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take the 2:00 a.m. feeding…”

      “I can get the car back to the station, Brad. Why don’t you head home to your family? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      “Are you sure, Tom? I shouldn’t put that on your shoulders - you’re only a part-time reserve officer…as the full-time officer, I should…”

      “Go on home, Brad. I’ll be fine.”

      “Thanks, Tom. I’ll owe you.”

      Blake smiled. “You can buy me a cup of coffee… Oh, before you leave, Brad, let me grab some barrier tape and a couple of stakes. I want to have another look at this place in the morning when the mist has burned off – and I don’t want the area disturbed until after I’ve checked it.”

      “Good idea. O.K., Tom…See you tomorrow night.”

      “Take care, Brad…Say Hi to Barb. See you tomorrow night.”

      “Right.” Turner gave a quick wave, and started the cruiser.

      Blake returned the wave, and got out. Then he walked to the rear of the cruiser, opened the trunk, and removed a roll of barrier tape, four stakes, and a hammer. Then he closed the trunk, tapped on it twice, and waved again.

      Turner waved backed, put the cruiser in gear, turned the vehicle around, and drove away.

      After the cruiser was out of sight, Blake pounded the four stakes into the ground so that each stake was at least twenty feet away from the Mercedes – two stakes in the front, and two stakes behind the car.

      Then he got into the car, started it, and backed it a few feet beyond the rear stakes. Next, while the car was still idling, Blake strung the yellow “Police Line. Do Not Cross” tape from one stake to the next, surrounding the area where the Mercedes had been parked.

      When he had finished, Blake got back into the Mercedes and drove away from the lagoon area, and out to South Lake Shore Drive, where he turned right and headed to 626 Geneva Street – The Police Station. Blake drove the Mercedes into the Police Lot, put the car’s top up, locked the car, and took the Mercedes keys into the Station.

      Later, after he had completed his paperwork for the night, Thomas Blake headed home in his own car – with a dozen questions swirling in his head…What was Adam Barker’s car doing in Lake Geneva when it’s registered in Lake Forest? Was Barker himself in Lake Geneva, or just his car? Why would anybody abandon a $100,000 car with the keys still in the ignition, and the engine still running? If Adam Barker or someone else was using the car in the lagoon area, what the hell were they doing? And where are they now? If Barker owns a Mercedes convertible, and a home in Lake Forest, he most likely has money…How did he get it? Has he used it all up? Is he in debt and suicidal? Or is this is a ransom thing? …Did somebody grab Barker, take him away in another vehicle, and drive his car to the lagoon area just to throw everybody off the trail? ...Is Barker still alive? If so, where the hell is he?

      *******

      Chapter 1

      Lake Geneva, Wisconsin

      Saturday, June 13^th, 7:30 a.m.

      The Tire Tracks and the Briefcase

      By 7:30 a.m., Thomas Blake was back in the lagoon area. This time, he had his own forensics kit – from the old days in Chicago – and a thermos of black coffee.

      As he got out of his car, Blake could see that the yellow barrier tape was still in place, and that – apparently – no one had violated it. Then, as he walked up to the barrier tape, Blake could also see a single set of footprints, plus several tire tracks in and around the space where the Mercedes had been parked.

      He wasn’t surprised or curious about the set of footprints – because the footprints were his own from a few hours earlier. (Blake had cut two notches in the bottom of each of his work shoes, so he could always distinguish his footprints from any others, in the event he ever had to search through an area before forensics was able to check it for evidence. And, of course, that was exactly the situation for this search area.)

      But Blake was curious about the tire tracks in the search area. The tracks were apparently made by a single vehicle, created by driving the vehicle back and forth several times on each side of the Mercedes parking spot. Very smart, Blake thought, we’ve got ourselves a very smart customer…

      Blake poured himself a cup of coffee from his thermos and set his thermos on the ground. Then, sipping his coffee, Blake slowly walked around the taped-off area, and studied it very carefully.

      He immediately noticed two things: there were no prints or tire tracks leaving the area and heading towards the lagoon, but there were two sets of the same tire tracks heading away from the area towards South Lake Shore Drive. O.K….so Barker’s body isn’t likely to be in the lagoon…but somebody did drive an unknown vehicle into the lagoon area, made all those tire tracks to hide whatever was going on, and then drove the same vehicle back out of the lagoon area – most likely with Barker inside.

      Blake set his coffee cup down, and pulled out his cell phone. He crouched down near the taped-off area, and took four pictures of the tire tracks. Then he emailed those pictures to one of his old buddies in Chicago – Jerry Duggan, a forensics expert who knew almost everything there was to know about tire tracks.

      Next, Blake placed a call to Duggan’s home number, expecting to leave a voice mail asking Duggan to take a look at the pictures, and to get back with an opinion on Monday.

      But Duggan himself answered. “Hello?”

      “Oh, Jerry…Tom Blake…I was just about to leave you a voice mail.”

      “You want me to hang up, Tommy?”

      Blake laughed. “No, I guess I can talk to you instead.”

      “Oh, how very gracious of you, Your Royal Highness... Watcha got?”

      Blake laughed again. Then he said, “I’ve just emailed you four pictures of some tire tracks…I was hoping you’d look at them, and tell me what you think.”

      “Hang on, I’ll pull ‘em up…What’s the story, Tommy? I thought you were retired.”

      “I am…But I’m now doing a part-time bit with the Lake Geneva police…and these tire tracks are involved in one of their cases.”

      “I should have known you couldn’t stay out of trouble, you old war horse.”

      Again, Blake laughed. “Takes one to know one, Jerry.”

      “True, true…O.K. I’m pulling your pictures up right now, Tommy…Oh, this one’s easy…I’m surprised you didn’t already know the answer to this one, Hot Shot …”

      “It’s from a fleet car, right?”

      “Exactly…Very common…. Thousands of vehicles would make these kinds of tracks…company cars, government cars, rental cars…”

      “But not many privately-owned vehicles.”

      “Not likely.”

      “Thanks, Jerry…I owe you.”

      “Right, right…I’ll put it on your tab. Say hi to Harriett.”

      “I will…And give my best to Rita.”

      “I’ll do that. Take care, Tommy.”

      “You, too, Jerry…and thanks again.”

      After Duggan hung up, Blake put his cell phone away, removed the barrier tape from around the four stakes, pulled the stakes up, tamped some dirt into each of the four holes, and put the stakes and barrier tape in the trunk of his car, next to the hammer that he’d used the previous night for the stakes.

      Then Blake finished his coffee, put his thermos back together, got into his car, and drove out of the lagoon area. But he did not drive onto South Lake Shore Drive – he stopped short of the intersection,

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