Play with Fire

chapter Eight

“SINCE WHEN DOES the FBI care about stolen cars?” Axel Swenson asked. “It ain’t a federal offense, last I heard.”

Swenson didn’t look at all like a Viking type, Fenton thought. Short black hair, brown eyes, and a Fu Manchu mustache that had gone out of style with bell-bottom pants. His construction company must be pretty successful, since he could afford the Cadillac El Dorado that was parked in his driveway. The police report said Swenson had reported it stolen Tuesday morning. On Thursday, the manager of a supermarket, clear across town, had reported to police what seemed to be an abandoned vehicle in his parking lot. The license number and description matched one on the police hot sheet, and the following day Swenson was invited to pick up his car at the police impound lot.

“You’re right, Mister Swenson – it isn’t a federal crime,” Fenton told him. “But it’s possible that the people who stole your car have been involved in a series of bank robberies across three states – and that is the FBI’s business.”

Swenson’s thick eyebrows headed toward his hairline. “Bank robbers? Jeez Louise! I figured it was just some f*ckin’ kids, out joyriding, or something.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t,” O’Donnell said. “Joyriders almost always trash the car once they’re done with it – especially when it’s a nice ride like yours. They’re probably resentful that the owner can afford a fancy car, and they can’t. But from what I understand, your car wasn’t damaged, at all.”

“Yeah, thank God. Didn’t have so much as a scratch on her.”

“And if a professional had been involved,” she went on, “you’d never have seen your car again. The thief would either be filling a specific order – usually from somebody in another state – or he’d have sold it to a chop shop, for the parts. That’s why we think this might have been the people we’re interested in.”

“But there wasn’t no bank robbery around here,” Swenson said, frowning. “Not that I heard of, anyway.”

“You’re right,” Fenton said. “Something must have scared them off, or caused them to change their minds.”

Swenson may not have gotten past high school, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. “So what makes you think it was bank robbers, if no bank got robbed?”

Fenton was ready for that one. “Because the M.O. of the car theft was the same as the cases where there were bank robberies. M.O. means–”

“I know what it means,” Swenson said. “I watch TV.” He sounded slightly offended.

“Of course – sorry,” Fenton said. “But, to get specific – you’ve got a car alarm, right?”

“Sure – factory installed. The dealer said it was the best there is.”

“But it didn’t go off, did it?”

“No – if it had, I’d have been out there with my gun faster than a scalded cat.” After a second he hastily added, “I got a permit.”

“I’m sure you do,” Fenton said. “You’ve also got a steering wheel lock on your Caddie. The wheel’s not supposed to turn unless the ignition’s turned on, right?”

“Yeah – that didn’t stop them either. Bastards.”

“And the police report said that none of the ignition wires were loose. The thieves didn’t hot-wire it.”

“Christ, what’d they do, then?” Swenson asked. “Use magic?”

Fenton glanced at his partner before saying, “No, of course not. But however they did it, somebody did something similar to three other cars that were used in bank robberies within the last six months. That’s why we’d like to take a look at the car, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s okay with me, but what are you expectin’ to find that the cops didn’t?”

“Uh, we brought a mass spectrometer with us,” Fenton said. “The Minneapolis PD didn’t use one when they went over the car.”

“Mass spectrometer, huh? Yeah, they use those on CSI all the time,” Swenson said. “Let me get you the keys.”