“By five-thirty the sun had crept up behind the trees and a state policeman had walked up to the car to rap on the window with his nightstick. I put my seat upright, dropped the window, and said, “Good morning, Officer.” He took our ID’s and retired to his patrol car and radio for ten minutes. When he came back, he returned our cards and said, “You can’t sleep overnight in the rest area. We’ve had some problems. It’s just not safe.” At Willow Run, we tanked up the Camaro, bought a Detroit and su...burbs map, and made a nature call. I checked the map for the general location of the address we had from Marg’s plate run on the Lincoln Navigator, the home of Mayada Jidah, the woman who had tried to run me off Twenty-eighth Street when Manny had been pursuing Karen. A jumble of wooden bungalows and red-brick ranches shared narrow lots along both sides of Stuart Avenue in Southfield, Michigan. We rolled by Mayada’s residence just before nine in the morning and found the curtains clenched tight and the blinds down.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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