Boosted Pt. 08

Friday morning Sean flopped into his office chair. He had an interview in an hour, but he wanted to find out where he'd been last night. He started at the intersection of Gates Chapel and Cleveland, then using Google's satellite view, he traced the road back until he found the scrapyard. Going by the satellite view, Buddy Squire Auto Salvage was a large and well-run organization. There were junked cars lined up in neat rows behind a large, warehouse type building that also appeared to have an attached office. There was a large machine set to one side of the expansive gravel pad that he could only assume was a car crusher, with a piece of heavy equipment, an excavator maybe, crouching in the shadow of the large building. He was going to have to pay Buddy Squire a visit... unofficially of course.

His phone rang. It was the dispatch office, which meant his interviewee was here. The interview was quick and simple. Of all the people Sean had interviewed, he would hire any of them before Mr. Curtis McDowell. Curt was everything he disliked in a police officer, someone that was more interested in climbing the ranks than protecting the people he'd sworn to serve. He wouldn't be in Brunswick a year before he'd already be looking for a new position, and there was little doubt in Sean's mind Curt would look the other way if he thought it beneficial to him. After he'd escorted Curt out, he put his résumé on the top of his reject pile. Three of the rejection letters he didn't look forward to writing, one, to either Machala or Ajurn's would be difficult to write, but one he wouldn't mind writing at all. Maybe he was being unfair to the kid, and being short on sleep wasn't helping, but he was the chief, and that was his prerogative.

He forwarded Machala and Ajurn's résumés and applications to Amy Drote, the town's human resource manager, along with a note asking her to check the references on the two candidates. As unlikely as it was, having one of their references not check out would simplify his decision. That task completed, he drummed his hands on his desk for a moment as he thought. If he rolled up to Buddy Squire Auto Salvage in a cop car wearing his uniform, and word got back to BIGS, alarm bells were going to start going off. If BIGS suspected he was on to them, they'd probably close down their little midnight operation, move it somewhere else, and keep right on operating. He didn't want that. If they moved somewhere else it might not be his problem anymore, but he wanted to bust them and shut them down permanently.

He rose from behind his desk with a small smile. He was going to have to be a little sneaky. He walked to the armory and picked up the keys to their drug car, a black 2014 Chevy Tahoe the Brunswick PD had seized in a drug bust before he joined the department, and a radio. They used the vehicle for all kinds of undercover work, mostly drug buys, but today he was going to use it for something else. The Tahoe was completely clean of any police paraphernalia, and while he had his phone, the radio would allow him to be reached in an official capacity if someone needed him.

He stepped into the dispatcher's office. "I'm going to be out for a bit. You can reach me on radio eight," he said, looking at the number on the bottom of the device. "I'm also taking the drug car in case anyone notices it's missing."

Terri looked at him curiously but only nodded. "You got it," she said, writing the number on a little pad the dispatchers kept handy for jotting down notes, such as the radio their boss was going to be using.

He walked to the back of the building, through a door, and down some steps to the single car garage tucked under the station. It was where the department kept their undercover car so people wouldn't see it sitting around out in the open. He crawled behind the wheel of the vehicle and pressed the button on the garage door opener. He pulled out of the garage and followed the drive up the hill and around the building until it connected with the parking lot. His first stop was his apartment where he would change into street clothes. When he arrived at his apartment, he paused at his mailbox and collected the contents. His space was open, and he parked the Tahoe before climbing the steps to his apartment while sorting through his mail. It still felt odd not having to dance around Marmalade at his feet, begging for food, the moment he stepped in the door. He tossed the electric bill on the bar that separated the kitchen and the living room, for dealing with later, before shredding the credit card offer and an invitation to visit a free investment planning seminar.

He left on his tan slacks, but changed into a light blue, button front shirt without the Brunswick PD stitching on the breast. After tucking his sidearm under his shirt, he was ready. He returned to the Tahoe and drove to Tilley, following the same route he had taken the previous night. Everything looked different in the daytime and there were more houses along the narrow and rough road than he'd realized last night. If he'd known there were this many residences along the road, he wouldn't have worried so much about being spotted.

He pulled into the salvage yard and crept toward the large tan prefab building, the Tahoe's tires crunching across the oil-soaked gravel. He parked in front of the extension on the right corner with the big Office sign hung above a door. He stepped out of the Chevy and glanced around the yard, but the rollback he'd tailed last night was nowhere in sight. The battered excavator with a nasty looking grapple on the end of its arm was parked in a different location, but the other large machine he'd seen on Google's satellite view was still in the same place and was indeed some type of crusher. He stepped into the office, a bell chiming as he pulled open the dirty glass door.

"Be with you in a minute!" a voice called from the back. His gaze swept the room. It looked like a typical garage office with grimy floors, calendars with scantily clad women leaning over cars or holding tools, and a thin film of greasy dirt on everything. "What can I do for you?" a man asked as he appeared from the back.

The man was probably close to seventy, sporting an enormous beer belly barely contained by his shirt's straining buttons, and suspenders that lapped around the sides of his protruding stomach. He had far more hair on his face than his head, and he was missing the last two fingers of his left hand and at least an equal number of teeth.

Sean had worked up his cover story on the drive to the salvage yard. "I'm looking for some original Tahoe wheels. My Tahoe has the standard seventeen-inch alloy's, but I really like the look of the twenty-inch, five spoke wheels that were an option in '14, and I'm looking for a set."

"So you want all four?"

"Yeah. They need to be clean too, no scuffs or anything like that."

"Okay. Hang on, let me look." The man started rapping on the computer sitting on the corner of the counter.

"Looks like a pretty big operation. You Buddy?"

The man smiled but didn't stop what he was doing. "That's me."

"I've always wondered how you keep track of what's here. I mean, is that a computer map of your cars or something?"

Buddy chuckled. "No. We part out most cars. We take out the glass, wheels, engines if they're any good, fenders, quarter panels, stuff like that, and store it in our warehouse. That we keep on the computer. The rest, you just have to hunt, but I have a pretty good idea of what's in the bone yard out back."

"You mean if I came in and asked for a starter for a '72 Buick, you can tell me where the car is I would find it on?"

Buddy snickered. "I'm good, but not that good. It looks like I don't have a complete set of anything, not like new ones anyway."

"How bad are the not like new ones?"

Buddy scratched at his beard. "I have three of the twenty inch, polished five spoke, that are very good, and one that's fair."

"Can I see the fair one?"

"Sure. I'll have someone bring up a sample of the very good and the fair for you to look at. Hang on a minute." Buddy turned to a microphone. "Sal, bring me two of the rims from aisle six, bin eighteen. Make sure one of them is the bad one," he said, his voice echoing and distorted over speakers in the rest of the building behind and to the left of the office.

"Thanks for doing this. I should have asked how much."

"Two hundred each for the very good, one hundred for the fair one."

Sean shrugged. "Cheaper than I can get them on the internet."

"And here you can inspect them first."

"That too."

Sean waited a moment, not wanting to appear too nosy, before speaking again. "Where does your stuff come from?"

"Mostly we get them from body shops in the area. When a car totals, we pick it up and salvage what we can. If nothing else, we can crush it and sell it for scrap. A few come from people looking to get rid of a non-runner. If the car's in good shape we'll give them a couple hundred for it, haul it away, and then part it out. Says here these wheels came off a total. The owner got broadsided, which is probably why one of the wheels is chewed up."

Sean grunted. "You handle any high-end stuff, like Porsche or BMW, or do you deal mostly in American iron?"

"American, Japanese, and Korean, mostly. Not much call for European parts, at least not around here. People who drive those cars can usually afford new replacement parts."

"Yeah, that's probably true."

Buddy looked around when a door opened behind him. Sal brought in two wheels and hefted them onto the counter. Sean didn't care what the wheels looked like, but he had to finish the con. He looked over the good wheel and then the bad one. The good wheel was nearly perfect, the only flaw a bit of scuffing around the lug nuts, but the fair wheel had a nasty gouge.

Sean took a picture of the good wheel. "Okay, thanks. If I can find another good one to match these, I'll come back for the three good ones."

"Want me to check around? We're linked with all the salvage yards in the area," Buddy offered.

Sean didn't, but a regular customer would. "Sure, that'd be great, thanks."

Buddy typed on the computer again. "Piedmont Auto Breakers has five, four in good condition and one that shows as fair." He rolled the wheel on the mouse. "Raleigh Auto Salvage has two, both in very good condition. And... that looks like it."

"So good is somewhere between this and this?" Sean asked, pointing at the two wheels.

"Yeah, but it's subjective. We try to be as honest as we can, but our very good could be someone's excellent and someone else's good."

"Hmmm..." Sean hummed. "Does it show the price on that thing?" he asked, waving at the computer.

"Buddy glanced at the screen. "I assume you only want the good and very good. Piedmont is 210 each, and Raleigh is 225 each."

"Okay, thanks. Let me go look at those other wheels. If I can find some in as good a shape as these, I'll buy one, and then come back for these."

"I tell you what," Buddy began, "you take these three right now and I'll let you have them for 190 each."

Sean paused as if he were considering it. "No, that's okay. You're already cheaper, and you're close. If I decide to pull the trigger on this, I'll be back."

"You live around here? You don't sound like it."

Sean grinned. "Brunswick. I work at the hospital."

"A doctor?"

"I wish. Accounting."

"Ah, okay. Let me know if you want the wheels."

"Thank you, I will."

He walked out. While he'd been inside, a rollback had arrived with a badly mangled Nissan Altima on the bed. The truck was the right type and color for one of the trucks he'd seen the first night, but not the one he'd followed. He wondered if Buddy had two trucks.

He crawled behind the wheel of the Tahoe and backed away, driving past the tow truck to get the plate, reading it into the recorder on his phone in case he wanted it for something later. He made a right onto the road and began his drive back to Brunswick. Like BIGS, Buddy was probably hiding his nighttime activities behind a legitimate business. It was dammed clever, actually, and he wondered how long the car theft ring had been operating. BIGS, or someone associated with them, would steal the cars. BIGS would quickly strip off the easy to remove and most valuable parts, the remainder went to Buddy for disposal, and the parts stripped at BIGS ended up in somebody's inventory, but probably not Buddy's. No one group had all the pieces, making it difficult to put the puzzle together.

He needed to catch someone in the act, but how? He couldn't bust down someone's door because he suspected they were doing something illegal. He needed to have something more than a suspicion to get the warrant. He was still mulling over how to tackle the problem as he backed the Tahoe back into the station's garage. He returned the keys and radio to the armory and then let Terri know he was back. Finished with that task, he looked up vehicles registered to Buddy Squire Auto Salvage. Buddy owned a pair of medium duty trucks, one being the rollback he'd seen in the parking lot, and he assumed the other truck was a rollback as well, along with a 2017 Chevy Silverado. He next looked to see if a Panamera had been reported stolen, and not surprisingly, one matching the description of the car he'd seen had been reported stolen out of Raleigh. First a Huracán and now a Panamera, stolen from Raleigh, showing up in his little town. It seemed BIGS was hitting Raleigh and then getting the cars out of town as quickly as possible.

That gave him pause. He could probably get a warrant to search for the car, depending on how he spun it to the magistrate, with what he had, but if he was wrong, he'd tip his hand to BIGS he was investigating them. If he were really wrong, and there was nothing illegal going on, he would be guilty of some pretty heavy-handed police work. Even if he was right, he had nothing tying the car to BIGS. All they had to do was claim ignorance, that they were only working on the car and they couldn't be expected to check with the local police department to make sure every car they worked on wasn't stolen. Nothing he'd seen could refute that, so they'd still walk. He decided to not press that angle just yet. He was only going to get one shot at this, and he wanted to make sure his case would stick.

It was almost lunch time and he rose from his desk. Sometimes, when he was stuck like this, thinking about something else let his subconscious work on the problem, and often an idea would come to him. It worked. While he was out for lunch he'd had an idea, and as soon as he was back in his office, he called the Siouan County Sheriff's Department. It took him a few transfers to work his way to the right individual, but eventually the person he needed to speak to answered.

"Captain Lindly. May I help you?"

"Captain, this is Chief Sean McGhee, Brunswick PD. How are you?"

"I'm fine, chief. What can I do for you?"

"I think I'm onto a group of car thieves and I'm wondering if you have a bait car."

"Yeah. A 2016 Honda Accord."

BIGS liked Accords. He'd seen two go under the knife the first night. "Perfect. Does it have all the goodies... GPS, engine cut-out, AV, remote locking, all that stuff?"

Lindly chuckled. "No remote locking because of safety concerns, but yeah, all the other stuff."

"Can I borrow it?"

"There's some paperwork you have to fill out, but yes, we sometimes loan equipment to other agencies."

"Who do I need talk to in order to put this into motion?"

"Me."

"What do I have to do?"

"I'll send you the form to request use of the car. You fill it out and return it to me. I'll approve it and you're good to go. You, or whoever your surveillance team will be, needs to go through some training on the car, but that only takes about fifteen minutes."

"Great. If you can send me that, I'll fill it out and send it right back. How long will the approval take?"

"You're the guy that busted that councilman murder case last year, right?"

"Locoste?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Yes."

"That was some pretty impressive work."

"Just doing my job."

"Still. Anyway, get the paperwork back to me and I'll approve it and you can get the car today."

"Deal," Sean said. "I'll probably want to hang onto it for a couple of weeks, if that's okay?"

"That shouldn't be a problem. The last time we used it was around Christmas when we had people breaking into cars at the mall and stealing packages."

"Thanks. I appreciate the help."

"Always glad to help another department. I'll email you the form as soon as I hang up. Let me have your email address." Sean gave it to him and Lindly repeated it back. "Okay. You should see it in your mailbox in the next couple of minutes."

"Thank you, captain," Sean said before he hung up.

Good to his word, a PDF arrived in his mailbox less than two minutes after he hung up with Captain Lindly. The form was quick and easy to fill out. Sean had to fill in his department's information, give a brief description of what the car would be used for, and sign off on the stipulations of use which basically said the car was free to use, but the borrowing department had to return the car with a full tank of gas and was responsible for any damage done to the vehicle or associated equipment. Five minutes after it arrived in his office, he'd sent the form back. He went to the restroom, and when he returned, he had a notice in his email box that his request had been approved. He picked up his phone and dialed the dispatcher.

"Yes, sir?" Terri answered.

"I need an officer to go with me to Falkner. Who's available?"

"Uh... Chips, Donner--"

Either of those would be good, but since Donner was his backup, he didn't want both of them out of town at the same time. "Have Chips report back to the station, please," he said, cutting her off so she didn't have to run down the entire list.

"Right away."

He smiled. It was time to start being proactive instead of reactive.

Sean prowled through Tilley, slowly cruising up and down the neighborhood streets. It was a warm May evening. Maggie was still at work, dealing with some problem, but was supposed to be done soon. She was going to call him when she left and then meet him at Loch and Castle for dinner. The damage to his pub had been repaired. If he squinted really hard, and the light was just right, he thought he could see where Ray had refinished the floor. He couldn't be sure, but he thought there might be a slight difference in color, or maybe it was the shine. It was also possible it was his imagination. He wasn't sure, but there was no way someone would notice unless they knew exactly where to look, and the repairs to the walls were even more difficult to see. Ray had also repaired the two interior doors, so they once again fit snugly when closed, and he'd replaced the moldings to remove the indentions from being forced. The insurance company had paid for the repairs, but they hadn't paid for the loss of the safe or its contents. The refusal had first ticked him off, but when he complained they referred him to his policy. When he read the fine print, the thirty-day recovery period for the safe and its contents before his insurance paid was clearly spelled out, and it'd been less than half that since the safe was stolen. His department was still working the theft, but if they hadn't found the vault by now, they probably weren't going to. Not intact anyway. He was just going to have to wait out the thirty-days.

The other frustrating thing was BIGS hadn't taken the bait car, but on the flip side, the vehicle was boosting morale in the department. Over the past week, they'd parked the Honda in various places around Brunswick and Tilley with one of his officers monitoring the car. So far, his department had busted two thieves, but not the ones he wanted. Both had been punks who thought they saw an easy mark and were looking for a quick buck. Both times the thug who took the car drove away from Tilley and BIGS.