Johnson and her fellow analysts had used every resource at their disposal. A combination of satellite feeds and city cams had enabled them to follow the suspect vehicle’s movements through the city. One of the traffic cameras had gotten a clear shot of the license plate, which turned out to be a temporary tag issued by a used-car dealer in Queens.
The charcoal-gray Suburban had traveled deeper into New Jersey after leaving the underground parking garage, which had no functioning security cameras. He agreed with the others that this was no coincidence.
This level of planning and sophistication indicated a large-scale effort with plenty of misdirection. Grudging appreciation for the Colonel’s countersurveillance skills made Wu one part leery and five parts pissed off.
The SUV had continued along the turnpike until it disappeared under the dense canopy of trees that shrouded the Pine Barrens. They had contacted the New Jersey State Police with a request to search for the vehicle, but the Pine Barrens constituted over seventeen hundred square miles of mostly rural land, with plenty of dirt roads. Local legend had it that no one would ever know how many bodies were buried within the vast forest that took up nearly a quarter of the state. The SUV could have been ditched in a spot so remote it might take years to locate.
After the dead end with the Suburban, the driver was their best lead, so Wu and Flint were on their way to interview the used-car dealer who had sold it. They would be able to learn the buyer’s name, address, and perhaps a lot more.
“Finally made it,” Flint said, pulling into the dealership.
Wu’s hopes dimmed as he took in the weeded lot surrounded by a rusty chain-link fence. When a heavyset man with a bad comb-over left the small building to greet them, he grew still more pessimistic. This seemed like the kind of place that might sell a car for cash—no questions asked.
Wu got out first, and before he could say a word, the salesperson greeted them.
“You two looking for a car?” He gestured toward the lot behind him. “I’ve got plenty. All of them in good condition too.” He gave them an oily smile. “I’m Brad.”
Wu held up his creds. “Agent Wu, FBI.” He tipped his head toward Flint. “This is Detective Flint with the NYPD. We want information about a Chevy Suburban you sold recently.”
The date on the temporary tag had been the day before yesterday, but Wu held that detail back, interested to see how forthcoming the interviewee would be.
Brad’s face fell. “Only sold one Suburban this month.”
“Was it dark gray?” Flint asked.
Brad nodded.
“Could you show us the paperwork?” Wu finally said when Brad offered no other information.
Brad looked away. “I’ve got a bill of sale inside. Come with me.”
They followed him into a building that looked even more dilapidated than the car lot. Trailing him into a tiny office with threadbare carpet, they stood in silence while he sat at his desk in front of a large monitor.
“You guys don’t need my computer, do you?” he asked, reddening as he made a series of clicks with the mouse.
Flint hooked a thumb into his belt loop. “We don’t care about your internet porn addiction,” he said. “As long as the stuff you’re watching is legal.”
Brad’s face flushed a deeper shade. “It is.”
They waited another moment until he finally glanced up. “I’ll print it out for you.” He swiveled in his chair to snatch the single sheet sliding out of the printer and passed it to Wu.
“This is it?” Wu said, incredulous. “One page?”
Brad straightened his tie. “It was a cash deal. No need to run a credit check or anything.” He held up his hands. “Hey, my job is to make sure we don’t buy or sell any stolen cars. That SUV was not stolen. That’s the extent of my responsibility.”
Flint leaned in close, towering over Brad, who was still seated. “Did he drive it from the lot?”
Brad swallowed audibly. “Yeah.”
“Then you had to make sure he had a valid driver’s license, didn’t you?”
“He showed me a license. It looked okay.”
“Did you make a copy?”
“Yeah.” Brad hunched over his keyboard again. They heard more clicking; then another sheet of paper glided from the printer.
Wu glanced down at a color copy of a New York driver’s license. “Why did you make us work for this?”
Brad blinked. “Huh?”
“Never mind.” Wu hated wasting time. Brad could have told them about the ID right away. Instead, he had seemed to wait for them to ask for it specifically. Was he stupid, crooked, nervous, or just antipolice? Unable to decide which, he pressed for more. “Did the driver match the photo?”
Brad nodded. “That’s what he looked like.”
After a few more responses that were less than illuminating, Wu took Brad’s business card and contact information before they made their way back to the Tahoe.
He closed the doors so they wouldn’t be overheard, then pulled out his cell, snapped a picture of the license, and sent it to Johnson. Twenty seconds later, his phone buzzed.
“Got the pic, sir.” Johnson’s tone was crisp and professional, as usual. He’d been damn lucky the day she had been assigned to his unit.
He put her on speaker. “I need everything you can find on Thomas Kinchloe.”
“Stand by. I can do a preliminary search right now.” A few moments later, she came back online. “There’s no record of that license.”
Flint leaned over to speak directly to the analyst. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve accessed the New York Division of Motor Vehicles database,” Johnson said. “I pulled the image. The Thomas Kinchloe who had that license died two years ago.”
Wu looked at the picture of the blond man with pale skin and blue eyes who graced the copy of the license in his hand. “So this isn’t our suspect.”
“That would be my guess, sir. Someone probably stole the license from the real Kinchloe.”
“Run the picture through face rec,” he told her, moving on to the next course of action. “Maybe the suspect substituted his real picture for Kinchloe’s.”
“On it.” This time she disconnected.
Johnson called back less than five minutes later. “More bad news, sir.”
“Why should our luck change now?”
“I confirmed that the face on the license belongs to the real Kinchloe. Date of death, last November third.”
Flint’s brows furrowed. “So whoever bought the Suburban did not substitute his own picture for the one on the license?”
“But our pal Brad confirmed that he looked like the photo,” Wu said.
“Do you really put a lot of faith in Brad?” Flint let out a derisive snort. “Because I don’t. He was so anxious to sell that vehicle, he probably barely looked at the guy’s ID. Once he saw cash, it was a done deal as far as he was concerned.”
“Whoever did this is clever,” Wu said. “My guess is he lifts wallets from men who resemble him. He holds on to their licenses, using them when he needs to.”
“Another dead end,” Flint said on a sigh.
The SUV had disappeared into the Pine Barrens, probably never to be seen again. The driver could have easily hitched a ride back to the city or had another car waiting. If they told New Jersey police to be on the lookout for a man generally matching the car buyer’s description, he could easily put on a ball cap and frustrate the search. Besides, they had no charges to hold him on at this point.
“Dammit.” Flint slammed his fist against the steering wheel, interrupting Wu’s thoughts. “We have to go back to the JOC and look at more video. We need to see if the Suburban was riding as low to the ground when it left the other garage. There could have been more switches, and we’ll have to track down more vehicles.”
“Or they could have split them up into separate cars,” Wu said. “As long as the windows were dark, or if they put them in the trunk, we’d never know.”
“What if the Suburban was still heavy going to Jersey?” Flint said. “That would mean they were still inside the whole time.”
“Then we have an even bigger problem,” Wu said. “Searching the Pine Barrens.” He didn’t add that they would likely be on a recovery operation rather than a rescue mission if that were the case.
“Do you think that’s where they are?”
“I sure as hell hope not,” Wu said. “We may never find them in that forest.”
CHAPTER 35
Dani assessed her situation, making several observations at once. Doc Tox was alone and had not fired on them despite having the perfect opportunity while she and Toro wrestled with the cobra. Clearly he wanted something from them besides whatever was in the envelope.
Doc had a white-knuckled grip on the pistol, obviously more comfortable with poisons than firearms. Dani recognized the weapon’s compact, boxy shape as the Glock Model 30 that Chopper had originally brought with him. If Doc was foolish enough to let his guard down, she would have it out of his hand before he could pull the trigger.
“Why don’t we all see what’s in the envelope together?” she said to him. “Then no one feels left out.”
Doc swung his gaze, and the muzzle of his gun, from Toro to Dani. “How about if both of you are dead and I take what I want?”
Dani had already formed a plan, but would Toro pick up on it? She edged away from Doc, making an exaggerated show of raising her hands. “I don’t want any trouble. You can have the envelope.”