Detective Riggins stood over the body, sprawled out on the lobby floor. The blood-pool was still pretty fresh…tacky. The guard had shot him in the throat.

Nasty.

“We’ve got something, Liam.” said Detective Walsh from behind him. “We got a call about a car crash in a parking garage five blocks from here on Broad. Seems a lady matching our suspect ran her Caddy into another car. She’s dead. Hard hit. We found a Grand National one level up.”

Riggins considered this quietly, still staring at the dead man at his feet. “Run the car she hit.”

Walsh lifted his cell. “Run the Bronco, Walter.”

After about a minute, they had a name. “Jim Loggins.” Walsh said, tucking his cell back into his jacket pocket.

Riggins saw the reaction in the bank manager’s eyes. He knew that name. “What is it, Mr. Johnson?”

“Jim Loggins was a loan officer here, Detective. We let him go last week. He…uh…he was stealing from the vault.”

Riggins turned to his partner. “We’ll need a watch on air, train, and bus.”