Chapter 23
Renz made the call to Phil Dempsy, the manager at City Rentals, and explained who he was and why he was calling.
“I’m sure by now you know that the white Camry was abandoned in Milwaukee.”
“Yep, the PD called here this morning. At least the car wasn’t damaged, but they have it in their impound garage, and who knows when it’ll be released to us.”
“Actually, we have it now.”
“The FBI has the car?”
“Yes, sir. It’s connected to a crime we’re investigating. What I need to know is if the person who rented it has rented a car there before.”
“I’ll have to check the records for his name. I have a dozen people working here, so it isn’t me the customer always deals with.
“Understood. Can you check right now? I’ll wait.”
“Um, okay. Give me a couple of minutes.”
With Renz’s phone set on Speaker, we listened to smooth jazz for two minutes before Mr. Dempsy returned to the phone.
“Okay, I have the file open on my computer. He rented the Camry last Thursday under the name James Smith. It looks like that was the only time he’s used our rental agency.”
“And the address?”
“We always make copies of driver’s licenses, but we never check to see if anything is accurate other than the face matching the person standing at the counter.”
“Right. How about you forward a copy of that driver’s license to my partner’s email address.”
“Sure, I can do that.”
Renz rattled off my email address and told Mr. Dempsy to call us immediately if that man ever tried renting a car from them again. Renz gave him his work number then asked him to hang on until I confirmed the license had come through to my email.
I gave Renz a thumbs-up, and he thanked Mr. Dempsy and ended the call.
After rounding his desk, Renz took five steps then stood at my shoulder. “Let’s see what this alleged killer looks like.”
I groaned. “Unfortunately, he looks like a typical nice guy. The license shows that he lives in Manitowoc. Bill hasn’t checked the Manitowoc marina yet, has he?”
“Nope. He said they got as far as Sheboygan to the north and Racine to the south, left messages, and nobody calls back.”
“Damn it, I’ll call them myself.” I looked up the number for the Manitowoc marina and dialed it. Just as Bill had said happened at the other marinas, the call went straight to voicemail. I said I was with the FBI, left my number, and hung up.
Renz rolled his eyes. “They definitely won’t call back now. They’ll think it’s a crank call.”
I cursed then typed into the search bar the address on James Smith’s license. I enlarged the map for a closer look at what sat on that location. “I don’t even believe this.”
“Now what?”
I squeezed my temples. “The address belongs to a liquor store. This guy probably has a half dozen aliases and as many driver’s licenses.” I grabbed my phone again.
“Who are you calling?”
“Bill Gavin. He can send a couple of detectives to the Manitowoc marina. Somebody will show up at the office sooner or later. They need to see the marina’s camera footage from last weekend and possibly a month ago to watch for the same man going through the gate when Della was abducted.
He was likely driving a different car, but what won’t change is the fact that he needed to use his membership card to get through the gate. ”
“I’d think they can type his name into their computer system to see exactly what date and time he passed through the dock gate to get to his boat.”
My eyes bulged. “Can’t we seize his boat?”
“Not yet. We don’t have proof that he’s killed anyone. If we find out his real name and real address, maybe we can get a judge to sign off on a warrant, but that’s iffy too. Without physical proof of DNA belonging to Beth or Della in a car, the boat, or his residence, we’re shit out of luck.”
I cocked my head. “And how do we get that proof when he’s a ghost?”
Renz chuckled. “We air his driver’s license photo on the news.”