Darren came into work with a headache the next day. He had hardly gotten a wink of sleep because he couldn't stop thinking about that anonymous tip.
At least he had been able to forget about it for the duration of his wife's birthday dinner. But once the presents were open, the cake was consumed, and everybody went home, it crept back in like an itch he couldn't scratch.
He had received a lot of anonymous tips in his day. Some were quacks who wanted to feel a part of a big case. Others were people who probably wanted to be helpful but didn't have very useful information. Still others were criminals who were actually involved but didn't want to go down with their bosses or partners.
But which category did this tipper fall under? He had been oddly specific remembering a license plate like that, even if it was a weird one.
