“Do you think we’ll get anything useful out of this?” I ask through a yawn, waiting for the caffeine in my coffee to kick in as I watch Warner toss the ball across the park for Stanley.
He huddles into his rain jacket. “Not sure yet. We’ll see if this plays out like we hope it does.”
The tracking companies worked fast, dispatching police to storage lockers in North Portland, where the thief left Luke’s Porsche and took off on foot to a parked car three streets away, Franky waiting in the wings for him. Franky tailed him for a few blocks before calling a friend of his, a local cop on duty. As soon as the thief saw the cruiser, he sped up and began weaving in and out of traffic. It was dangerous enough to bring him in on suspicion of intoxication.
Of course the guy had a bag of speed in his pocket.
Sometimes these idiots make it too easy.
By the time Warner got there and played him the video of him stealing Luke’s car, the thief was ready to turn in everyone he knew to avoid charges. It’s always the same. They’re so predictable. There is no honor in keeping quiet with these guys.
Apparently he was hired by someone with a “thick, mean accent, like the bad guys from Bond movies” who promised that he’d get eight grand cash if he lifted the car and left it in that particular storage locker. “He was paid for 12’s car, specifically?”
“Specifically. From the sounds of it, anyway. He was given the plate number and the address of the garage to scope it out ahead of time.”
That means someone was following us to the movie theater? Shivers run down my spine but I push them aside. “So how is this all going down?”
“We’re working with the local office on this. We need to,” he rushes to say, when I glare at him. “Don’t worry, your cover is intact and it’ll stay intact. But there will be a point where we need to bring in more people. We’ve got a local undercover who fits the profile ready to head to the jewelry wholesaler downtown with a phone number. I’m assuming the wholesaler is acting as the middleman with the money. He’ll have a mild description of who’s coming to collect. As soon as the person on the other end of the line confirms that they’ve got the car, they’ll hand the money over. That’s how it usually works.”
“Who runs the jewelry store?”
“A guy by the name of Jerry Rosenthal. We’re looking into him and Gold Bonds right now. Not sure if we have anything on them.”
I frown. That name . . . That name was on the certificate for the necklace at Luke’s place. Is that mere coincidence? Or does Rust’s organization also use this Rosenthal guy for their money exchanges? How many car theft rings would be operating through the same middleman? There can’t be many. Maybe only one. But, if that’s the case . . . No, I was with Luke. I saw his face. It wasn’t the face of a guy staging a theft of his own car as part of an insurance scam. He was genuinely shocked and upset. And relieved, too, when they found it. Plus, he put three tracking systems on it.
“What are you thinking?” Warner asks.
That something just doesn’t add up here. I’m used to sifting through thousands of seemingly useless pieces of information that make no sense until we have the entire picture. We spend most of our time speculating, downright guessing, and not being able to act without concrete evidence. This is definitely a case that’s testing my skills at deduction.
I shake it off. “So we’re going to go through with the money drop and arrest the person who shows up at the storage locker?”
“Nope. The person who shows up at the storage locker is going to find a black Porsche 911 with a matching license plate loaded with bugs.” Warner smiles as I start to understand the plan.
“You’re going to try and get through the fences.” I toss the ball for Stanley again. This still isn’t sitting right. “But this was an intentional hit. What happens when they see 12 driving around in his car again? They’re going to know that the one they’ve got is staged.”
“He won’t be driving that car around anytime soon. I’m impounding that car for as long as we need to.”
“How are you going—”
“The magic of being a Fed, darling.”
I smile as he scratches behind an impatient Stanley’s ear. Warner’s not usually so overtly cocky about the power he wields with his badge.
“And what if 12 tells everyone that his car was lifted but the cops found it, and the person who did this hears about it?”
“It’s a risk. But if I were running a gig like 12 and 24 are and someone stole my car, I’d keep it quiet while I was looking for the thief, because I’d be pissed.”
“It’s a big risk,” I emphasize.
“And we need a big break in this case.”
I nod slowly. “What’s your take on the thick, mean Bond accent? Russian?”
“Sounds like it but it doesn’t make sense. Why would 24’s associates steal his nephew’s car?”
I shake my head, wondering the same thing. “Luke did say that the Russians he was working with were assholes. Maybe he did something to piss them off? Or . . . do you think they were fishing to see if Luke has a tail on him?”
“If so, then we need to be extra careful.”
“Yeah. That means no more face-to-face visits, big brother. Not even pop-ins to my condo. It’s too dangerous. There’s nothing stopping someone from tailing me. And you, too.”
I feel Warner’s eyes on my face but I keep my eyes on Stanley. “Yeah, you’re right.” I don’t miss the disappointment in his sigh.
