The girl set off, following the most likely route that they'd have taken between the van and their eventual destination, given all that she knew about where they had and hadn't been spotted. She was fairly sure she'd got the route right, and she drove along it idly to spot anything out of the ordinary; it yielded no results, though, before her phone rang to give her something slightly more useful.<br/><br/>"So that number? It wasn't easy to track down, but we're damn good at what we do." It was Jill's voice; made sense that one case was all shared with one person, after all. "Right, so. It's used a helluva lot that phone - I suspect it might be public, or like a phone in a business or something? - but I tracked down records for all the calls going to or from our old friend at Harpend Close, right? Nothing from before a couple of days ago, but they've been having a bit of a back and forth recently. Seems this one guy - 'Mr. Black' - " - She put the rather comical name in as deep and foreboding voice as her relatively easy voice allowed her to - " paid a TONNE of cash to the other fella for the use of his van for the night. Last night, in fact. Now the guy never said why he wanted the car, but it was so obviously illegit I reckon you might get a case. Anyway... The real guy you want is this Mr. Black fella, and lucky for you I have his address! How good am -I-?"<br/><br/>She sounded terribly self-satisfied, and Amanda could just picture the black haired tech-girl leaning back, swigging from her coffee, and puffing her chest out proudly. "So, you want to wheel on over to 15 Hawthorn Avenue, bust down the door, and take your man! You should be clear; all the phone calls are done between midnight and six, and the building is registered as a warehouse, so I don't figure you'll get much of a welcome party... Don't quote me on that, though, if some loon shoots at yeh!"<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>