Stolen Power

other side of the street.
The darkness was heavy, covering our positions well, but the person could’ve spotted us already. Or heard us when we entered thanks to the scraping of the entrance fence. Movement was unusual here, and they wouldn’t be expecting any wildlife around. Perhaps a rat, but they were right to be wary. It was not the sort of place you’d choose to frequent unless absolutely necessary.
I leaned forward to look into the area behind the garage door, but I couldn’t make out the figure. I could see faint movement, but nothing more.
Again, there was a loud noise.
I spotted Casey. She was positioned well and waiting for my signal.
With our guns drawn, we inched forward into the night, every footstep heavy with the consequences of what we might find or encounter, and of what we might have to do. We were prepared for the worst and if necessary, for a fight. Both of us following the advice of gunslinger Wyatt Earp when he said, ‘Take your time in a hurry’: going into action with the greatest speed, but mentally unflustered by an urge to hurry.
As I moved to the next shadow against the wall, I had a clearer view of the inside of the warehouse. I could see the outline of what was inside. There were two vehicles.
I stepped closer to take a better look.
There was a car.
And a van.
The car was dark in color and the van light, their exact hue difficult to discern with any certainty in the minimal light.
Could this be the white van we were looking for? Casey nodded towards the van with her eyebrows raised. She was clearly asking the same question.
We heard a muffled noise. Different this time. Not mechanical or metal but human. It could’ve been the noise of a child. Someone with a hand over their mouth being ushered along or moved against their will.
Then we heard the noise of a car door closing.
An engine roared into action, bringing the area to life. The second the headlights beamed in our faces, we couldn’t see anything else. Against the darkness, it blinded us. I quickly moved against the wall, practically pushing myself into the brickwork to get out of the light. Casey leaned down.
A car roared between us, but I could see nothing else.
Casey jumped up and raced after the car, but there was no chance of catching it.
I considered opening a round from my gun, but I didn’t know who was in the car, where Millie was seated, or if she was even there.
The risk was too great.
I held back, finger on the trigger, gun pointed at the ground, watching the car turn into the distance. It screeched down the road, never slowing for the potholes, crashing through the half-open gate. The driver of the car wasn’t going for a casual drive—they were escaping. They were running. And away from us. We were close, but not close enough. What did it all mean?
Casey ran back to stand next to me, gun still drawn, panting. Her eyes were fixated on the warehouse behind us.
“Did you get a look at who was driving? I didn’t see anything.”
“I saw nothing. The car was going too fast. And the headlights destroyed my night vision in a second.” I turned back to the warehouse where the car had come from. “But we might get something from in there.”

Chapter 11


There are certain places that I found it easier to think—driving in my Chevy with my favorite tunes, after a few beers on my couch, or at the dog park with my favorite mutt, Winston.
I was never supposed to like Winston, an always smiling golden retriever. He was my wife’s idea, my wife’s second love after me, or maybe even before me, who knows, but after her passing, he’s become a part of my life.
I didn’t want a dog, especially one that reminded me of my deceased wife, but my friends didn’t want him, Claire’s family said ‘no,’ and the pound was overfilled. Besides, the more I tried to get rid of him, the more I realized I needed to keep him, not just to provide him with a home but to help me deal with my grief. Sometimes it overwhelmed me, but whenever it did, Winston was always there with his unconditional happiness and enthusiasm, which would pull me through.
Watching him run free, so happy and wonderful, brought a smile to my face, and probably more importantly, it put my mind at ease, allowing it to wander to matters related to the case.
There was nothing of note in the warehouse.
No evidence that anyone had used it in years before the last couple of nights. There was an old television, a couch, and a light hooked up to a diesel generator. There was sure to be DNA in the room, but I didn’t have access to that technology, nor did I have the time to chase it. It was clear that someone had used the room, but there was no evidence as to who that might’ve been. Nothing was left behind, if there had ever been much there in the first place.
We didn’t even know if it was Millie in the garage. It could’ve been a coincidence. Squatters could’ve heard us coming, and then made a run for it once we were too close. That was certainly a possibility as there was nothing in the room to say that a girl had been there, less so that Millie herself had been present.
We spent much of the night looking for any connections between the ‘Top-Notch Service Garage’ and our main suspects, but we came up short. All avenues led nowhere. There was nothing that could point us in a particular direction. Ruby Jones’s father was a mechanic, but he had