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his computer terminal. The name Chad Bronson appeared on his screen. From King City. No record to speak of. Just a couple of speeding tickets. Hank plucked a couple more buttons. A picture appeared. He touched the print button, and in a moment, a page came whirring from the printer.
    “Well what the . . .” Hank stared at the screen. A further search had shown a car registered to Bronson had just been involved in an accident. The driver had fled the scene, and the car was even now on its way to the pound.
    He snapped up his cell again and hit the “Return Call” button. After a couple of rings, Jake answered.
    “Jake, it’s Hank,” he said, dispensing with small talk. “I may have something here. A car registered to a Chad Bronson has just been in an accident. No sign of the driver.” Hank scanned the online police report. “The attending officer described the fleeing driver as a white male. Approximately fifty to sixty years old. That doesn’t sound like Bronson. It’s on its way to the pound right now. I can meet you there if you can come right away.”
    “On my way,” Jake replied. “I’ll just let Annie know, then I’ll see you there.”
    Hank printed a couple more pages, scooped them from the printer and hurried from the building.
     
     
    Tuesday, August 9th, 5:55 PM
     
    THE SUN gleamed sharply off the hood of the bright red Firebird as Jake brought it to a quick stop beside where Hank was standing, waiting for him.
    “Park that thing and let’s go,” Hank said.
    Gravel flew as Jake spun into a nearby parking space and joined Hank.
    The auto pound on Cherry Street was the only one in Vaughan, used to store vehicles that had been used in the commission of a crime and require additional investigations or a hold for evidentiary purposes. It also held unclaimed vehicles that had been towed away for one reason or another. The enclosure was surrounded by a huge chain link fence, and guarded by a massive gate.
    Hank flashed his badge to the attendant and was given the location of the white Tercel. A tow truck crawled past them exiting the lot as Jake and Hank slipped through the gate and made their way towards the back of the area.
    The auto had been deposited head first against the rear fence. The keys were still in the ignition. Hank slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and retrieved the keys, handing them, and another pair of gloves, to Jake. Jake forced on the one-size-fits-all gloves, ripping the back of one hand a bit, and thought about faulty advertising.
    “Be careful what you touch,” Hank said. “If Bronson was the last one to see Jenny, then this vehicle is evidence.”
    A quick search of the back seat revealed a faux leather case stuffed with CDs. A McDonalds bag was on the floor, with a couple of coffee cups jammed under the seat.
    “Hank, look at this,” Jake called. He was standing at the rear of the car, the trunk wide open.
    Jake pointed to the rear of the trunk. He had lifted the mat to reveal a small gold pendant necklace. Hank picked it up carefully.
    “I bet that’s Jenny’s,” Jake said. “And look . . . It hasn’t been broken off, or ripped off. It’s undone.” He looked at Hank. “She left it there on purpose. She was in this trunk.” He dug his cell phone from his jacket pocket, and snapped a picture of the pendant, and a couple more of the outside of the vehicle.
    Hank dropped the necklace into an evidence bag, peeling off the silver strip, and sealed it. “I’ll get the forensics guys down here,” he said. “They need to go over this car completely, especially the trunk. This is not just an abandoned vehicle anymore. It’s a crime scene.”
    Hank called dispatch and gave the information. He put the bag containing the necklace back in the trunk and shut the lid. “Let’s go pick this Bronson character up,” he said.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
     
     
     
    Fourteen Years Ago
     
    JEREMY was ten years old when he first visited his father in prison. They