He finally gave up and headed out to find Haywood and get ready for another night on patrol.
“Jake!”
He looked back. Berit was at the other end of the corridor, heading in his direction, so he met her halfway.
“I had an idea about your friends from the hotel,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“What?”
“Their car.”
“They didn’t have a car,” he said, reminding her of what he’d found out from the doorman at the Lawrence.
“We don’t know that for sure. But I might know a way of finding out.”
Looking skeptical, he said, “How?”
“I started thinking about the security footage we were looking at today. Then I remembered — the route they would have taken goes right through a few road expansion surveys. The company hired to do the assessment uses a combination of automated car counting and video. Cameras have been up for months.”
“Where are they?”
She listed off several streets, then said, “I called a friend of mine who works at the planning department. That’s how I found out where some of the cameras are set up and who’s running them.”
He thought for a moment. “This is great. If they drove by one, we can at least tell what kind of car they were in.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“When can we look?”
“My friend’s trying to hook us up. I’ll let you know when I hear back from her.”
“Hey, Snowbird! We taking it half-speed today?”
Jake looked back and saw Haywood standing in the corridor, just outside the locker room.
“I’m coming,” Jake told him. He looked back at Berit. “Thanks.”
“Hope it works.”
“Me, too.”
The first part of patrol was taken up with a traffic stop, a call for a possible domestic disturbance that turned out to be a couple of college drama students practicing lines for a play, and the inevitable stop at Di’s Diner for a little Haywood-Maria bonding time. They spent the rest of the shift dealing with an attempted robbery that left a night clerk at a discount motel with a nice bruise on the side of his face, and two suspects known to the clerk making a run for it with nothing more than what they’d had when they arrived.
Jake took preliminary witness statements from motel guests who’d overheard the confrontation, while Haywood concentrated on the clerk. When the detectives arrived, Jake was relegated to his now familiar role of crowd control expert.
When he finally headed out to his Civic at the end of the night, he found Berit half-asleep in her Charger in the next space over.
She stirred when she saw him, and rolled down her window. “What took you guys so long?”
“Attempted robbery. They needed my expertise on scene.”
“Making sure people stayed on the other side of the tape?” she asked, smirking.
“When you’ve got a talent, you’ve got a talent. Why are you still here?”
She waved him closer.
“My friend called me back,” she whispered. “Got us an appointment tomorrow morning at 9:30.”
“Great. Where?”
“Let’s meet at Di’s at nine.”
“Uniforms?”
She frowned, but said, “Yeah, I guess that would help.” She paused. “Jake.”
“Yeah?”
“It doesn’t matter if we can’t prove anything. I think you need to tell what you know.”
He blew out a breath. “Yeah, I know. Tomorrow before my shift.”
“Good.” She looked relieved, as if she’d been expecting a fight. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Sleep well.”
As Jake pulled out of the secured parking lot a few minutes later, he had the oddest feeling that he was being watched. He glanced around. Though it was dark, there were plenty of streetlights illuminating the area, and, except for a couple of cars that were passing by right at that moment, he could see no one else.
Fatigue, he decided.
Nothing more than that.
13
The company’s name was Raef Planning & Logistics. According to Berit, it was a global company with branches in over forty countries. The local RPL office was located in an area of industrial buildings just south of the airport.
The lobby was spartan and functional — chairs for waiting, and a counter with a receptionist behind it. Jake and Berit waited less than a minute before Keith Curtis, the person they were supposed to meet, came out to greet them. Police uniforms were useful in that way. There were few companies that liked officers hanging around their lobbies for any length of time, afraid of the impression that might give to customers.
“Please, come on back,” Curtis said, after everyone had introduced themselves.
He led them through several hallways, and into a conference room with an oval table surrounded by eight chairs. On a portable stand near one end was a television monitor, and on a shelf below it, a computer. Standing next to the monitor was a man about the same age as Curtis.
“Officer Davies, Officer Oliver, this is Doug Prescott, one of our engineers. He’s going to help you out.”
Prescott shook hands with both Jake and Berit.
“Can I offer either of you something to drink?” Curtis asked.
“I’m fine,” Berit said.
“Me, too,” Jake threw in.
“Then I’ll leave the three of you alone and hopefully you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
Curtis closed the door as he left.
“The information I was given was not very clear,” Prescott said. His tone and attitude reminded Jake of several of the engineers he’d met one summer when he was working as a messenger. None of them ever seemed to have time for social niceties.
“I’m sorry for any confusion,” Jake told him. “We’re hoping to look at some of your footage from three nights ago.”
“I didn’t say I was confused. I just said the information wasn’t clear.”
“Right. I’m sorry. What is it that isn’t clear to you?”
“I have the times and the areas you are interested in, but I was not told which direction,” Curtis explained in a tone that said the problem should have been obvious.
“Direction?” Berit asked.
“Which direction the traffic was going?”
Both Berit and Jake nodded in understanding. That was an important piece of info. Once they got it cleared up, Curtis played the video for them.
They found the car on the third road they checked. It was a BMW sedan, and clearly sitting behind the wheel was Mr. Walters, the dark-haired man from the hotel. In the passenger seat beside him was Mr. Redman. And, as an extra special bonus, the license plate was completely visible. Both Jake and Berit copied down the number and a description of the car, then thanked Prescott and Curtis and left.
Back in Berit’s Charger, Jake called the substation and had someone run the plate number. When the information came back, his elation quickly disappeared.
“What is it?” Berit asked as soon as he hung up.
“It belongs to a BMW, all right,” Jake said. “But yesterday the owner reported that they were missing.”
“They?”
“The plates, not his car,” he clarified.
“You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was.” He paused. “The current owner’s actually a used BMW dealership. The car was apparently packed into a back lot, waiting to have its transmission replaced.”
She frowned. “Smart taking plates from the same kind of car they were driving.”
“Yeah. Even better from a dealership over the weekend,” he said. “If they got pulled over, it could easily be explained as having not been recorded yet.”