Page 4 of The Smart Killer
If vehicles were rolled off, they were dismantled, the containers filled, and then they were placed back on the transport trailer a day later to be taken elsewhere.
Savannah and the DEA had been working closely to tighten the net but without much luck.
Now he knew why.
The problem was, the DEA wasn’t prepared to take any significant steps until they presented concrete evidence because the information they had gleaned was from a less-than-savory character.
A bottle of liquid morphine meant nothing to them.
And, well, they couldn’t seize one of the transport trailers without fear of bungling the whole operation. So, like any sting, they had to observe, and try and find out who the supplier was and how they were supplying it.
That led them to here and several weeks of surveillance.
Of course, local police didn’t know that’s what was taking place here. The property was just one of many used car dealerships in the city that sold shoddy cars and offered even weaker repairs in the garage.
“Here, give me that,” Marcus said, taking the radio. It crackled. “Harris. Come in, Harris.”
What came over the line was what sounded like someone taking a piss, followed by a moment of relief. “Ah….! That’s better.”
“You know, Harris, you are a real jerk,” Marcus said, staring at Noah.
A zipper could be heard going up, followed by someone farting. “You guys having visions of angels yet?” Harris said, coming over the line loud and clear.
“Screw you. How about you get your ass down here? We’re done.”
“I’m pretty sure you boys still have another thirty minutes on the clock.”
Marcus drummed his fingers. “The transport trailer hasn’t moved in the last five hours.”
“Well then, I guess that means you’ll both be back here tomorrow.”
“No, that’ll be you.”
Noah groaned. “Marcus. Can you just keep it down?” He shifted his eyes to the thermal image on the screen. Those inside the building were highlighted bright white. He could see nine subjects inside, their exact positioning, where they moved, all in real-time. Technology had come in leaps and bounds. Had the occupants been using an internal camera system, they would have been able to tap into it and get a visual on each of them. Instead, they were left to watch moving dots on a screen.
“Sounds like your partner hasn’t taken his eye off the ball. You really are a go-getter, aren’t you, Sutherland? Maybe, Marcus, you can learn a thing or two from him. Hey Marcus!”
“He’s not my partner,” Noah replied.
“Maybe he should be, and Marcus can finally pass his detective exam.”
“Screw you, Harris,” Marcus shot back.
Laughter erupted, followed by static.
“Ah, fuck this,” Noah said, removing his headset, grabbing his Glock and pushing out the back door.
Over the comms unit, Harris told him to get back inside. “Sutherland. Sutherland! What the hell are you doing? We were told to observe only. You’ll blow this entire operation.”
“It’s already blown,” he said, holding his service weapon low and running at a crouch toward the garage. “The transport truck isn’t going to leave; they’re not filling up the tanks here, they’re emptying and transporting it through the sewers.”
“What?” Harris bellowed.
“Move in. I repeat. Move in!” Noah cried.
It all happened so quickly: a handful of undercover officers charged toward the garage, shotguns, M4s, and handguns at the ready. Noah was the first through the door, shooting one man in the leg after the blast of a gun nearly took his head off.
“State Police!”
