Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Thirty-Six

Tommy's description of his friend was perfect.

The flight into St. Louis had been wretched, but once Camille laid eyes on Sam Babington, that mess was all but forgotten. He was as advertised: big, strong, and rugged, and she walked straight up to him and held out her hand without even stopping to inquire. When he smiled at her—and it was one hell of a smile—it could've been an angel or a devil looking back at her.

"Mr. Babington, thanks so much for picking me up. I understand St. Louis isn't your favorite place."

He squeezed her hand warmly and laughed. His was a rough, booming chuckle. He radiated warmth, and his smile seemed to broaden.

"Nah, it's a nice town. I just had some bad experiences recently. Anyway, I was coming straight through here—and it's me who owes you thanks. We been like fish out of water. Having a professional come help is deeply, deeply welcome."

He took one of her bags, and the two began moving to the exit.

"You have any checked bags, detective?"

"No, just these. And, please, call me Camille. May I call you Sam?"

He laughed again. "Everybody does."

Sam almost immediately had hit pay dirt the day before when calling online vendors. As soon as the merchants had realized that they might not get paid for the costly items they'd sold to a stolen card, they'd become helpful—especially after Sam guaranteed them payment in full for whatever items had been purchased on Amy's card. All but one of the companies identified the place of delivery as an address in Rolla, Missouri, about 100 miles west/southwest of St. Louis. Sam had left Effingham late that night, and Camille had volunteered to meet him in St. Louis on his way through.

"It's another hour and a half or two hours until we hit Rollo, Camille. If you're hungry now, you may want to eat. Otherwise, we can always get something on the road."

"Let me grab a banana and a bottle of fruit juice," she said, walking up to a kiosk. "I'll be good until we stop."

Thirty minutes later, they were cruising southwest on I-44 in Sam's borrowed SUV. Camille had given Sam several new smartphones Tommy had provided, and, as he drove, she studied some papers she'd also brought with her.

"The forensics report you gave me is interesting. It didn't find anything, which is good in its own way."

"Say again?" said Sam.

"No significant hair, fibers, or blood, and most important, no fingerprints."

"No fingerprints?" he queried.

"None. Except for prints the lab already identified as being from the tow-truck driver and you, there were none ... not even your friend Amy's. And the lab was thorough. They even looked in places most thieves forget to clear, like the seat adjustor or the rear-view mirror. Nothing. That tells me a lot. Someone wiped that car ... carefully. It isn't the kind of service you get at a car wash, not even the deluxe kind."

"Also," she continued after a short while, "according to Tommy, you found all of her luggage in the back of the vehicle. Even her purse?"

Sam puckered his lips in thought. "Yeah, everything was."

"And the local PD hadn't done any sort of inventory?"

"I didn't think to ask, but there wasn't any paperwork for it. And it didn't look like her things had been gone through. Does it matter?"

"Maybe not. I've never known a woman who didn't drive with her purse in the front seat with her. Your friend might be the exception, but maybe someone other than her put it there. Also, think about where you found the car. It was in a parking lot at a store open 24-7. It took, what, three weeks for it to be reported?"