27Later on Sunday, I was again behind the wheel of my rented Toyota. Dawna sat beside me in the passenger seat.
We both wore sneakers, jeans, and dark long-sleeved T-shirts.
Whoever was monitoring the closed-circuit-TV camera trained on my windshield must have found our cat-burglar outfits highly suspicious.
We’d been idling for the past three minutes at a closed wood-slat gate barring access to a five-acre property in affluent Woodside.
I’d buzzed the window down in order to speak into the intercom mounted on a wood post beside the entry.
The male voice asked my business.
I told him that Holger Sorensen had invited me and Dawna to visit.
Summoned was a more accurate verb but I managed to restrain myself.
The brusque security type manning the audio/video surveillance system might n
