by Diane Kelly
“Much appreciated. Let me know if I can ever return the favor.”
My partner and I had been patrolling another half hour when a man wearing khakis and a button-down flagged me down from his driveway in the Ryan Place neighborhood.
I pulled over and rolled down my window. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I hope so,” he said. “Someone tried to break into my car last night.”
A Ford Flex sat in his driveway, but the vehicle showed no obvious signs of damage, at least not from this distance. I rolled down the cruiser’s back windows for Brigit, cut the engine, and climbed out of the car. “Show me what you’ve got.”
A small dog in the yard next door peeked through a knothole on the fence, spotted me, and began barking up a storm. Yip-yip-yip!
Brigit talked back to loudmouth. Woof!
The man led me over to the driver’s window. Now that I was closer, I could see the window bore a crack near the top. There was also a small notch in the rubber trim near the top of the crack.
Yip-yip-yip!
“See that crack?” the man said. “It wasn’t there when I left the car in the driveway last night. There’s fingerprints all over the glass, too.”
Yip-yip!
I bent over to inspect the glass. Sure enough, the morning sun showed a number of prints near the top of the glass. The evidence pointed to someone using a tool to try to force the window down. Why the thief hadn’t finished the job was unclear. Maybe he feared he’d been spotted and aborted his malevolent mission.
Yip! Yip-yip!
I angled my head toward the neighbor’s fence to indicate the dog. “You’ve got a good watchdog over there. Any chance something set him off last night?”
“Yes,” the man said. “’Round two in the morning he started barking up a storm. I switched on my lights and was about to come outside when he got quiet. I guess my neighbor brought him inside.”
“The dog was probably trying to warn you that someone was out here,” I said. “He probably scared the burglar off.”
As if to confirm my conclusion, the dog issued another Yip!
My focus shifted to the vehicle’s interior. A garage door remote hung from the visor in clear view.
I stood up. “We’ve had multiple reports of garage-door remotes being stolen from cars. In at least one of the cases, the thief returned and used the remote to get into the garage and steal property. It would be a good idea to start locking your opener in your glove box.”
I pulled out my pen and pad of paper, and jotted down the salient information. Victim’s name. Address. The date. “I’ll see about getting a crime scene tech out here to lift a print. Maybe it will match someone in the system.” I tucked the pad back into my pocket and handed him my business card.
“Thanks.” The man turned and headed back into his house.
My cell phone wriggled in my pocket. I retrieved it to find a one-word text from Seth. Lunch?
I texted him back. Noon? Spiral Diner?
He replied with See you then and the kissy-face emoji.
When twelve o’clock drew near, I dropped Brigit at home and drove on to the restaurant, which was only a short drive away. Seth’s Nova was already in the parking lot. I joined him in the foyer. A few minutes later, we were seated at a booth, perusing our menus.
After we placed our orders with the waiter, Seth eyed me across the table. “I took your suggestion about inviting my grandfather’s army buddies to visit. Harry and Leonard. They were tank mechanics with him. They’re flying in Friday night.”
“Fantastic!” Maybe a visit with his old buddies would take Ollie back to better times, before the weight of the war crushed his spirit.
While I was jubilant, Seth was less enthusiastic. “My mom and I aren’t sure it won’t backfire. You never know with that old coot.”
“If things go south,” I told him, “feel free to tell your grandfather it was my idea. I’ll take the blame.”
“That was already our plan.” He shot me a wink to let me know he was joking.
We were halfway through our meal when my phone bleeped. The readout indicated it was IRS Special Agent Tara Pratt calling me back.
I accepted the call. “Hi, Tara. Any luck?”
“Sorry,” she said, “but no. I can’t share detailed information about the People of Peace account, but their tax records appear complete and correct. In fact, the church was audited last year and came through with flying colors. They’ve paid all of the unrelated business income tax due on their sales. They use a reputable CPA firm to prepare their tax reports. Nothing raised any red flags.”
“Darn.” I’d been hoping there’d be some reason to suspect tax fraud. A tax investigation could allow law enforcement to sneak in the back door at the compound, so to speak. Unfortunately, a little thing called the U.S. Constitution prevented law enforcement from faking charges without grounds. I thanked Tara. “I appreciate you looking into things for me.”
“No problem. Take care.”
I ended the call and groaned. “Sometimes I think the abandoned-baby case is a lost cause. Maybe I’ll never know if the mother is okay.”
“First responders can’t save everyone,” he said, solemnly. “I know that as well as anyone.”
“Detective Jackson told me the same thing.” I had to accept that I couldn’t help everybody, I had to learn to let things go. But how could I let this go when a woman, a mother no less, might be in trouble?
We finished our meal in quiet contemplation and parted with a quick kiss in the parking lot.
“Be careful out there,” Seth called as he unlocked the door on his Nova.
“Right back at ya.”
I rounded up Brigit from the house and we resumed our patrol. The rest of day was as futile as the morning had been. Ugh.
We were meandering our way back to the station near the end of our shift when a call came in about a car accident a few blocks away. When none of my fellow officers took the call, I reluctantly retrieved my mic. “Officer Luz and Brigit responding.”
Auto accidents were no fun to work. They could be quite time-consuming. The drivers often got into arguments over whose fault the accident was, and if someone had been injured there could be blood and gore. Eek.
As I drew near the accident scene, I saw plenty of gore. Or should I say gourds? The intersection was covered in the carnage of what would have become dozens of jack-o’-lanterns had they not lost their lives here today. Chunks of orange-colored rind lay everywhere among gooey guts of stringy, seedy pulp. Humpty Dumpty might have taken a great fall, but he wasn’t alone when it came to farm products.
From the positions of the vehicles, I surmised that the large SUV had run a red light and T-boned the vegetable truck, which had been loaded with pumpkins on their way to a grocery store or another location. Adding insult to injury, the driver behind the truck had then rear-ended it.
As I turned on my lights and pulled up to the scene, a Ford Fiesta entered the intersection and slid on the goop, spinning out and popping up over the curb on the other side.
Now I’ve seen everything.
I pressed the button on my shoulder-mounted radio. “I need backup and a street cleaning crew,” I informed dispatch. “We’re going to have to close this intersection down.”
An hour later, and forty-five minutes after our shift was supposed to have ended, Brigit and I finished up at the crash site and headed home for the day.
* * *
Thursday morning, I set out for the property bright and early. As I crested the rise, I saw three men down below exiting the gate. One carried fishing poles and a tackle box. The other two were at either end of a lightweight aluminum rowboat. Looked like they planned to do some early-morning fishing.
I rolled on past them and circled through the park, passing them again on my way back out. The trio cast glances in my direction. I raised a hand in a friendly greeting and forced a smile. Though they waved back, their gestures were halfhearted at best. They did
n’t seem to have much interest in interacting with those of us in the real world, least of all someone who represented the worst it had to offer—crime and violence.
We returned to our patrol. Later that morning, a call came in from the crime scene tech who’d lifted prints from the vehicle in Ryan Place. I pulled to the curb to take the call.
“We didn’t get a match,” she said. “Whoever tried to force their way into the car doesn’t have a record.”
Perhaps I could change that. “Thanks for checking.”
I called the victim to share the news. “The prints on your car’s window didn’t match anyone in the database. Sorry.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “It cost me two hundred dollars to replace the window and fix the rubber trim. Would’ve liked to stick that to him.”
“Don’t blame ya. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”
I ended the call and sat back in my seat. Every investigation I was working seemed to be at a dead end. I eyed Brigit in the rearview mirror. “Are you as frustrated as I am?”
Apparently not. While she glanced up from the chew toy she was cleaning her teeth on, she didn’t stop gnawing or express a scintilla of angst. Oh, to be a dog. Living in the moment, so carefree.
* * *
Friday brought my first break.
The man whose car window had been smashed and laptop stolen in Fairmount phoned me around ten in the morning. “This could be nothing,” he said, “but a guy just came to the door claiming to be a magazine salesman. I had an early dentist appointment and took the day off. I parked my car in the garage so the driveway was empty. It probably looked like nobody was home. Anyway, I told him I wasn’t interested, but if he wanted to leave a brochure I’d ask my wife and get back to him. He claimed he didn’t have any brochures. I asked for his contact information, but he was evasive, just said he’d come back another time. He gave me a creepy feeling, like maybe he was checking to see if someone was home before he tried to get in with the remote. Of course he wouldn’t have gotten far. We did what you said and manually locked the garage door.”
The situation definitely sounded suspicious. “How long ago was this?”
“Just now,” he said. “I’m upstairs watching out the window. The guy’s headed south down the block. He’s almost to the corner. He hasn’t stopped at any other houses.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Skinny white guy with light brown hair. He’s wearing a solid red shirt and jeans.”
“Got it. My partner and I are on our way.”
I switched on my flashers, but kept the siren off. No sense in warning the guy that I was coming. As I approached their street from the south, I kept my eyes peeled for someone on foot. All I saw was a female jogger clad in pink spandex. Just before the turn, my cruiser was passed by an older-model silver Suburban with rust around the edges. The passenger seat appeared empty, and a Latino man with brown skin and black hair sat at the wheel. Not our guy.
I took the corner and turned onto the street, but instead of stopping I made the block to see if I could spot the guy somewhere nearby. No such luck. He seemed to have disappeared.
I returned to the house, where I let Brigit out to stretch her legs. While she sniffed around at the end of her leash, I asked the man for more details.
“How tall would you say he was?”
“About my height,” the man said. “Around five foot ten.”
“Any distinguishing characteristics?” I asked.
“Is ugly a distinguishing characteristic?”
“It could be.” I whipped out my pad and pen. “How, exactly, was he ugly?”
“Greasy hair and skin. Nose like raw meat. He had dingy teeth, like he hadn’t brushed in a while. The whites of his eyes weren’t white, either. They were yellow.”
All of these signs told me he was likely a drug addict. Not unusual at all for a burglar. They tended to be unable to keep a steady job and resorted to stealing from others to pay their living expenses and fund their habits.
“I drove around a little before stopping here. I’d hoped to spot him but didn’t notice anyone fitting his description. I’ll cruise around a little more, see if he turns up. If so, I’ll be back in touch.”
“Thanks.”
Brigit and I returned to the car and drove up and down the streets in a six-block radius. Nothing.
I pulled to the curb, fished Felicia Bloomquist’s business card out of the pouch on my belt, and gave her a call.
“Hi, Miss Bloomquist,” I said when she answered. “It’s Officer Luz.”
“Ready for that style consultation?”
Sheesh. “No. Just have some questions for you. Any chance you’re home?”
“I am.”
“Great. I’ll be there shortly.”
In just a few minutes, the cruiser rolled to a stop in front of Felicia’s house. Brigit and I went to her door and spoke with her there.
“I just talked to one of the other victims,” I told her. “He said a guy came to his house trying to sell him magazines. It’s possible he was casing the place to break in. Did a magazine salesman come to your place before you were robbed?”
Her eyes popped wide. “Yes! A guy with a Spanish accent came by right when I was leaving to take the lipstick to my customer.”
The other victim hadn’t mentioned an accent. Was Felicia talking about a different person?
She continued. “I told the guy I might be interested but didn’t have time to talk because I was on my way out. He said he could come back later, but I told him it would be late by the time I got back.” She gave herself a slap to the head with her palm. “I’m such an idiot!”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” I said. “People do things like that all the time. Honest folks don’t think the way criminals do.” I took out my pad. “You mentioned the guy who came to your door had a Spanish accent. What did he look like?”
“He had brown skin and thick black hair,” she said. “His hair really needed a trim. It looked super sloppy.”
“Was he tall? Short? Skinny? Heavy?”
She lifted one shoulder. “I’d say he was average-sized all around.”
“Clothing?”
“He was wearing a solid white polo shirt tucked into his jeans. No belt. Brown heavy-duty work shoes with yellow laces and thick soles. His shoes were scuffed pretty badly. There wasn’t much leather left on the tops of the toes.”
Leave it to a style consultant to notice the minute details.
“Was anyone with him?” Her description didn’t match the one the man had given me. It was possible the two suspects were in cahoots, taking turns approaching potential victims to make identifying them more difficult.
“I didn’t see anyone else,” she said.
“What about a vehicle?”
She shook her head. “Didn’t see a car, either. Seemed like he was on foot. Of course I assumed he’d parked somewhere on the street and was making his way up and down the block, hitting up all my neighbors, too.”
On a hunch, I asked, “Did you notice a silver Suburban parked nearby?”
“Not that I remember. But I was in a hurry and didn’t pay much attention to anything.”
I closed my pad and slid it back into my pocket. “Thanks for the information. If this leads anywhere, I’ll let you know.”
* * *
Friday evening, I rode with Seth and his mother out to the Dallas-Fort Worth airport to pick up Harry and Leonard. Harry was flying in from Florida, Leonard from Illinois. Luckily, their flights were scheduled to arrive only twenty minutes apart.
We had no idea what the two men looked like, so I’d written their names on opposite sides of a piece of paper we could hold up to catch their attention. As the passengers on the plane from Florida drifted into the baggage claim area, it was clear the sign had been unnecessary, at least where Harry was concerned. The tall, trim black man spotted Seth and aimed directly for us, calling out, “Holy Moses! You look just like your
grandpa from back in the day.”
He greeted all three of us with warm hugs before stepping back. “So Ollie’s turned into an old grump, huh? That explains why I never heard from the so-and-so after I came back Stateside. I wrote him some letters, even tried to call him long-distance once back when it cost an arm and a leg. Nothing.”
Lisa bit her lip. “My mother told me my father wasn’t the same man when he came back from the war.”
Harry snorted, though his voice was soft when he spoke. “Hell, honey. None of us were.”
We stood in an awkward yet solemn silence for a moment before he clapped his hands once and said, “Let’s get my bag and round up Leonard.”
He retrieved his suitcase from the belt and we moved en masse to the baggage claim carousel for Leonard’s flight. Harry spotted him the second he came through the door and hollered, “Leonard! You look as stupid as ever!”
Leonard was a white man with a bald head, a gray beard, and a round belly that hung over the waistband of his pants. “Takes one idiot to know another!” His face broke into a grin as he rushed forward and grabbed Leonard in a warm embrace that turned into a jovial wrestling match, ending when Harry took Leonard down in a headlock.
When Harry released him, Leonard stood and asked, “How’s Mabel? She still putting up with you?”
“Hoo.” Harry shook his head. “My old lady got old.”
The smile on his face said he didn’t mind it one bit, that he’d enjoyed growing old with her. Too bad Ollie hadn’t had the chance to grow old with Ruth, Seth’s grandmother and Lisa’s mother. If she’d lived longer, maybe he would have eventually come back around.
“What about Sheila?” Harry asked Leonard.
“She got old, too!” he said.
Harry cocked his head. “Think we did?”
Leonard waved a dismissive hand. “Hell, no. We’re still kids.”
The five of us made our way out to the parking garage and piled into Seth’s Nova.
Harry looked around at the interior of the car. “Bench seats. The smell of vinyl. This car takes me back. I bought an Impala right after I got home from the war that was a lot like this. Should’ve hung on to it.”