidential details.
Normal life.
Traffic enforcement patterns.
Equipment.
Pursuit policies.
Radio language.
Rourke may have seen him as useful.
“What did he make Cole do?” Lena asked.
“Repair bikes. change identifying parts. teach riders what police notice.”
Evan felt sick.
His brother had been forced to strengthen the network hunting him.
Blaire continued.
“Cole fought him.”
“How?”
“He sabotaged bikes.”
Evan almost smiled.
Of course.
“How?”
Blaire shook her head.
“I don’t know. Small things. enough to create problems later.”
That explained why several network motorcycles broke down unexpectedly.
Cole had not only left breadcrumbs.
He had been damaging the operation from inside.
Then Blaire described another man.
“Older. Gray hair. Everyone called him Doc.”
“Doctor?”
“No idea.”
“Where?”
“Phoenix yard.”
“What did he do?”
“Paperwork. medical stuff sometimes.”
“Medical stuff?”
“Kept people calm.”
Lena’s expression hardened.
“Drugs?”
“Sometimes.”
“Against their will?”
“Yes.”
Evan’s stomach tightened.
“Was Cole drugged?”
“I don’t know.”
Blaire became quiet.
Then:
“I heard Rourke say Cross was becoming difficult because he kept asking about Natalie.”
Lena froze.
“Your sister?”
Blaire nodded.
“Cole knew her?”
“I don’t know.”
“When was that?”
“July.”
Evan stared at the transcript.
Cole and Natalie.
Two missing people.
Possibly connected inside the same network.
Then another line from Blaire:
“Rourke said, ‘If Cross keeps digging, put him where we put the Price girl.’”
Evan called Lena immediately.
“Where did they put Natalie?”
“We don’t know.”
“But Cole might.”
“Yes.”
“Then he wasn’t only trying to escape.”
Lena understood.
“He was investigating from inside.”
Evan closed his eyes.
That was exactly what Cole would do.
Dangerously curious.
Stubborn.
Unable to ignore someone else in trouble.
Then Lena added:
“We found another stolen bike tied to July fourth.”
“Where?”
“Phoenix bike had parts sold separately.”
Evan sat forward.
“One part turned up in Nevada.”
“What part?”
“Right saddlebag.”
“Any mark?”
“Yes.”
Evan held his breath.
Lena said:
“823.”
August 23.
A date.
Today.
Evan stared.
“What happened August twenty-third?”
Lena’s voice became quiet.
“Nothing yet.”
Evan looked at the current date.
Then at the clock.
Cole had scratched a date months in advance.
Not a record.
An appointment.
May you like
Or a planned transfer.
And August 23 was today.
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