“This is boring,” Joe grumbled. It was just after six-thirty and he and Derek had been sitting in Derek’s car for the last half hour, watching Irene Foster’s small house.
“Stakeouts usually are,” Derek replied. “You wait and watch, and if you get lucky the subject goes somewhere and then you wait and watch until they leave, and do it again when they get home or wherever they end up spending the night.”
A few minutes later a car pulled into the driveway, the front door of the house opened, and a pretty young woman stepped into view, putting on her coat. She closed the door, got into the car, and it took off, with Derek tailing it, staying half a block behind.
“The husband?” Joe asked.
“Nope. Wrong car, wrong license plate number. I checked what he drives before we left work this afterno
