“Exactly, Your Honor, like Baader-Meinhof, all over again. Meaning the house—and I’m looking at it right now—could be a source of weapons, explosives, bomb timers, all of which has been implicated in the arson as well as the multiple murders. Top of that, the suspect may already be gone, we really need this warrant now.”

It was as good a performance as I’ve seen and within seconds, he was winking and giving the thumbs-up. “Love that guy, he’ll draft it himself, all I need to do is get it picked up and filed.”

A call to Sean Binchy took care of the trip to the criminal courts building. Binchy was still at Manny Forbush’s law office, soon as he had the dupes of GHC’s hard drives he’d head downtown.

We waited for the locksmith and the bomb squad and the explosives dogs. Milo’s cell battery was depleted and he switched to my car phone to get his messages. Lots of bureaucratic trash and one that mattered: Officer Chris Kammen of the Port Angeles, Washington, police department.

Kammen’s basso rattled the hands-off speaker. “Hey, how’s it going? We went over to that storage unit at four a.m. These people are neat-freaks, just about the most organized junk pile I’ve ever seen. Which is why I’m confident telling you there are no suitcases full of money. Not behind the piano or anywhere else.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was,” said Kammen. “Fortunately for you, the facility’s got after-hours video that actually works. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t tell much. At eleven forty-three p.m. a male Caucasian in a dark hoodie used a key to gain entry and came out ten minutes later carrying what my grandma would call two stout valises. I’m getting a copy of the tape to send you, but trust me, it’s not going to accomplish diddly. All you got is shadows and blur, the hood covers his face completely.”

“How do you know he’s Caucasian?”

“White hands.”

“He didn’t bother gloving,” said Milo. “Apparently not.”

“Maybe that’s because finding his prints in the bin wouldn’t be suspicious. Mrs. Flatt was really nervous about Mr. Flatt finding out she held on to them. Maybe he did.”

Kammen said, “I wondered the same thing so first thing I did was look Flatt up, and trust me, it’s not him. He’s a big boy, six six, used to play basketball for P.A. High, power forward, good outside shot, I remember the name now. We used the gate as a frame of reference to get a measure on Hoodie and he’s closer to five ten.”

“Definitely a male?”

“Why? You got a bad girl in your sights?”

“Square in our sights. Looks like she burned down the big house early this morning.”

“The same one?” said Kammen. “Where the bodies were?”

“Yup.”