Jimmy ducked out from behind the counter and led them back out the front door and around the side of the building. A fire truck–red Ford Focus was squeezed between two silver Hondas, butt facing out.

“This is the staff lot,” Jimmy explained. “I moved the Ford around here so you could give her the once-over without an audience from the folks dining at Crazy Burger next door.”

Medina said, “Smart thinking, Jimmy.”

Pryce took the folded printouts from his pants pocket. The digits on the license plate in front of them matched what they could see in the image, the barcode was in the same position, and Pryce could now see that what looked like a black smudge on the roof of the car in the footage was actually a roof rack.

“Popular with customers planning on surfing or cycling,” Jimmy said, following Pryce’s gaze. “You think this is the car you’re looking for?”

“I think so,” Pryce said, handing Medina the printed sheets of paper. “Vic?”

Medina did his own quick comparison of the Ford Focus in front of them with the car from the CCTV images and nodded in agreement. “As sure as I can be.” He turned to Jimmy. “You able to pull up the rental agreement from last Saturday?”

Jimmy looked uncomfortable. He patted the hood of the fancier of the two Hondas. “My boss, Mr. Peterson, is here. Popped in for a couple of hours unexpectedly to catch up on some paperwork. I’ll have to run it past him first.”

Medina said, “Sure, no problem. Where can we find Mr. Peterson?”

Jimmy said, “He’s in the back office. Follow me.”

The three men retraced their steps back around the side of the building and through the front door. Jimmy ducked behind the counter again and knocked gently on a closed door. He waited a few seconds, smiling awkwardly at Pryce and Medina, before a muffled response came from the office beyond the door.

Jimmy slipped inside, closed the door behind him, and reemerged thirty seconds later with an even larger man. He was about fifty, with matted salt-and-pepper hair, a couple of double chins, and love handles that were fully testing the seams of his branded QuikCar polo shirt. If Crazy Burger gave out loyalty cards, the ones belonging to the car rental place’s staff would be covered in stamps.

“Mr. Peterson? I’m Detective Pryce, and this is my partner, Detective Medina.”

They both flashed their badges.

“Please, call me Stan.” Peterson pumped both their hands enthusiastically. “I understand from Jimmy here you need my help with an investigation? How can I be of assistance, Detectives?”

Pryce explained how a car they were trying to trace, which was connected to a serious crime, was possibly parked in QuikCar’s back lot, and they needed the details of the customer who’d rented the car last weekend as soon as possible.

Peterson asked, “Do you have a warrant?”