She still couldn’t be positive that the man was Albert Weiss. He was Weiss’s age and size, had a profile that looked like Weiss’s, and had similar hair. As she strained her eyes to see better, she realized that the car seemed familiar. It was dark blue and very shiny. The more she looked at it, the more she felt the familiarity.

Leah pulled up the many hours of recordings she had made at Alma Weiss’s house. For weeks she had gone quickly through each day’s recordings and determined that nobody visited Alma Weiss. Nobody ever pulled a car into her driveway, never drove into her garage. But then she saw the blue car. Somebody had driven it past the house not once but a number of times. Each time Leah saw it, she checked the time and date of the recording and wrote it down. Sometimes after the car went past, it parked. It was never parked in front of the house or beside the house. Sometimes it would pass and then reappear on the street behind the house.

Leah saw no pattern for the timing of the car’s appearances, and she never saw anyone approach the house on foot. But the coincidence of the man’s resemblance to Weiss and the reappearances of the car were enough. Albert Weiss was hiding in or near Naples, and he had, at least occasionally, been near his mother’s house.

It was night, time for Leah to visit her too. Leah surveyed her belongings, laying them out on the bed. There was a compact burglary kit that she had put together from things she’d learned arresting burglars—a pick and tension wrench, a set of bump keys, a very sharp folding knife made of tough 440 steel, and a pry bar. She had a small, powerful flashlight that could be mounted under the receiver of her service pistol.