Coyle leaned close to his screen. “7KRJ508.”

Mahler refocused the lenses. The trunk lid cast a shadow over the plate face.

Rivas joined Mahler and Eden at the window. “You want to go down?”

“Yeah, the two of us.” Mahler put down the binoculars and turned to Eden. “The car moves before we get there, call patrol, and have them pull it over. Assume the driver’s armed.”

In the first-floor lobby, Mahler slowed Rivas with a hand on his arm. “Take the passenger side.”

They approached the car from behind. On the driver’s side, Mahler held his Sig Sauer behind his thigh. Badge in his other hand, he tapped on the window. “Santa Rosa Police,” he yelled.

The window came down partway, and the driver’s face turned toward him. Mahler waved the badge and registered: White male, early thirties, business suit.

“Santa Rosa Police,” Mahler repeated. “Put your hands on the steering wheel.”

The driver spoke into a cell phone. “Hold on. Something’s happening.” He put his hands, still gripping the phone, on top of the wheel.

Peering inside, Mahler checked the passenger seat, and back seat, and saw they were empty.

“What’s your name?” Mahler shouted.

“What is this?” the driver said. “I just pulled over to take a call.”

“What’s your name?”

“John Ledger. What’s this about?”

“Is this your car?”

“Yes. No, my wife’s. Diana Ledger.”

Mahler opened the car door. “Keep your hands where I can see them, and step out of the car.”

As Ledger turned and stood on the street, he saw Mahler’s gun. “Oh, man, wow. Look, I really just stopped to answer my phone. I don’t know what—”

Rivas came around the back of the car to where Ledger stood with his hands raised, the phone still in one hand. Rivas put his Sig in his holster and patted Ledger for weapons.

A tinny voice came out of the phone in Ledger’s hand. “John? John? Are you there? I can’t hear you.”

Ledger looked back and forth from Mahler to Rivas.

Mahler holstered his gun and waved for Ledger to lower his hands. “Let me see your license.”

The license identified the driver as John Ledger, with an address in Santa Rosa. The plate number was different from the number registered to Benjamin Thackrey in the DMV database. Mahler returned it to Ledger. “You know this is a No Parking zone?”

“Yeah, but—”

“But what? You thought it doesn’t apply to people who are busy?”

“No, it’s just that it’s…early.”

Mahler shook his head and turned to follow Rivas around the back of the car.

“That’s it?” Ledger called after him. “You’re not going to apologize?”

Mahler walked silently away. No, he thought, at least this once he wasn’t sorry.

(ii)

(THURSDAY, 9:44 A.M.)