Devoted in Death (In Death #41)(74)

Eve swung by the computer lab on the way, dumped the data on Feeney for a search while Banner goggled a little.

“Cutting it back to Oklahoma registration,” Feeney said and, as Roarke did, worked the screen and keyboard manually. “Search in for American Bobcat, 2052, quarter-ton pickup.”

“Gray. A gray truck.”

“Paint’s easy to change, so we’ll start without it.” He grunted as the computer spit out the results. “Got over six hundred in the first sweep.”

“If they stole it, there’d be —”

“I know how to run a search, kid.” He continued to play the comp. “Got three stolen in our time frame, two recovered, one wrecked. Running a separate including the color.”

“Got it.” Roarke swiveled around from his station. “The decal, back window, van in the loading dock. OBX.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Eve demanded.

“Outer Banks – North Carolina. A property owner’s decal. We’ve narrowed the license plate. Odds on New Jersey. Highest probability on the van is a ’58 or ’59 RoadStar, black or navy. Give us a minute.”

At another station McNab jiggled and bopped. “Nothing popped on facial rec, yet. I’m still trying to boost the image.”

“Initial cross-match results,” Roarke said. “Eight-six OBX property owners with vans within our parameters.”

“Gotta do better.”

“So I will.”

“On the gray,” Feeney put in. “We’ve got five matches.”

“That’s workable. Names, images, locations.”

“Coming on screen. Map on screen two. We can work the route, determine the most probable.”

Eve turned her attention to the screen, watched the locations light up, backtracked from Jansen’s location. “We’ll run these five. Shelley Lynn Waynes – she’s right on the route if you backtrack it.”

“Bringing her up,” Feeney said.

“Age thirty-one. Married – six years – two kids. Schoolteacher. Her truck gets boosted, she’s going to report it. Maybe lent it to a friend, a relative, but…”

“Low probability,” Feeney said. “I’ll tag her, suss it out, but she’s whistle clean. This Bowie Nettleton’s the next favorite by route. Age seventy-four, retired military. Master Sergeant, currently mayor of Three Springs, Oklahoma. Two sons, both still serving, a grandson, granddaughter, also serving. And a granddaughter in college – political science major.”

“I’m not getting a buzz, but we’ll check.”

“Barlow Lee Hanks,” Eve read, eyes narrowing on the next image. “Too old for our unsub at fifty-eight. Offspring?”

“None on record.”

“Owns his own business, mechanic, bodywork – much like the idiot Dorrans, in Lonesome, Oklahoma. Bumbo said the truck had been worked on – good work. Mechanic.”

“  ‘Bumbo’?” Roarke repeated.

“Jimbo.” Banner shrugged. “I guess it amounts to the same.”

Even as he spoke, Eve went with her gut. She pulled out her ’link, tagged Santiago. “How’s the face?” she asked, studying the black and swollen right eye.

“It’s had worse.”

“Get it seen to, then you and Carmichael are heading to Oklahoma. Lonesome, Oklahoma. Barlow Lee Hanks. I’d like to know who he lent his ’52 American Bobcat to. Get started as soon as you can. I’ll feed you details when you’re en route.”

“We’ll get along like little doggies.”

“Why?”

“You know, little – it’s a cowboy thing. Never mind. We’re wrapping this part up. The * keeps good records. We can track the various parts of the truck, and most are local.”

“Turn that over to the locals for now. Oklahoma takes priority. I’ll get back to you.”

She pushed the ’link into her pocket. “Thanks,” she said to the room at large.

“Data’s already on your comps,” Roarke told her. “I’ll have the van narrowed down shortly.”

“Good. Let’s move.”

Banner followed her out the door. “Right in your house. You got all those juicy toys right in your house.”

“We work here, too.”

“You’re telling me? Never seen such fast e-work. Might be we got something solid with this.”

“Feeney will tag the other four, but let’s do a run on Barlow Lee Hanks and see what we get.”

She strode back into her office, gestured to Peabody. “Barlow’s Garage, Lonesome, Oklahoma. Basic data and financials. Make it fast. Banner, tag them up over there, see if you can get this guy on the ’link. If he’s there, he’s sure as hell not here. That’s one. And just get a sense of him. Don’t play cop. Ask him some truck question.”

“A truck question?”

“Five hundred says you’ve got one.”

“I’m not taking that bet.” Banner pulled out his own ’link. “I’ll take this out there.”

With a nod, Eve sat at her desk, started her run on Barlow Hanks.

One marriage, she read – with no offspring. Divorced for a dozen years. One brother, but older than he was, and the unsubs skewed younger. A nephew about the right age, she considered, so she’d do a secondary run there.