Page 45 of The Deeper Game
And then the detail of his fingerprints on the shoebox came up. They were on the baggie, too.
“Well shit, I work at Giorgio’s,” Ingvey said. “The shoe store.”
“You work at a shoe store?”
“I touch shoeboxes all day.”
“How do you explain their presence on the plastic bag?”
“I don’t know. I work in a store. I touch things all day.”
Odin narrowed his eyes. Then he stormed out to the truck and came back in with the shoebox. “This from your store?”
“We have those. Or had them. Last year’s model.”
“You know this to be from your store?” Odin barked.
“May I?” Ingvey held out his hands. Odin let him take the shoebox and Ingvey lifted the lid. “You mind if I rip it?”
Zeus had returned. He and Odin exchanged glances.
“Go for it,” Zeus said.
Ingvey pulled apart a corner of the lid. “Yup, it’s ours.”
“There’s a tracker in there?” Odin asked.
“Anti-theft device. Other stores use this kind, but the way it’s inserted, this one’s probably ours.”
“Can you tell us who bought this model?” Zeus asked.
As it turned out, he could—if the person had used a credit card. It would be a long list, he warned, and he’d have to get into work and get it off the computer. His shift didn’t start until ten.
“We’ll be in there at ten after ten, Odin promised, pulling a few bills out of his pocket and slapping them down on Ingvey’s kitchen table. “That’s for waking you up. There’ll be more for the list. Okay? We good?”
Ingvey regarded him grimly.
“And if you have cops waiting for us, we’ll know,” growled Zeus.
“And you will feel the wrath of us beat down upon you like a thousand blazing fists, and we will crush you and this house,” Odin added.
We used the interim to grab dry clothes from a nearby department store and clean up. Thor called Matteo, who reluctantly agreed to sit on the bank for our shift even though he’d said he wouldn’t.
We were parked across the street and down a ways from the shoe store by 9:30. My guys thought it was unlikely Ingvey would have cops waiting for us, but they wanted to check. I certainly thought it was unlikely after Zeus’s manhandling and Odin’s thousand-blazing-fists threats—one of his more colorful ones of late.
Odin and Zeus were sure it wasn’t Ingvey at this point. Zeus had a theory that the culprit had given Ingvey the plastic bag to touch during some transaction.
Odin peered through binoculars. Fifteen minutes later, Ingvey met an older woman at the shoe store door. “He looks nervous. Don’t see cops. They’re going in.”
At ten after ten, Odin went in. Five minutes later, he came back out and crossed the street with a shopping bag. He swung into the passenger seat. “Got it.”
Zeus peeled out.
Odin handed the bag back. “A gift for you,” he said.
A shoebox was inside. “Thanks,” I said.
“You got a name?” Thor asked.
