“Did you sign?”
“No.”
“Why did she ask you?”
“She said I’m Tyler’s friend and nobody will question it.”
“Anyone else sign?”
“His girlfriend did.”
I wrote down the name.
“Do you know what she plans to do with it?”
Marcus hesitated.
“She said tomorrow she’s calling police and reporting the car stolen.”
“What time?”
“She said after lunch.”
I thanked him.
Then called Sarah.
She did not sound excited.
Good investigators rarely did.
“Have him come in tomorrow morning.”
“He’s seventeen.”
“Parent?”
“His father can bring him.”
“Good.”
Then she added, “Chief.”
“Yes?”
“Do not improvise.”
“I never improvise.”
She laughed.
“That is demonstrably false.”
Saturday morning arrived clear and cool.
Georgia had finally surrendered the worst of summer.
I woke at five.
Could not sleep.
Made coffee.
Walked into the garage.
The Chevelle sat beneath fluorescent lights.
Cranberry red.
Black interior.
Denise’s brass plaque on the glove box.
For several minutes, I did nothing.
Then Caleb entered.
Georgia Tech hoodie.
Barefoot.
Hair pointing in four directions.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“That means no.”
I handed him coffee.
He took it.
Looked toward the Chevelle.
“Mom would be furious.”
“At Lorraine?”
“No.”
“At you.”
I looked over.
“Why?”
“You’re using her car as bait.”
I almost smiled.
“Fair.”
He took a sip.
“Then she’d ask if the camera angles were good.”
“That sounds more accurate.”
We laughed.
The plan was simple.
Almost disappointingly simple.
I would do exactly what I normally did with the Chevelle once a month.
Move it onto the driveway.
Start it.
Run the engine.
Polish it.
Do nothing else.
Caleb would remain upstairs and record only if needed.
Sarah and outside county investigators would monitor from nearby.
Patrol officers responding to the call would not be briefed about the deeper case.
That was deliberate.
They needed to respond as they normally would.
The only special instruction dispatch received was to notify Sarah once a vehicle-ownership call appeared at my address.
At 12:35, I rolled the Chevelle halfway from the garage.
Sunlight hit the hood.
Denise had chosen that red because she said dark colors made old cars look angry.
She wanted happy.
I checked the oil.
Started the engine.
The big block settled into the deep uneven idle old engines never quite lose.
Caleb appeared at his upstairs window.
I looked up.
He raised his phone.
I shook my head.
Not yet.
At 1:28, Lorraine walked outside.
Same pearl Lexus.
Same sunglasses.
She stood beside the mailbox.
Tyler came out six minutes later carrying a manila folder.
He joined her.
Neither crossed the street.
I kept polishing.
At 1:41, my phone buzzed.
No confidential dispatch feed.
Sarah had forbidden that.