Lester emerged from the car and stretched his arms above his head, making him look to Sammie as if he were standing on stilts.

“My God,” he said, “Kalfus sure did love to drive. He shoulda been a cop.”

Sam didn’t argue. Tracing Shaw’s stolen Mercedes was turning out to be as bad as the tangled, knotted, indecipherable GPS printout had promised. Kalfus had seemingly explored every road available across southwestern New Hampshire, stopping at everything from gas stations to substantial private homes far off the beaten path. At some of these addresses, the two cops had found his victims; at others, they’d been met with blank stares, probably because the people had been in residence at the time. Kalfus might have planned some of his heists, but Sam and Lester were discovering that he’d been equally open to the luck of the draw.

She got to work filling the tank from the pump while Lester entered the station to talk with the manager. As agreed, they were proceeding methodically, hitting each stop in sequence. There had been some discussion about matching Kalfus’s timetable as well, but the man had apparently rarely slept, presumably catnapping in the car to better hide his activities, but also, Sam imagined, so as not to be picked up during busy traffic hours driving a stolen car. As a result, she and Les had chosen largely daylight hours for their multiday expedition.

Not to mention that each had families to see at night.

Lester came out only fifteen minutes later, holding a thumb drive aloft for her to see. “Believe it or not,” he announced as he got in and slammed the door shut, “the little bastard only stopped for gas this time. No schmoozing, no groceries, no beer or cigarettes.”

Sam was studying the map printout, calculating their next leg. “It looks like he was on a mission this time.”

Lester leaned toward her to read the document. “Really?”

Kalfus had not been given to long stretches, any more than he’d been fond of busy roads. But now, it was clear that from where they were presently—a little west of Manchester—they were to drive a long way to somewhere north of Keene.

“Back there again?” Lester complained. “What did he have against the coast? Or somewhere scenic? This guy was a total workaholic.”

Sam recalled the text message they’d received earlier from Joe. “He did drop by to see Melissa Monfet. That didn’t sound like work.”

“Okay. Point taken. One exception.”

They hadn’t reached their own stopping point for the day yet. It looked like that would come after the trip they were about to take.

As they headed off, Lester ruminated, “I know why we’re tracking him this way, and I’m not sorry, but the difference between his timeline and ours does kind of throw me off.”

“We can match that if we ever think it’s crucial, somehow,” Sam said. “But much as I enjoy your company, I don’t want to use your shoulder as a pillow.”