‘Oh crap,’ said Sam, ‘that van’s gotta be out there somewhere.’
After a fruitless search of the premises, Sam called the local police and reported the theft of a one year old recreational vehicle, worth $85,000. He was worrying about how he would report the loss to his manager and part owner when he noticed the condition of the office door. He recalled a peculiar stiffness in the lock when he had opened it that morning and now he saw strange marks on the door frame around the lock.
‘Well I’ll be…’ He hurried back to the main gate and saw for the first time that the security camera had been destroyed, probably by being shot through. Obviously accomplished thieves had been at work, but why would they want to steal a used RV? At least he no longer felt guilty about the loss. He called the police again and told them about the signs of a break in.
That evening when her husband, Sergeant Lee Travers, reached home, Mary began to discuss the incident with him. Lee was a homicide detective so he was not particularly interested in motor vehicle theft, but when Mary went on to describe seeing their mutual acquaintance looking at a burnt out car near the USA Cruise site he drew a quick conclusion. ‘Seems to me that the guys who torched the car could have stolen the RV, he said. ‘I’ll mention it to Doris in vehicle theft in the morning, in case they didn’t make the connection.’
Doris Hadlow was feeling extremely irritable as she watched the burnt car being lowered down the trailer ramp and wrinkled her nose against the stench of burnt rubber and plastic. Her irritation was partly due to not having a cigarette all morning but mostly due to the phone call she had received which told her that unless there was evidence of a crime more serious than auto theft, her application for DNA testing of the vehicle was denied. However the fingerprint expert who would be sent out to the USA Cruise office later that day could also come and take a look at the car, although as she knew the recovery of fingerprints from a fire was a little haphazard. Hadlow bent down and examined the vehicle license plate mountings. The plates had clearly been levered off and no doubt been discarded a good distance from the scene. ‘Give me a hand with the hood, would you?’ she asked one of the recovery vehicle men. They managed to wrench it open and she noted down the vehicle identification number. ‘Ok, put it in the shed,’ she said to the recovery vehicle men, ‘and don’t touch the inside or the door handles, ok?’
‘Yeah Doris, we know,’ they threw back at her. She grunted and returned to her desk. She entered the VIN into the computer and found the name and address and telephone number of the owners who lived in Jacksonville, Florida. She dialled the owner and her call was picked up by his answering service so she left a brief message.
Next she opened the file on the Winnebago. Selling a stolen recreational vehicle did not strike her as a profitable proposition as it was a specialised market. Perhaps the thief wished to use it for some other purpose. She sat back from her computer, lit a cigarette and gave the matter some thought. A free holiday? A place to hide out? A place to hide someone, or something, or to transport someone or something? Hardly likely, because a small freight truck would be less conspicuous.
‘Put that goddam cigarette out, Doris,’ growled a voice from the office next door. ‘I thought you were giving up?’
‘Yeah, so I had a relapse, but I’m down to ten a day,’ she replied. Her telephone rang and she took her cigarette out of her mouth and picked up. ‘Detective Hadlow.’
‘Oh, Ms Hadlow, Ted Deakins here.’
‘Who? Oh yes I called you yesterday about your car, left a message.’
‘Yeah, I just got back from St. Louis; turned up at the airport park and no car!’
After a few minutes conversation, Doris Hadlow had the details of how Ted Deakins had left his car in the Jacksonville Airport economy parking lot a few days ago and on his return yesterday evening he had discovered it stolen. Doris Hadlow had her confirmation of the make and model, although as she already knew the VIN that had been rather superfluous. She gave him a police crime reference number to pass on to his insurance company and wished him a good day.
She had a sudden thought; she remembered that a couple of days back there had been a nationwide special alert for a white male American and one British female who had escaped custody in Florida and who might be looking for places to hide out. Even the slenderest of leads would be welcome the message had said. That stolen car had come from Florida, and maybe a Winnebago RV would be a good choice for a hiding place. It was unlikely, but nevertheless she found the alert and sent off an e-mail.
Neil Samms printed off the report filed by Doris Hadlow and showed it to Vince Parker. ‘Do you think this could be a possibility? The timing fits in, and the first theft was in Florida and an RV might suit a guy on the run.’
Parker skimmed through it and shook his head. ‘Well there’s no visual sighting, but it’s about time our luck changed. Why don’t you call up this Hadlow woman and see if they’ve managed to get any prints from the theft site?’
‘Ok then, might be worth a try.’
He returned to his desk and telephoned the number at the bottom of the screen. ‘Hello could, I speak to Doris Hadlow please?’
‘Yuh, this is she.’
‘Ok, my name’s Neil Samms, Homeland Security special task force. You sent me a report on the theft of a Winnebago recreational vehicle yesterday?’
‘Uh… yeah, that’s correct.’
‘Yuh great… look, did you get any results from the fingerprint tests from the rental site where the vehicle was stolen from?’ he asked.
‘No we didn’t,’ Hadlow replied.
‘Oh!’ said Samms crestfallen. ‘Ok, never mind, well thanks for your time anyway, and if you get anything else then please send it on.’
‘But we might get a result from the burnt out Chevrolet,’ said Hadlow.
‘Really? That’s great!’
‘Yeah, they seemed to have wiped it down but one of my people found an empty diet coke can lodged under the seat. Course, we don’t know if there are any prints on it but it’s been sent on to forensics in Atlanta, but it was hardly a priority. I don’t know if they’ve filed a report yet. I’ll check tomorrow and ask them to expedite it and after they’ve taken a look we’ll maybe get you an answer by the afternoon.
‘Tomorrow?’ said Samms, trying to hide his irritation. ‘Can’t you do it today? It’s only ten in the morning, and that’s nine o’clock where you are!’
‘Duh… it’s Sunday. The only reason you got hold of me is I gave you my cell phone number. Mind you, there might not be any prints on it, and if there are they might be the car owner’s and not the thief’s.’
‘Oh, ok yeah, sorry, I forgot what day it was,’ Samms admitted. ‘We’re under a lot of pressure here. It‘ll just have to wait until Monday I guess. But thanks anyway; I’ll get back to you.’
‘What will have to wait until Monday?’ came a stern demand. Samms mouthed a silent curse towards his computer and then turned round to face Jasper White.
‘A possible lead, Colonel.’ He quickly explained the situation.
‘So Monday afternoon eh?’ White mused quietly.
‘Yes sir,’ Samms replied. Then he suddenly realised that White was on the verge of an explosion. ‘But maybe if I get straight down there I can sort of persuade them to get it done immediately.’
‘That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say in a while Samms. Get your ass down to Atlanta and check it out. After that the three of us are going out to Bermuda and you and Parker are going to take a boat out to that yacht. I want Tate brought safely back to Bermuda, not disappearing again.’