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“You’re comparing your car to a zit?”
“Okay, bad analogy.”
“You’d better pull over here,” A
Jake pulled to the curb and stopped, picked up the binoculars, and trained them down the street. The Hyundai was pulled into the driveway of a house half a block away.
A few minutes later, a white van backed in behind the Hyundai.
“They must’ve called their co
Jake and A
The other booster opened the garage door and spent the next few minutes carrying cartons and bags to the van.
“There’s a whole treasure trove of stuff in there,” A
“These guys are professionals. Those boxes probably hold anything from detergent, to cologne, to high-end electronics. And at ten cents on the dollar, a van full of stuff can add up pretty quickly.”
The driver of the van inspected the contents of each container as it was loaded, jotting something in a notepad.
“We should’ve brought the camera,” Jake said.
“I didn’t know we’d get into this so soon or I would’ve.”
“Doesn’t matter. As long as the tracker’s in there, we’ll get them.”
“He’s counting out some bills,” A
“This is likely all he does. It’s his job to know prices.”
The money was handed to one of the boosters. There was a lively discussion and the van driver peeled off a couple more bills and handed them over. He slammed the side door of the van, climbed in behind the steering wheel, and drove away.
The red dot on the cell phone began to move.
Jake sat the binoculars down and turned to A
“I got the address of the house,” A
“Call Chris,” Jake said.
“Good idea.” A
Chris laughed and A
A
“He’s on the freeway. I hope he’s not leaving town.”
“Doesn’t matter. The tracker uses cell towers. We can find him anywhere.”
“He’s pulling off again,” A
Jake followed the route the van took, and in five minutes, pulled off the freeway into an industrial area. The red dot indicated the van stopped two blocks away.
“Should we drive by?” Jake asked.
“Better idea. Stop back half a block and we’ll walk up and see what’s going on.”
Jake pulled the Firebird over a hundred feet short of the suspected industrial unit and they got out, walked up the sidewalk, and approached the building.
“He’s likely behind the unit,” Jake said. “They’ll be unloading through a back door.”
A
Jake followed her along the side of the unit to the back of the building. “This is it,” he whispered, glancing around the corner. The van was backed up to an overhead door and men unloaded the goods, carrying everything inside.
“We got them,” A
“Wow. Good job, guys, but I can’t come now. King and I are about to execute a search warrant. I’ll talk to dispatch and we’ll get some cars there immediately.”
A
The Lincolns crossed the street, keeping well back as they moved to the rear of the unit. Through the large overhead door they saw row after row of items, sorted and stacked on shelves.
Half a dozen men were cuffed and loaded into a paddy wagon that had followed the team in.
Jake put his arm around A
A
Chapter 10
Tuesday, 10:49 a.m.
HANK WAS ABLE TO obtain a warrant for the search of Michael Norton’s residence, and after contacting Sterling Auto Parts where Norton worked as a production line operator, Hank was informed he hadn’t clocked in to work that day. According to Sterling’s records, Norton had left the day before at 5:00 pm. That’s all they could tell him of the whereabouts of Michael Norton.
There was no other option but to try Norton’s house in case he’d taken the day off, as well as execute the search warrant they had secured.
According to the information Hank was able to obtain, Norton lived with his wife, Tammy, in an older part of the city. Hank followed a pair of cruisers down the narrow street. Mature maple trees lined both sides, their branches overhanging.
The cruisers pulled in front of the Norton house, a small, weather-beaten bungalow sorely in need of roof repairs. The peeling, clapboard exterior could do with a fresh coat of paint, and the one-time flower bed had turned to a nest of weeds and wild grass.
Hank parked behind the cruisers and the detectives followed two officers past the dark-blue 1996 Ford Probe parked in the driveway. They took the crumbling, concrete pathway to the front door. Two other officers cut around beside the building to the back yard. They would guard against any attempt at escape.
Hank rang the doorbell and waited patiently. The door opened a moment later by a woman clad in a tattered, white housecoat. She brushed back her disheveled, midlength hair with one hand, holding her housecoat tightly around her throat with the other.
She looked at Hank, then at the officers behind him, and frowned. “Yes?”
Hank held up the warrant. “I have a search warrant for these premises. We’d also very much like to speak to Michael Norton.”
Her frown deepened. “He … he’s not here.” Her eyes darted back and forth between the two detectives. “What’s going on?”
Hank pushed gently at the door. “Please open the door, ma’am.”
She stepped back, wrapped her arms around herself, and watched them fearfully.
Hank motioned toward the officers, their hands on their weapons. “Search the house.”
The officers and King moved forward and, room by room, the house was searched. Michael Norton was not home.
Tammy Norton had moved into the living room and stood by a small, brick fireplace. Hank joined her. “Do you know where your husband is?” he asked.
Mrs. Norton shook her head. “He didn’t come home last night. He went to work in the morning and that’s the last I saw of him.” She paused. “What’s this all about? What’s he done?”
“Do you know where he might be?”
Lines of worry showed on Tammy Norton’s face. “I … I don’t know. Can’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“He’s wanted for questioning in a murder case, ma’am.”