Page 80 of Mastermind

“I’m not surprised.” I spot the garbage truck in the rearview mirror heading our way, so I start the car and drive up the street and out of view of Weir.

“When you called yesterday and asked to meet at the detention center to talk, do you think it spooked him?” asks Theo.

“Definitely.”

“Did you notice how nervous he was when I went near his garbage can?”

“A little. Why? Oh shit.” I glance back in the direction of his house. If Weir had incriminating information like bank slips or anything else connecting him to Heywood, he might have tried to dispose of it after I called him.

The garbage can’s still there, two houses away from being picked up. Do I go back and grab his garbage? Legally, I think I can do that. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if Weir put up a legal fight.

One house away . . .

I take the car out of neutral, then hesitate. If I run out and grab the garbage with Weir watching, he’s liable to lawyer up and prepare for whatever else we may try next, including destroying other evidence.

“Considering the legal options?” asks Theo.

“Should I?” I ask, deflecting the question to a civilian with a reckless relationship with the law.

“No,” says Theo.

Behind us, the garbage haulers are dumping both types of receptacles into the same truck. The recycling illusion apparently ends at the curb.

“Did you manage to see anything when you opened the can?” I ask Theo.

“Not exactly,” he replies.

“What does that mean?”

“We should probably follow the garbage truck.”

“And stop them?” I ask.

“No. Just wait for them to dump the garbage. Weir might be paranoid enough to contact the sanitation company if anybody stops their truck.”

“Okay. But you understand that by the time the truck is full, there could be several tons of garbage bags mixed in there.”

“Yes. But only one has my cell phone.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

TREASURE HUNT

Theo and I are watching the garbage truck that picked up Weir’s trash back up to a small ridge and prepare to dump out its contents. A bulldozer sits idle nearby. Once the day’s garbage is emptied into the landfill, the bulldozer will flatten it out and lay down a covering of dirt and clay to create a barrier below the next layer of refuse. We need to get to Weir’s trash and Theo’s phone before that happens.

I used my badge to get us through the gate. The guard had no questions for us. I’m not sure if that was indifference or if they’re used to law enforcement making frequent visits to landfills.

I know that in some missing-persons cases they send cadaver-sniffing dogs to landfills as a first step. Often, the first place people choose to dump bodies—especially those of small children, sadly—is in the garbage.

The truck releases its haul, spilling its contents onto the piles of garbage below. We wait for it to drive away, then exit our car.

I open my trunk and take out gloves, a pair of sneakers, and the orange vests we use when we work near traffic. “Put this on,” I tell Theo, handing him a vest.

“Ah, a disguise,” he says, sliding it on.

He’s not wrong. If you don’t have a badge, an orange vest can be very useful for getting into places that would otherwise be hard to sneak into. You become almost invisible. When I was a teenager and working on my grandfather’s magic show, I found I could go into the audience and not be recognized if I wore glasses and had on a lanyard and a walkie-talkie—even when I’d been onstage minutes prior.

“First time I wore a vest like this was when I was fifteen,” says Theo.