At two in the morning, the parking lot was dark. The tall lights had shut off automatically an hour earlier, and the headlights of the approaching vehicle briefly lit the lot. The illumination only lasted momentarily, as the driver shut the car’s lights off as he entered the parking area. With sixty to choose from, Bruce Wilson picked a spot heavily shaded by some trees. Hopefully, the security cameras would have their view of this space partially blocked.
The small, older Ford Focus stopped, and Bruce slipped on a black ski mask and put on a ball cap with a Red Sox logo to hide his face. He’d borrowed the car from a friend and picked up the cap at a thrift store earlier in the afternoon.
Bruce had explained to his friend that his pickup truck was having problems and that he needed to us
