“They always think they’re smarter than the paper trail.”

The metal security gate rolled open on its heavy steel track.

Marcus drove his cruiser through, and we followed on foot.

The morning air was cold and smelled strongly of diesel from the train yard.

Row four was at the very back of the lot, bordered by a tall chain-link fence.

The unit doors were painted a faded orange and streaked with rust.

Marcus stopped at door four-twelve and punched the printed code into the keypad on the wall.