Free Magic Line by Elizabeth Gunn

you’re thinking about other things.’
    Getting up off the stool, she felt fatigue cramp all her muscles. She told her feet to quit complaining and carry her out to the cooler. They gimped a little, but they made it. The ice made a nice slithery tinkle when she pulled another water bottle out. She set the bottle down, scooped up a double handful of ice and buried her face in it. When it started to burn she dropped it on the gravel and let the air dry her skin .
    Aaahh! Good to go again. She uncapped the second bottle, enjoyed another cold swallow, and shook herself. Feeling her cramped muscles loosen up, she looked across the lot at the dingy old Ford cargo van in the driveway. Least interesting vehicle I’ve seen this week, she decided, and walked toward it, wondering, Now, what will Officer Studly have found fascinating about this heap that I would never notice?
    When Oscar Cifuentes joined the homicide squad last year, he had been preceded by a reputation as a tireless womanizer whose other major interest was auto mechanics. Sarah thought the first was pitiful and the second boring, so for the first couple of months she was polite but cool toward the new detective. But when a case erupted into a crisis involving a vintage car, Cifuentes showed her he could be quick and enterprising, and was profoundly knowledgeable about rolling stock. Now that they’d worked a few cases together, they were practically buds. No chemistry, that was part of it – it was somehow clear from the start that he was never going to try any of his Mr Irresistible moves on her. And she liked the patient way he picked at a puzzle till he unraveled it.
    The sign on the side of the van read, ‘Bestway Carpet Cleaners.’ A glance inside the open rear doors confirmed that the cargo space was filled with industrial-size vacuums and scrubbers . I suppose he’s already noted the tool marks on the license plate.
    Cifuentes sat in the open passenger doorway, reading. When she walked up beside him he looked up and said, ‘Doesn’t look abandoned. The registration’s in the glove compartment.’
    â€˜Valid, you think?’
    â€˜Matches the model number and the VIN.’
    â€˜But not the license plate, I bet.’
    â€˜Oh? Haven’t got that far.’ He climbed out, carrying the form, and walked back. ‘Bingo. Oh, you spotted the tool marks, huh?’ He smiled. ‘Thought you said you didn’t give a damn about cars.’
    â€˜I don’t. But I put in my year and something in auto theft.’
    â€˜Oh, right.’ They stood together by the open rear doors, looking in at the jumble of equipment. ‘What’s your impression of the cleaning gear?’
    â€˜Well used but still in working order.’
    â€˜That’s what I thought.’ He tapped his lip. ‘So, a working cargo van, recently stolen from—’ He looked at the slip. ‘Edward Benson, up in Oracle. This the new trend for thugs? Swipe a service truck to do the dirty deed?’
    â€˜Or Benson’s one of the bodies in the yard?’
    â€˜Don’t think so – this van was boosted. The ignition is spun.’
    â€˜Ah. You checked the reports yet?’
    â€˜No. I just found this.’
    â€˜If Benson’s a small business owner who just lost his cargo van, he’d report the theft right away.’
    â€˜Yes, he would.’ He pulled out his keys, jingled them once in his hand, thinking, then stuck them back in his pocket and said, ‘My car and laptop’s way down at the other end of the block. I’m going to take this over to Woody and let him type it in.’
    â€˜Fine.’ She walked along with him. ‘Did the techs find anything interesting on this vehicle?’
    â€˜They took candy wrappers downtown to check for prints. One promising lift on the passenger door, Gloria said. DNA later, maybe.’ They both shrugged. DNA would help lawyers in court,