“You’re comparing your car to a zit?”

“Okay, bad analogy.”

“You’d better pull over here,” Annie said. “He stopped right up there.”

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 connection on the way,” Jake said. “It looks like they’re about to make an exchange.”

Jake and Annie watched through the binoculars as a man jumped from the van and opened the side door. The guys from the car stepped out, opened the trunk, and a booster began to transfer the stolen televisions to the van.

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,” Annie said.

“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,” Annie said. “That guy must know his prices pretty well.”

“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 Annie. “Phase three coming up.” He waited until the van was out of sight and then started the car and eased from the curb, careful to keep well back.

“I got the address of the house,” Annie said, as they drove slowly past. She dug in her handbag for a notepad and jotted it down. “I’ll bet that house is fully furnished with boosted goods.”

“Call Chris,” Jake said.

“Good idea.” Annie got out her cell, called Cranston’s, and was put through to Chris immediately. She filled him in on their progress. “You can probably move those TVs away from the front of the store now. No use attracting any more flies.”

Chris laughed and Annie promised to keep him informed.

Annie had propped Jake’s cell phone on the dash and Jake kept his eye on the red dot. “It’s moving fast now,” he said.

“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,” Annie said. “Step it up a bit.”

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.”

Annie started ahead, moving toward the side of the building. “I want to make sure this is the right place before we call the police.”

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,” Annie said, dialing Hank’s number. When the cop answered, she gave him a quick version of the story along with the address of the building as they hustled back toward the street.

“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.”

Annie hung up. “We’ve done our part. We might as well wait.” They crossed the street and sat under a tree. In a few minutes, a black van pulled up silently, spun into the lot, and an elite team dressed in full SWAT gear poured out and surrounded the building.

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 Annie as they watched the arrests. “Those guys will be going away for a while. Congratulations, my dear.”

Annie smiled up at Jake. “Thanks, but you helped a little bit.”

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.”