When it’s my turn to climb out of the tunnel, I find myself emerging through the floor of a filthy boxlike room that’s maybe twenty or twenty-five feet on each side. Storage bins and cardboard containers are stacked in one corner, and the walls show open studs. It reminds me of an unfinished garage … and then I notice the roll-up door.
It is a garage.
Exiting the man-door on the north wall of the building, we find ourselves standing in the backyard of Lorcan’s rental. It doesn’t take long to find the fresh tire tracks exiting the garage and turning north up the alley. And since both the rental and its detached garage are beyond the containment area, there was nothing to stop the Onion King from simply driving away.
Danny and Jimmy knock on the front door, which is answered almost immediately by Mr. Hatanaka—who insists that they call him Stu. Normally in such a situation, they’d ask if they could search the house to make sure Lorcan isn’t hiding someplace inside or holding the family under duress. The fresh snow eliminates this necessity, however, since the only tracks leading away from the garage are those of the car, and they run up the alley and away from the Moors.
Stu confirms what we suspect: He has no access to the garage. It was one of the conditions of the rental agreement, and one they didn’t mind because the rent was four hundred dollars under market average. Lorcan told them he needed someplace to store business supplies.
“There are tire tracks…?” Jimmy says, letting the statement settle into a question.
“He kept his Honda inside.”
“A silver Honda?”
“Yeah,” Stu replies, “an Accord. I had one in college.”
We already have the license plate number of Lorcan’s Honda, so after thanking Mr. Hatanaka we make our way back to the SWAT van, where Danny issues a statewide Watch-For. Border crossings are alerted, the ferry system is notified, and those few places with license plate readers are fed the plate number in the remote chance that Lorcan passes their way.
The ugly truth is that finding the silver Honda Accord is going to be like looking for a specific penny in a massive wishing well. Pennies, pennies everywhere, just not the one you’re looking for.
While Jimmy brainstorms with Danny, Nate, and Jason, I call Diane. It’s after midnight, but she picks up on the first ring. It’s disheartening to say the words aloud, but I fill her in on our failure. The fact that Lorcan slipped past us and took Melinda with him is almost beyond bearing.
“If we don’t find her soon…,” I say, letting the rest of the sentence wither and die.
“You’ll find her,” Diane says. “You’ll find her because you must. You’ve done it before, you’ll do it again.”
I wish I had her faith, but the clock is ticking. We have twenty-four hours, if we’re lucky. After that, the odds of finding Melinda Gaines alive begin to drop precipitously.
“There’s another shell company,” Diane tells me. “I’m not sure if it’ll give us anything useful, but I’ll call once I get done sifting through the records. In the meantime, you need to focus on what you do best.” She promises to redouble her efforts and is downright comforting by the time I disconnect the call.
Her soothing tone scares me more than anything.