“Are you suggesting someone may have stolen the tags off his car while it was in long-term parking, then returned them?” I asked.
“Unless Aranoff’s lying, and I don’t see any reason for that, there’s no other explanation, Doc.”
“When he retrieved his car did he notice anything that might have made him think it had been tampered with?”
“Nope. We went into his garage and took a look at it. Both tags were there, screwed on nice and tight. The tags were dirty like the rest of the car and they were smudged, which may or may not mean anything. I didn’t lift any prints, but whoever borrowed the tags was probably wearing gloves, which could account for the smudges. No tool or pry marks that I could see.”
“Was the car in a conspicuous place in the parking lot?”
“Aranoff said he left it in pretty much in the middle of the lot, which was almost full.”
“You would think if his car had been sitting out there for several days without license plates, Security or someone would have noticed,” I said.
“Not necessarily. People aren’t all that observant. When they leave their ride at the airport or are returning from a trip, the only thing on their mind is hauling their bags, catching their plane, or getting the hell home. Even if someone noticed, it’s not likely he’s going to report it to Security. Security couldn’t do nothing anyway until the owner returned, then it would be up to him to report the stolen plates. As for the actual theft of the plates, that wouldn’t be very hard. You go to the airport after midnight and there’s not going to be anybody around. If it was me, I’d just walk into the lot like I was looking for my car, then five minutes later I’d be heading out of there with a set of plates in my briefcase.”
“And that’s what you think happened?”
“My theory is this,” he said. “The guy who asked you for directions last week wasn’t no detective, FBI agent, or spook out spying. He was somebody up to no good. Could be a drug dealer, could be almost anything. I think the Oak gray Mark Seven he was in is his personal car, and to be on the safe side, when he goes out to do whatever he’s into, he switches plates in the event his ride is spotted in the area, maybe by cops out on patrol, whatever.”
“Rather risky if he gets pulled for running a red light, pointed I out. “The license number would come back to someone else.”
“True. But I don’t think he plans on getting pulled. I think he’s more worried about his car being spotted because he’s out to break the law, something’s going to go down and he don’t want to take the chance his own tag number’s going to be on the street when it does.”
“Why doesn’t he just use a rental car, then?”
“That’s just as bad as having his own plate number out there. Any cop knows a rental car when he sees it. All tag numbers in Virginia begin with R. And if you track it down, its going to come back to whoever rented it. Switching tags is a better idea if you’re smart enough to figure out a safe routine. It’s what I’d do, and I’d probably resort to a long-term parking lot. I’d use the tags, then take them off my car and put my tags back on. I’d drive to the airport, walk out into the lot after dark, make sure no one’s looking, and put the tags back on the car I’d stolen them from.”
“What if the owner’s already returned and found his tags stolen?”
“If the ride’s no longer in the lot, I’d just pitch the tags in the nearest Dumpster. Either way I can’t lose.”
“Good Lord. The man Abby and I saw that night might be the killer, Marino.”
“The squirrel you saw wasn’t no businessman who was lost or fruitcake tailing you,” he said. “He was up to something illegal. That don’t mean he’s a killer.”
“The parking sticker…”
“I’m gonna track that down. See if Colonial Williamsburg can supply me with a list of everybody who’s been issued one.”