the floor. She moved around to the other side and opened the front passenger door. This time she went against her better instincts and popped open the glove compartment. Absolutely nothing inside. She was pretty sure the car had been stolen, but it was hard to believe that the owner hadn’t at least kept a manual or his registration in the box. The men who had stolen it must have emptied it out, then wiped it down.
She closed the box, did a fruitless search for any hair or visible fingerprints on the seat and dash, then shut the door. The only thing left to check was the trunk.
She went around back, unlatched the hood, and lifted it.
Larson assumed the woman was probably going to visit a friend as she headed toward the edge of town. At least that’s what he thought until she pulled into the parking lot of the auto storage facility.
He coasted to a stop at the side of the road, and watched the woman walk from her car into the main building.
He frowned. She could be there for any number of reasons. She was a cop after all, right? Cops had cases they had to deal with. Cases with cars: accidents, drunk drivers, illegal parking, and…stolen vehicles.
The BMW’s trunk was lined with gray carpet. There were a couple of bungee cords lying to the side, and a blue zip-up bag with a red cross on it pushed to the back. Ostensibly, it was a first-aid kit, but the bag could be acting as a diversion for what was really inside. Her desire to unzip it was nearly overwhelming, but, again, she knew it would be a mistake.
What she did do was check under the carpet but the only visible thing she found was the spare tire. There could have been something underneath it, but she wasn’t going to move the tire to check, so she dropped the carpet back down.
There was really nothing else to speak of. A little wear, maybe, and a couple of marks that looked like they’d been there for a long time, but nothing that would tie to the crime on Goodman Ranch Road.
She knew she should be happy she’d found the car — that was huge, actually — but she couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. She’d been hoping for something concrete that would prove Jake was right.
She pulled out her phone, suddenly wondering if maybe the reason she hadn’t heard back from him was because she didn’t have a signal out here. But though the signal wasn’t as strong as it could be, there was enough to receive a call.
He must be meeting with the detectives, she guessed. If so, she hoped it was going well.
She slipped the phone into her pocket, then reached up to close the trunk.
The security measure used by the impound lot was definitely enough to keep most people out, but most people weren’t Larson. He spent ninety seconds assessing the situation, and thirty-five getting from one side of the fence to the other.
Once on the inside, he crouched down behind a blue Dodge Caravan and paused for a full minute, waiting for someone to rush out of the building in response to some unseen motion sensor he might have tripped. No one came.
Carefully, he stepped out from his position and scanned the yard. He didn’t see anyone around, but a row of double-stacked cars hid much of the lot from him, so someone could have easily been beyond it.
He headed down the aisle on the far right. It was the farthest away from the main building he could get, lowering the odds that he might be seen.
When he reached the first perpendicular aisle, he paused. He could now see beyond the row of double- stacked cars. Even better, they were now shielding his presence from anyone who might look out from the building.
He scanned the rest of the lot. There were two men way down at the other end. They were talking, their backs partially to him, so he stepped quickly across the intersection and continued to the next aisle.
There was no activity on this one at all, just rows of jailed cars waiting for their owners to bail them out. He moved on.
The third aisle appeared equally empty, but as he started to head for aisle four, he noticed movement near the midpoint. It wasn’t exactly in the aisle, though. It was within the row of cars. Whatever or whoever it was had moved out of sight, so he decided to get closer.
To hide his movements, he walked to the fourth row, also empty, and turned onto it. He was seventy-five feet away when a person stood up at the spot where he’d seen the earlier movement, and walked around to the back of a vehicle.
It was the woman. And she wasn’t looking at just any car. She was looking at the black four-door BMW he and Timmons had used on the job, then abandoned in a downtown lot.
He could feel his senses heighten as he automatically began to switch out of observation mode.
His assignment had just changed.
16
Detectives Hubbard and Young left Jake sitting alone for over five minutes. The urge to look back at the hallway door was nearly overwhelming, but Jake maintained his control, and sat stoically in the chair, the cutting image of the obedient cop.
As the second hand on the wall clock approached the end of the sixth minute, he remembered the calls he’d received. He pulled out his phone. Both had been from Berit. She’d also left a message. He selected it, and hit the playback button.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Berit’s voice said. “I found the BMW. At least I think I did. It got—”
“Officer Oliver?” Sergeant Stroop, his immediate supervisor, was standing in the doorway to the hall.
Jake jerked the phone away from his ear. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Come with me.” She turned and disappeared to the left.
Jake stowed his phone and hustled out to the corridor. Berit’s message would have to wait.
“Hurry it up,” the sergeant called out. She was standing in front of a meeting room door.
He double-timed it down the hall, slowing just before he reached her. “What’s going on, ma’am?”
She nodded her head quickly to the right. “Inside.”
Jake went in, and the sergeant followed right behind him.
When he saw who was there, he felt the blood drain from his face.
Hubbard and Young were present, of course, as was their immediate boss, Sergeant Sykes. It was the man sitting in the middle on the other side of the table whom Jake had not expected to see at all.
“Officer Oliver, please have a seat,” Commander Ashworth, head of the substation, said.
Berit lowered the trunk and latched it back in place.
She may not have found anything to seal the case, but at least she’d found the car. That was a pretty damn good bit of detective work, she had to admit.
She was just about to step around the vehicle and return to the office when something scraped the ground behind her.
Spinning around, she found a man standing just a few feet away with a smirk on his face. She stepped back, not scared, but definitely surprised.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
He moved back into her personal space. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
Instead of retreating again, she put a hand out, an inch from his chest. “Excuse me. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
