“Tell surveillance we’ll let them know as soon as he goes off-line. They should be ready to move. I’ve got a feeling this’s going to happen fast.”
We’ve got you now, Carnegie thought. Then he laughed and looked at the computers affectionately.
In the passenger seat of his car Jake Muller nodded toward a high fence in an alleyway behind Tremont Street. “Sam, pull over there.”
The car braked slowly to a stop.
“That’s it, huh?” the nervous kid asked.
Nodding toward a white house on the other side of the fence.
“Yep. Now, listen. If a cop comes by just drive off slow. Go around the block but turn left at the street. Got that? Stay off Tremont, whatever you do.”
The boy asked uneasily, “You think somebody’ll come by?”
“Let’s hope not.” Muller took the tools he’d just bought that morning out of the trunk, looked up and down the alley then walked through the gate in the fence and disappeared around the side of the house.
Muller returned ten minutes later. He hurried through the gate, carrying a heavy box and a small shopping bag. He disappeared again and returned with several more boxes. He loaded everything in the back of the car and wiped sweat from his forehead. He dropped hard into the passenger’s seat. “Let’s get outta here.”
“Where’re the tools?”
“I left ’em back there. What’re you waiting for? Go.”
The kid hit the accelerator and the car jumped into the middle of the alley.
Soon they were on the freeway and Muller gave directions to a cheap motel on the far side of town, the Starlight Lodge. There Muller climbed out. He walked into the lobby and registered for two nights. He returned to the car. “Room 129. He said it’s around the side in the back.”
They found the spot, parked and climbed out. Muller handed the boy the room key. He opened the door and together they carried the boxes and the shopping bag inside.
“Kinda lame,” the kid said, looking around.
“I won’t be here that long.”
Muller turned his back and opened the grocery bag. He extracted five one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them over. He added another twenty. “You’ll have to take a cab back downtown.”
“Man, looks like a good haul.” Nodding at the bag of money.
Muller said nothing. He stuffed the bag into a suitcase, locked it and slipped it under the bed.
The kid pocketed the bills.
“You did a good job today, Sam. Thanks.”
“How’ll I find you, mister? I mean, if you want to hire me again?”
“I’ll leave a message at the Starbucks.”
“Yeah. Good.”
Muller glanced at his watch. He emptied his pockets on the dresser. “Now I gotta shower and go meet some people.”
They shook hands. The boy left and Muller swung the door shut after him.
In the bathroom he turned the shower on full, the water hot. He leaned against the wobbly basin and watched the steam roll out of the stall like stormy clouds and wondered where his life was about to go.
“There’s something screwy,” Sergeant Hager called out.
“What?”
“A glitch of some kind.” He nodded at one computer. “Muller’s still online at his house. See? Only we just got an advisory from National Bank’s credit card computer. Somebody using Muller’s card got a room at the Starlight Lodge on Simpson about forty-five minutes ago. There’s gotta be a mistake. He—”
“Oh, Christ,” Carnegie spat out. “There’s no mistake. Muller left his computer on so we’d think he was home.
The detective sighed. “So while we were napping he knocked over the next target. I don’t believe it. I just —”
“He just made another charge,” a cop called. “Eighteen gallons of gas at the Mobil Station on Lorenzo and Principale.
“Tanked it up.” Carnegie nodded, considering this. “Maybe he’s going to drive up to San Francisco to catch a flight. Or Arizona or Las Vegas, for that matter.” Walking to the wall map, the detective stuck pins in the locations Hager had mentioned. He was calmer now. Muller may have guessed they’d be monitoring his online activity but obviously didn’t know the extent of their surveillance.
“Get a county unmarked to tail him.”
“Detective, just got a report from the speed pass main computer,” one of the officers across the room called. “Muller turned onto the four-oh-eight at Stanton Road four minutes ago. He entered at the northbound tollboth.”
The little box on your windshield that automatically paid tolls on highways, bridges and tunnels could report exactly when and where you used it.
Another pin was stabbed into the map.
Hager directed the pursuing officers to that interchange.
Fifteen minutes later, the cop monitoring the speed pass computer called out once again, “He just turned off the tollway. At Markham Road. The eastbound tollbooth.”
Eastbound into the Markham neighborhood? Carnegie reflected. Well, that made sense. This was a tough part of town, populated by rednecks and bikers living in ramshackle bungalows and trailers. If Muller had an accomplice Markham would be a good source for that sort of muscle. And nearby was the desert, with thousands of square miles to hide the Anco loot.
“Still no visual yet,” Hager said, listening on his phone to the pursuing officers.
“Damn. We’re going to lose him.”
But then another officer called, “I just got a ping from Muller’s cell phone company — he’s turned on the phone and’s making a call. They’re tracing it…” A moment later he called out, “Okay. He’s headed northbound on La Ciena.”
Another blue-tipped pin in the map.
Hager relayed this information to the county cops. Then he listened and gave a laugh. “They’ve got the car!.. Muller’s pulling into the Desert Rose trailer park…. Okay…. He’s parking at one of the trailers…. Getting out…. He’s talking to a white male, thirties, shaved head, tattoos…. The male’s nodding toward a shed on the back of the property…. They’re walking back there together…. They’re getting a package out of the shed…. Now they’re going inside.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Carnegie announced. “Tell ’em to stay out of sight. We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Advise us if the suspect starts to leave.”
As he started for the door, he said a silent prayer, thanking both the Lord — and Big Brother — for their help.
The drive took closer to forty minutes but Jake Muller’s car was still parked in front of the rusty, lopsided trailer.
The officers on the scene reported that the robber and his bald accomplice were still inside, presumably planning their escape from the jurisdiction.
The four police cars from headquarters were parked several trailers away and nine Annandale cops, three armed with shotguns, were crouching behind sheds and weeds and rusty autos. Everybody kept low, mindful that Muller was armed.
