Chapter 11: The Ramp

The detective came at ten, in a gray coat, with a folder and a plastic evidence bag.

Erik stayed in the bedroom with the door half open.

I had asked him to, and he had said, "I'll be forty feet away."

She sat at my kitchen table and set the bag between us.

Inside it was a cracked phone in a black case.

"A city crew pulled this out of a storm drain two blocks from the garage on Tuesday," she said. "It was registered to you."

I looked at it.

"My phone was missing," I said. "Roland said it was lost in the ambulance."

"It was in the drain. We got into it with your carrier's help. There's one photo on it, taken at 8:54 that night."

She slid a printed picture out of the folder and put it face up.

It was a concrete ramp under yellow lights.

A black duffel bag stood at the bottom of it, with a camel coat sleeve in the corner of the frame.

The sleeve was mine.

"Does it mean anything to you?" the detective asked.

I was about to say no.

Then I looked at the ramp, at the yellow light on the concrete, and the kitchen went away.

It was cold, and there was a smell of oil and exhaust.

I was standing at the foot of the ramp with a bag on my shoulder and my keys in my hand.

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