by JoAnna Carl
I settled down with a magazine for twenty minutes, but when the phone rang, I grabbed it.
“This is probably Watt,” I said.
But when I punched the answer button, a woman’s shrill voice hit my ear.
“Lee! Lee!”
“Lindy? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Lee! T. J. found Watt behind your shop. He’s been hit in the head! He’s bleeding! And he’s unconscious!”
Chapter 7
At three thirty the next morning, five of us were keeping vigil in the emergency room waiting area at the hospital in Holland.
I felt so bad, I almost wished it had been me who had been found lying in the alley beside the live trap. After all, if I hadn’t hired Watt to trap raccoons, he wouldn’t have been in that dark alley.
But Lindy, Tony, Joe, and I had to keep up a brave front for T. J. He was only seventeen, and he had found his coworker stretched out, barely breathing, with a vicious wound to his head.
All of us had assured T. J. that he had acted exactly right. He had immediately used his cell phone to call 9-1-1, and Warner Pier’s volunteer ambulance crew had been there within eight minutes. Lindy, T. J.’s mom, had waved at them vigorously when the ambulance pulled into the alley. T. J. had been kneeling beside Watt, applying pressure to the wound on the back of Watt’s head with a dish towel. His own T-shirt, already soaked with blood, was lying beside Watt.
T. J. had called his mother, Lindy, who had been closing up at Herrera’s. She had run down the alley and waited for the ambulance with him.
Now T. J. spoke apologetically. “That T-shirt wasn’t exactly clean.”
His mother reassured him. “It was the best thing you had, until I brought a couple of dish towels over. Applying pressure was the important thing. You did a good job.”
“He really looked weird,” T. J. said. “The little raccoons were crawling around him.”
“They had all stayed near the mother,” Lindy said. “The five babies were all close to the cage, since the mother was inside it.”
T. J. laughed self-consciously. “They scared me at first, because I couldn’t figure out what they were.”
He yawned then, and his eyes closed. I was grateful; he’d been so keyed up, this was the first time he showed any of the exhaustion he must have been feeling.
He slumped against his father, and I was glad to see that Tony—tough Tony—put an arm around his shoulder and just let him lean. When his mother took his hand, T. J. let her hold it, something he would never have allowed in normal circumstances.
I leaned against Joe, and he murmured in my ear, “T. J. will be okay.”
I murmured back, “I know he will, but I’m really worried about Watt.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, really no more than a blink, or so I thought. But when I opened them again, the whole scene had changed.
A giant face was a few inches from mine.
I jerked erect with a noise that was something between a yelp and a scream. It was sort of a “Yerp!”
But the monster had a soft voice. “Lee?” it said. “Joe?”
Joe apparently had been dozing, too, and he yanked away from me, jumping to his feet.
“Sorry!” The monster moved away, and when it was no longer so close up, it dissolved into the familiar and concerned face of Mike Westerly. “I didn’t know you were both asleep.”
“Mike!” Joe said. “I didn’t know I was asleep either. What time is it?”
“Five a.m. Any news?”
Joe gave him a brief rundown on Watt’s condition. “We’re just waiting,” he said. “What are you doing here, Mike?”
“I joined the search team,” he said, “and we hit every inch of that alley. The sheriff came over, and his crews drove up and down all the streets to see who was out.”
I spoke then. “Did y’all find anything? Anything that looked like a clue?”
“Very little. They found two teenagers driving a pickup that didn’t belong to either of them. And when we aimed a flashlight behind a Dumpster, a bunch of shiny little eyes looked back at us.”
“Nothing important?” Joe sounded tired.
Mike shrugged. “Nothing that looked or sounded like anything to me. Hogan sent me home, but I thought I’d check in here.”
I settled into the couch again and tipped my head back. “Is Dolly okay?”
“I told her to keep out of it, and for once she agreed. She’s staying inside with the door locked.”
“Any security film from the buildings on the alley?” Joe sounded exhausted.
“Not so far as I know.” Mike gave a big yawn. “Everybody’s talked about putting in surveillance cameras, but nobody’s done anything yet.”
“We’re supposed to get our system this week,” I said.
Mike gestured at the coffee machine in the corner. “How’s the coffee?”
“Black,” Joe said. “Let’s get some. Want a cup, Lee?”
I shook my head, and he and Mike headed toward the coffee. I must have dozed off again until I heard a polite voice. “Mrs. Woodyard?”
It was Paige. Deputy Paige Timothy from the Warner County Sheriff’s Department. What was she doing there?
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. “Is there any news about the victim?”
“He’s not dead,” I said. “I’m afraid that’s the best news we can expect tonight. When did you get here?”
“The state police took over the investigation, and the sheriff told me to leave. I thought I ought to tell you about the raccoons before I went home.”
I sighed. The raccoons seemed to be the least important part of the situation at that moment.
Then Paige screamed.
It wasn’t a loud scream, just a startled cry similar to the “Yerp!” I had given earlier. But it sure shocked me. My eyes popped open wide, my heart ran circles in my chest, and my breath came and went like a popcorn popper.
“What! What! Paige? Are you all right?”
She knelt beside me and whispered, “What is Mr. Westerly doing here?”
I stared at her and answered in a similar hiss. “The same thing the rest of us are doing: keeping an eye on Watt Wicker. What’s the matter?”
“Watt? Oh.” She slid onto the couch. “I was just startled,” she said. Now her voice barely trembled. “He’s so big. He sort of loomed up. I wasn’t expecting him here.”
Looking up, I saw that Joe and Mike had rejoined the group. They gave Paige wondering looks before sitting down. Mike did look big in an indoor setting. I wondered if that was what had startled Paige.
“Mrs. Woodyard,” Paige said solemnly, “I do have some bad news for you.”
“It surely isn’t any worse than the news we’ve already had.”
“Somehow in the confusion of loading the ambulance and searching the alley—well, the raccoon escaped.”
I thought about that a moment, then I laughed.
“Are you all right?” Paige asked. I think she was afraid I was weeping.
“I’m okay, Paige. That raccoon is the least of our problems at the moment. Thanks for telling me.”
I had no idea why Paige had thought it was crucial that I know right away about the escaped mama raccoon. And I didn’t care. I wanted to be home in my own bed. I would have said something else to her, but the doctor came in with a report. Watt seemed to be doing better. His head had quit bleeding, and he was conscious, but confused.
“We won’t know anything more until later this morning. I suggest you all go home.”
Joe and I left.
At ten that morning, we walked down the alley and looked over the taped-off scene of Watt’s injury. All we knew about what happened was that somehow, Watt had been hit with a brick. One of the searchers had found it, still bloody.
“Is it possible,” Joe said, “
that this whole episode may simply have been an accident of some sort?”
“Sure!” I said scornfully. “We all know raccoons are expert climbers. Maybe ours simply scurried up to the roof carrying a brick and dropped it onto Watt’s head.”
“I doubt that,” Joe said. “But she might have chipped out all the mortar from around a loose brick and asked her five kits to help her knock it down.”
I rolled my eyes, and Joe laughed. “I guess I’d better not waste time speculating before Hogan shares his deductions. He has a lot more experience with this sort of thing than either of us.”
This time we both smiled. “I’m just glad Watt is improving,” Joe said.
“Yah. And that he knows who he is. Anyway, I’ll see you at twelve at the Sidewalk Café. I’ll call Hogan and see if he’d meet us there. Maybe he can introduce us to that brick.”
The alley was a crime scene, so I walked down to the cross street, then turned right and went around to Peach Street, where the main entrance to TenHuis Chocolade was located. I was getting to the office late, and I had to catch up on work.
I hoped to see Hogan at lunch and that he’d have some rational explanation for the attack on Watt.
Maybe that would make me feel less guilty.
Chapter 8
The first thing I noticed when I saw Hogan walk into the Sidewalk Café at noon was how exhausted he looked. Since Joe and I had also struggled to get rest in the last few days, we were a grumpy group.
Lindy wasn’t even in the restaurant; she’d called in sick. Her assistant, Dana, said that Tony and T. J. were also at home in bed.
Dana took Hogan, Joe, and me to the back room reserved for private meals. She seated our bleary-eyed trio at the table designed for groups of twelve and promised to send us coffee. As she left, she firmly closed the door that kept us out of the view of regular patrons.
While we waited for our coffee, I asked Hogan my first question. “Have you had an update on Watt this morning?”
“Same one you got, I think. He was better. Still dazed. Bad headache. Doesn’t remember what happened. And beginning to worry about who’s picking up the hospital bill.”
“I’ll have to check to be sure the shop’s insurance will cover it.”
Dana brought coffee and took our orders. Despite the time, we all ordered breakfast.
As Dana left, I asked Hogan another question. “Where did the intruders break in?”
Hogan picked up his cup and shook his head. “Wait a minute, Lee. Let’s start at the beginning. First, were there intruders?”
“Hogan! Somebody hit Watt with a brick!”
“Are you sure? Nobody saw anybody. Unless you did.”
“Heck, no. I wasn’t there! But—well, I guess the previous break-ins in that alley made another one seem likely.”
“No break-in has been reported. And while there were bricks in the alley, I can’t prove that they were used as weapons. The whole incident could have been an accident.”
Joe and I both shook our heads.
Hogan shrugged. “I don’t think so either. However, Watt doesn’t remember anything clearly yet. I might have to wait a day or two longer before we declare it an attack. He could have fallen and landed on a brick.”
“All I know is that Watt told T. J. he was going to check the live trap,” I said. “He apparently went behind our building where the trap was set up and then somehow got hit on the head. When T. J. found Watt, there was a bloody brick lying beside him, and the cops and ambulance crew found it there later. I’ll keep calling it an attack.”
At this point in the conversation, the door to the dining room opened, and Dana came in.
“Excuse me,” she said, “but there’s a man here asking for Chief Jones.”
“Did he give a name?” Hogan asked.
She shook her head and moved closer to our table. When she spoke to Hogan, her voice had become a hoarse whisper. “He didn’t give a name, but I know who he is. I’ve seen him on Grand Rapids TV. It’s Phil McNeal!”
Hogan frowned, and I rolled my eyes. I had history with Phil McNeal. He and I had crossed paths several times in the past. Yet he could never remember my name or that we’d ever met before. In other words, I hated the guy.
Joe chuckled. “Hogan,” he said, “you’ve hit the big time. If you make Phil McNeal’s show, you are breaking news. At least in west Michigan.”
Hogan was still frowning. “But do I want to be breaking news? Even in west Michigan?”
“I guess that’s up to you,” Joe said.
“There was something I wanted to tell the public,” Hogan said. “Maybe this is as good an opportunity as any.”
He stood up. “Dana, bring Mr. McNeal in, please. And tell the cook to hold my eggs until I talk to him.”
Dana nodded with excitement. “I’ll have him right in here.”
As Joe and I grabbed our coffee cups and moved to the other end of the room, I said to Hogan, “You usually try to avoid talking to the press. You issue press releases. Why is Phil McNeal getting special treatment?”
“Sometimes law enforcement needs the press,” Hogan replied. The door swung open to reveal Dana showing Phil McNeal and his cameraman in. Hogan greeted the Grand Rapids newsman with a friendly handshake. “Exactly the man I need to see,” he said. “Dana, please bring coffee for Mr. McNeal and his cameraman.”
McNeal looked wary. “You’re probably aware, Chief Jones, that you have a reputation with the press for being tough to work with. So why am I getting the welcome mat?”
Hogan smiled. “For one thing, you got here before the sheriff.”
The sheriff usually did the talking to the press.
McNeal beckoned to his cameraman to set up. He asked who Joe and I were, and Joe stuck out his right hand with all the airs of a small-town politician.
“I’m the city attorney,” he said, leaving out the “part-time” adjective. “I’m just trying to keep up with what’s going on around here. And this is my wife, Lee. The chief is her uncle as well as being our friend.”
“We’ll keep quiet,” I said. “We certainly don’t want to interrupt your interview.”
In under five minutes, McNeal had Hogan facing the direction he wanted, and he had clipped a microphone onto his lapel. Then McNeal nodded to the cameraman and started.
“Chief Jones,” he said, “we’ve been hearing rumors out of Warner Pier, rumors of a series of unusual break-ins at local businesses. Then last night, or so I understand, a workman was attacked, possibly by the burglars, and is now hospitalized.” He leaned closer to Hogan. “Chief, just what is going on here?”
“Obviously, Phil, that’s what we’re trying to figure out. What makes these break-ins unusual is that although the burglars have gotten into about a half-dozen businesses, they never took anything of value. It was almost as if the perpetrators were showing off, trying to demonstrate that they could do as they liked. I think most citizens regarded the events as pranks. Of course, my department has taken these break-ins seriously all along, but we did not want to bring too much public attention to them.”
“Why not, Chief?”
“Because the spotlight might encourage the perpetrators to commit more of these crimes. But now the situation has changed.”
“In what way?”
“Recently, a local merchant surprised the burglars, and they locked him in a closet. And in a different incident, last night a man was seriously hurt. It’s possible that his injuries came from a freak accident, but it appears more likely that they were caused by a deliberate attack, an attack that could easily have led to his death.
“We don’t yet know whether there is a link between this incident and the burglaries, but in either case, we need to catch the perpetrators. So I’m asking Warner Pier’s citizens and its visitors to help out.”
“How?” McNeal leane
d forward.
“Simply by calling us if they have seen anything unusual.”
“What sorts of things are you interested in?”
“Anything out of the ordinary, Phil. A car in the wrong place. A light on in a building that should be empty. A pedestrian walking or loitering somewhere unexpected. We Warner Pier people are proud of our town. We think it’s the most picturesque and friendly town on the Great Lakes. But we have a small police force. We need every citizen to help us find out what’s going on!”
Hogan leaned toward McNeal and made his voice sound as if he were letting the newsman in on a top secret.
“Some local person may even be involved,” he said.
Hogan assured McNeal that the identities of people who called would not be revealed on the air. The interview ended with a phone number and with Phil McNeal grinning from ear to ear. He almost gushed with gratitude, thanking Hogan profusely for giving him the story. McNeal was still beaming as he left.
“Well, Hogan,” I said, “you made his day.”
Hogan gave a snort. “I didn’t tell him I did the same interview with the Holland paper at ten o’clock, and I’ve got an interview with the Grand Rapids paper at two.”
We laughed. Then Dana brought in our meals. We all grabbed our knives and forks.
“The problem with the Phil McNeal interview,” Hogan said, “is that at this moment it’s about all we can do—overtly—to find these jerks.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean the burglars are, frankly, much too sophisticated to merely be kids showing off. They’ve used elaborate techniques to open locks without leaving evidence. We know from the jewelry store incident that they’ve been careful to conceal their faces. Their vehicles have not been identified, though they have apparently been using a car or truck to get around town. They haven’t bragged to their friends. Or if they have, the friends have kept their mouths shut. And they’ve resisted the temptation to steal valuables. They never take anything that has to be fenced, anything that could be used to track them down.”