Good morning!
How do I know what cat litter box to get?
He watched the three little dots pulse on the screen.
I’ll get it.
No. I want to do it. I’m sure The Feed Store has them. I can pick it up at lunch.
Okay.
He waited until a photo arrived; a sturdy plastic box in muted gray, its smooth edges and built-in hood clearly marked. Then another popped up, a close-up of scented litter she favored.
Thanks.
Of course. Have a good day, Agent Bowman.
He grinned, thumbed another reply.
You too, Ms. McCoy.
Before he could set the phone down, Dave’s voice boomed from the enclosed office at the end of the row. “Rawley!”
He looked up, eyebrows raised. “What the hell did I do now?” he muttered, sliding out of his chair, he made his way to the office.
He rapped on Dave’s door. “What’s up, Dave?”
Dave motioned him inside. His desk was strewn with maps, sticky notes, and two steaming mugs of black coffee. “Declan told Sam about those men who were supposed to go in today to show real IDs.”
“They won’t show,” Rawley said, leaning against the edge of the desk.
“Yeah, I don’t think so either. I want you to see if their truck is still parked at the motel. If it’s gone, check around the town, any back alleys and side streets.”
“Understood.” Rawley squared his shoulders.
“We’re going to nail them.” Dave’s gaze was fierce.
“I hope so.” Rawley sank into the visitor’s chair and recounted his Friday evening tail on the suspects.
“They know you’re onto them,” Dave said when he finished.
“I wanted them to know,” Rawley replied.
Dave shook his head. “They could skip town.”
Rawley shrugged. “For some reason, I don’t think they will. They’re too damn cocky.”
“Alright.” Dave leaned back, clasping his hands. “Have you talked to the woman the license plate was registered to?”
“Not yet, but I can do that today.” Rawley ran a hand through his hair.
“We have to make sure she’s not involved,” Dave said.
“Will do. I have her address.”
Dave exhaled. “Okay.”
“I’ll head out, then.” Rawley rose.
