PART 1 — The Tape on the Gravel

A strip of silver tape had come loose from the cardboard box and was fluttering against the gravel at 12:36 p.m.

I eased the patrol cruiser onto the shoulder and stopped several yards behind it.

The dashcam clock showed 12:36:18.

Route 66 was quiet in that stretch outside Kingman.

My coffee sat in the holder, already too warm to drink, and the cruiser floor mat had collected another layer of pale dust.

Dispatch had called it a suspicious package.

I looked at the box through the windshield.

Brown cardboard.

Three strips of tape across the top.

No writing that I could see.

I had stopped for plenty of roadside pranks over the years.

A mannequin in a ditch.

A stuffed animal tied to a sign.

Once, somebody had left an empty cooler beside a mile marker and waited for an officer to investigate.

I checked the shoulder before getting out.

No fishing line.

No second vehicle waiting nearby.