Inkslingers Ball (A Forensic Handwriting Mystery) by Sheila Lowe

Author:Sheila Lowe [Lowe, Sheila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Suspense Publishing
Published: 2014-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

***

On their return drive to Pacific Division, Jovanic and Coleman made a few stops around the perimeter of the Venice neighborhood in locations where they knew there were surveillance cameras. Being able to pinpoint the location of the SUV within a few minutes at one of those locations would make it easier to discover whether their suspects had made a stop at an ATM or a gas station on the route in or out of the alley.

The managers at each business they visited agreed to allow the detectives to run their tapes within their time frame to determine whether a Chevy Tahoe with the numbers ‘4731’ had visited their location. They would contact them when the tapes were available.

Coleman’s next assignment was to check with the DMV, whose traffic cams would catch the SUV crossing an intersection. If luck were with them, Robert Morgan would have run a red light while driving the Tahoe and been photographed. An ID on the owner of the vehicle would be required to run the search. For that to happen, Coleman needed to request a DMV query for all Chevy Tahoes with the numbers ‘4731’ in the plate.

He got the search started in the car. The first thing he learned was that the vehicle was not registered to either Robert Morgan or Alvin Rousch—Viper. Without a surname he could do nothing about Big Carl.

Unlike in other states, vehicle color was not included as part of the California registration process. Jovanic’s plea for the department to lobby the legislature for a change in policy had fallen on deaf ears. So it was of no help that they knew the vehicle was either black or dark blue—the only dark colors that were standard with the vehicle—and assuming the SUV had not been painted a custom hue—color could not be used as a search parameter. This irked Jovanic no end.

While Coleman was running his DMV searches, Jovanic checked in with Huey Hardcastle, who was sitting in his car, surveilling Viper’s tattoo parlor, from half a block away.

“Any sign of Big Carl?”

“Guy fitting his description showed up at noon,” Hardcastle said.

“I guess he wasn’t driving a Tahoe?”

“No, man, a Harley.” Hardcastle gave a short huff of a laugh. “Size of that guy; looks like a monkey fucking a football.”

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