Page 3 of The Smart Killer
2
It was known to everyone as the box — a sweltering hellhole in the back of a white cube van. White was meant to reflect heat. Without the vehicle running, they had to rely upon battery-powered fans to keep themselves from passing out.
No one in the department with a lick of sense, including him, really wanted to be there, especially at the peak of a summer that had seen temperatures soar to dizzying heights.
However, his reasoning for being there that day was far different from those assigned to the undercover unit in the Bureau of Criminal Investigation.
Noah Sutherland chose it.
Sitting in the back of that van conducting surveillance for hours could bake a man alive, never mind cause his mind to break and bring on hallucinations if he didn’t stay hydrated.
Noah chugged a bottle of water, and exhaled hard.
What made it worse was they couldn’t get out or drive off; otherwise, they could break their cover. They had to wait for an agent to come and retrieve the van. Robert Harris was the one with the keys. Earlier that morning, he’d parked, left the van,and walked to a nearby building that was being used to keep track of other aspects of the surveillance operation.
He would eventually return and drive it away, where someone else would take a shift, and the whole process would begin again. Nights were easy, the day shift brutal.
Noah wiped a curtain of sweat from his forehead as he listened intently to the conversation from the chop shop.
He was starving and continually thirsty, but nothing would distract him.
Marcus Jackson leaned back in his seat. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“Just a little longer,” Noah muttered.
The department’s undercover operations were, for most, the worst unit a cop could be assigned to, and that was because once they were in, it was hard to get out. It often attracted younger officers with only three or five years under their belt and mainly focused on street drugs. However, since the massive bust in High Peaks that his brother Luke had been at the center of, word had it that the same product was still being distributed but being produced elsewhere. Noah had spent the last few months trying to find out where until some guy walked into the station offering juicy intel.
“I don’t get you, Sutherland. Everyone I know is trying to get transferred out, and you signed up for this shit.”
“I guess I’m a sucker for punishment.”
“So, the rumors about you are true.”
“Probably,” Noah said without asking what they were. He didn’t care. Anyone and everyone knew about his past. His track record as a State Police investigator was lined with as many dings against him as there were awards. Although he tended to do things by the book, there were times he went outside the lines — all of which landed him in hot water more times than not.
“You did call our backup, right?” Marcus asked.
“Yep,” he said, squinting at a screen that utilized some high-end technology and showed them how many were inside, and where they were moving. Each person inside the building was represented as a dot.
“And?” Marcus asked.
“And they’ll be here when they get here.”
“At this rate, I will be a cooked turkey.”
“Quiet, I can’t hear a damn word they’re saying.”
He yawned. “Oh please, Sutherland. Give it a rest. It’s exactly what they have been saying for the past five hours. Chop shop jargon, brakes, tires, mufflers, the usual crap. Right now, they’re only guilty of dismantling stolen vehicles and selling the parts. Places like this are a dime a dozen. Hell, my mechanic is a real criminal. You should have seen my last service bill. No one’s arrested him. I swear those assholes get away with murder.”
Noah glanced at him, shaking his head.
The chop shop had come to their attention through an informant who had told them that more than stolen parts was being funneled through the garage.
Evidence was crucial, which was the one thing the informant couldn’t offer. However, when he slid across a familiar bottle of liquid morphine, Noah gave him his full attention.
“How, where, when, who?” He’d peppered the informant with questions to squeeze as much as he could out of him, but all he could tell was that it was being transported in and around the county using the new hybrid and electric vehicles. The liquid morphine was stored inside what would have been the vast batteries that lined the cars. Except these weren’t ordinary batteries. They were just a shell, a container, a holding tank.
Distribution was as simple as loading vehicles off and onto the back of a flatbed transport trailer from new and used dealerships.
