Mann asked for a print of that frame and a longer shot of the pickup. Coletti called the plate in on his police radio. A few seconds later, the dispatcher responded.

“The plate comes back on a 2002 Ford Ranger,” she said. “It’s registered to a Frank Kelly. It was reported stolen this morning.”

Chapter 9

The house was one of several on the block that were marked with “For Sale” signs. In trendy Northern Liberties—an area on the east side of North Philly that had undergone massive gentrification over the previous ten years—such sights were becoming more common.

During the real estate boom, the neighborhood was on the verge of becoming a mecca for young professionals. Property values tripled. Homeowners refinanced. When the bubble burst, many of them were caught holding the bag. Frank Kelly was among them.

Tonight, like most nights, he sat alone in the dark in his beautifully refurbished home on North Sixth Street, unable to sleep, unable to think, unable to awaken from the nightmare his life had become. At thirty-five years old, the former chemist at Rohm and Haas was out of work, out of hope, and nearly out of time. He didn’t believe things could get worse. That is, until they knocked at his door.

“Police officers!” Coletti yelled as Mann looked through the window of the darkened house. “Mr. Kelly, we need to talk to you!”

Frank Kelly flipped open his cell phone and looked at the time on the screen. It was eleven forty-five. He’d never been in trouble in his life, and he didn’t know much about the police, but he knew they weren’t there close to midnight to deliver good news.

Getting up slowly from his seat on the couch, he shuffled to the door and opened it.

“Frank Kelly?” Coletti said, holding up his badge while Mann stood behind him.

Kelly nodded.

“Your pickup was spotted downtown a few hours ago,” Coletti said. “We think it was used in a crime.”

“I reported it stolen this morning,” Kelly said with a shrug. “I don’t have anything to do with any crime.”

Coletti peered around Kelly at the darkened living room. “Maybe we should talk about it inside.”

Kelly hesitated for a second before stepping aside to let them in. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to offer you,” he said, turning on a lamp before flopping down on the couch. “Things have been a little tight lately.”

“That’s okay,” Coletti said as he and Mann sat down across from Kelly. “I’ll get right to the point. My partner here got a copy of your stolen car report on his iPhone on the way over here. Apparently you told the officer who took your complaint that you saw two guys hotwire your pickup a couple nights ago. Funny thing is, you didn’t report it until thirty-six hours after it supposedly happened. We’re wondering why.”