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CHAPTER TEN
When my phone rang at seven in the morning my first thought was that someone had died. My second thought was that I was turning into my mother.
“Babe,” Ranger said. “I want you to take a look at the videos we have.”
“I’m on my way.”
I took a fast shower, got dressed, and went out of the house with wet hair. I rolled all the windows down on the Honda and by the time I got to Rangeman my hair was frizz and tangles, but at least it wasn’t wet. I ran a brush through it in the garage and put it into a ponytail.
I found Ranger in a small conference room next to his office on the fifth floor. He was at the conference table with his laptop. A large monitor was on the wall across from the table.
“Babe,” he said. “You look like you need coffee.”
“You got me out of bed. I didn’t take time for breakfast.”
He made a phone call and asked that coffee and breakfast be brought to the conference room. “We have a high-res monitor here. I thought it would be better than trying to look at images on my laptop. I’ll start at the beginning. I have two angles of the same thing. Two men walking into a building. The quality of one isn’t good. DOT inferior equipment.”
The first video was black and white and grainy and lasted about thirty seconds. Two men came into focus. They were wearing hooded sweatshirts. Dark pants. Running shoes. Hard to see their faces. One was carrying a case that presumably held the drone. The second video was in better focus and shot from a slightly different angle.
“Do you recognize either of the men?” Ranger asked.
“No. I couldn’t see their faces. If I had to make a guess, I’d say they were in their forties or early fifties based on their build and the way they walked. Caucasian. It looked like the one carrying the case might have had a tattoo on his hand.”
Ranger isolated a frame that showed the hand and the tattoo. “It’s an anchor,” Ranger said. “Not especially unique, but not everyone has an anchor tattooed on their hand.”
There was a knock on the door and Ella came in with a tray. A pot of coffee, breakfast pastries, fruit, a slice of bacon, and a cheese quiche.
“I knew this was for you,” Ella said to me. “So, I brought pastries.”
“It’s perfect,” I said. “Thank you.”
I drank coffee and ate quiche and pastries while Ranger played two more videos.
“We have them leaving the building,” he said. “They’re walking with their heads down, but you can catch a partial glimpse of one of their faces. It looks like he has a two-day beard. Maybe some gray in it when I enlarge the frame. That would fit your age assessment.” He played the videos a couple times and moved on to a street view. “Another DOT camera picked them up on the corner of the block. They took the cross street and got into a Camry. We were only able to get a partial plate number. Jersey plate JZ and the rest is obscured. The DOT needs to improve their equipment.”
“Did anyone here recognize them?”
“No.”
I topped off my coffee and took an almond croissant. “Anything else?”
“That’s all we have right now. We’ve been able to determine the building from the façade and the front door. I have someone inside, checking occupants and roof access. Ramon is scanning interior cameras. Put your sign in the window. Tell them you need more time. We’ll see where that gets us. I have someone on Hamilton, watching for the Camry.”
I left Rangeman and drove to the bail bonds office. Lula was already at Connie’s desk, working on the day’s box of doughnuts. Vinnie was somewhere else.
“Hey, girl,” Lula said. “You didn’t call me so I’m guessing nothing good happened.”
“Ranger is making some progress. He has video of two mencarrying a drone case. Their faces are hidden in hoodies, but it looks like they’re in their late forties and one has an anchor tattooed on his hand. They were driving a Camry with Jersey plates.”
“Ranger’s the shit. He’s Mr. Magic. He’s the Mailman. What are we going to do now? Are we going out to look for the tattooed guy?”
“I need to make a sign for the window and then I’m looking for Beedle.”
The sign saidMAKING PROGRESS BUT NEED MORE TIME. I stuck it in the window and went back to Lula. She was scrolling through email and text messages.
“I’m heading out,” I said.
“I’m going with you. Nothing happening here. No new FTAs.”
