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buildings. We’ll detail that for you and include it.”
    “Any prints anywhere?”
    “It doesn’t look like it.” Hank heard the rustle of papers over the line. Jameson continued, “I’ll get the ballistics report up to you right away and our complete report as soon as we get it finished. Our guys were up most of the night on this one and they’re still hard at it.”
    “Let me know if you run across anything interesting in the meantime.”
    “Will do, Hank.”
    The shell casings seemed to confirm the witness’s story—the victim was chased around the building before getting killed between the two shops. Hank was interested in seeing the final report, which would detail exactly where those casings were found.
    He didn’t have a motive yet, but he presumed it was a revenge killing, or perhaps something to do with money. It usually was. There didn’t seem to be any hard proof to connect Michael Norton to the shooting, but certainly probable cause. Enough for a search warrant.
    Hank put together a written statement he would need for the warrant, explaining the crime Norton was suspected of committing, how it was carried out, and what they expected to find in the search. He stuffed it into a file folder and went to his reluctant partner’s desk. King sat with his chair tilted back on two legs, his feet on his cluttered desk. He crossed his arms and watched curiously as Hank approached.
    “We have enough for a search warrant,” Hank said. “Get off your lazy butt. Let’s go get the warrant and we’ll bring this guy in for questioning as well.”
    “Who’s the perp?”
    Hank dropped the folder in front of King. “Michael Norton.”
    King browsed the paperwork and whistled. “Looks convincing to me. That didn’t take you long.”
    “All you have to do is apply yourself, King. It’s not that hard. You should try it sometime.”
    King smirked. “I’m not so good at filling out reports, but I do my part.” He slid his feet off the desk. The wheels of the chair hit the floor with a clunk as he stood. “Let’s get him.”

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 9
     
     
     
    Tuesday, 10:16 a.m.
     
    JAKE AND ANNIE sat in the Firebird taking turns watching the merchandise through the binoculars. Several people had shown interest in the televisions. One was sold, and the clerk was careful to select the second carton in the stack.
    Jake sat with the seat pushed back, his hands behind his head, his eyes closed, while Annie took her stint at surveillance.
    “We might have a live one,” she said at last.
    Jake sat up and opened his eyes.
    Annie dropped her glasses in her lap, leaned forward in the seat, and pointed to a red Hyundai hatchback sitting outside the front door of the store. “A guy in a hoody got out of that vehicle a second ago. He left the car door open, opened the trunk, and went into the store. The driver’s waiting.”
    Jake grabbed his binoculars and trained them on the store. A hoody covered most of the man’s face as he stood in front of the stack of TVs. Jake glanced toward the checkouts. The clerks were busy with customers. They watched the man spin around casually, then he picked up the top two cartons, hoisted one onto each shoulder, and strode from the store without a look back.
    The man slid the cartons into the trunk, slammed the lid, jumped into the front seat, and the car sped away as the front door closed.
    Jake looked at Annie and grinned. “It’s definitely a live one.” He grabbed his iPhone and booted up the web-based map. A small red dot moved away from their current position. He handed the phone to Annie. “Let’s see where he goes. You can navigate.”
    “Keep well back,” Annie said. “We don’t want to be seen. All that matters is where he ends up.”
    Jake started the Firebird, backed from the slot, and zipped across the parking lot. As they approached the street, Annie kept her eyes on the map and pointed to the right. “He’s that way about two blocks.”
    Jake