I hadn’t seen trucks at the place since my first visit there last week. Since I didn’t know anything about Diamond Head’s business flow, I couldn’t speculate on whether that meant orders were slow. And I couldn’t guess why the diesels were running—whether preparatory to picking up a morning load, or waiting for someone to empty them.

I was tempted to hoist myself onto the loading platform in hopes of finding a way in through the bays. The thought of Mrs. Polter made me cautious. It seemed pretty clear that she was watching me for someone. If it was Chamfers maybe he’d promised her a fire engine all her own if she called him when I showed up again. He could have the Hulk who’d chased me last Friday waiting in the back of one of the trucks to jump me. The Hulk didn’t strike me as patient enough to put on an indefinite stakeout, though. I imagined one of the managers sitting in the truck with the Hulk, holding him on a leash: “Down, sir! Down, I say!” The picture didn’t make me laugh quite as loudly as I’d expected.

My knees and arms were getting wet from the muddy grass. I looked around at the canal—I didn’t want someone startling me into falling over the side. The concrete lining the canal would make it hard to climb out. Crouching low, I moved from the clump of grass to the back of Diamond Head. No one shot at me or even called out.

The rear doors, which slid open to allow access to barge traffic, were bolted shut with some fairly sophisticated locks. I didn’t want to spend the time it would take to undo them: it was a pretty exposed place to stand for an hour or more. And the expressway wasn’t loud enough to mask the sounds of burglary from anyone waiting on the inside.

I padded quickly along the walkway to the side of the building and peered around the edge. The windows of the assembly room still stood open, their panes gleaming black in the dark. The bottom sills stood about five feet above my head.

Using my pencil flash I checked out the terrain underneath. This side of the factory faced west, away from the canal, where the sun could bake the ground to a firmer clay. The tall grasses that covered the area were thinner and browner here. I carefully culled a lane about a yard wide below the nearest window, pulling away empty cans and bottles and stowing them around the corner of the building.