"Sorry Clarice – just wanted you to know I'm on the same track as you, didn't want you to think I was dissing you," he said, with a slight smile.
"That's better! DON’T DO IT AGAIN!"
Thought to myself, 'oh know you don't buster, you're gon’na pay big time.' My grudges last longer than ten seconds.
We watched Jules walk slowly through the alley, peering over fences and hedges, seeking Uncle Leo and the checker game. Jake and I both hoped Mr. Burris was not involved with criminal elements like Junk Dog White or the Billy Jo Stackhouse gang. He was known as a quiet and caring man from what little we knew. After all, he had his daughter and her sick child living with him – so how can an old man doing that be under the influence of criminals too.
"Here we go, he's spotted him," Jake said.
As we viewed the monitor we could see Jules waving and probably hollering to the group of guys playing checkers in the backyard of this huge, brick three story house. Jules' Uncle Leo turned his head, raised from his chair and walked to the alleyway. Leo passed through the back gate into the alley. He and Jules were now talking.
Surprisingly, considering what Jake and I thought the essence of the conversation might be, both Jules and Leo were calm, un-exercised, unanimated and totally cordial. That's just the nature of some people I guess, this calm demeanor, regardless the conversation topic.
"Guess we can take that as a good sign, don't you think?" I mumbled.
"Perhaps! Maybe! But I'm yet convinced."
The conversation lasted about five minutes as both Jules and Leo walked up and down the alley, talking without any physical gestures that either one of them was upset. The encounter continued to be calm. Finally, Jules puts a...what looks like a business card into the breast pocket of Uncle Leo's plaid shirt, Leo turns into the gate, and walks into the backyard where his buddies were at the checker table.
"What the hell..." said Jake, holding the tablet up to my face.
"What are we looking at – where is this?"
The blurred picture was moving in and out like it's zooming closer, then far away. It appears to be the roof of a building but we can't tell what building or where it's at, until, we see the Big Arches of McDonalds, next door. We're looking, via drone, at the roof of the 2nd Precinct Station House.
Jake pages to the cloud ledger and finds this entry from 212...
...roof 2P, thermo-imaging orifices in blue, note location tag #3, direct behind SS...
Wanting to confirm what both Jake and I perceive to be an opening through the back wall of the Precinct building, we posted to the ledger...
Confirmed 2P structure opening directly opposite rear inside SS? Tag #3 dimensions?
Within seconds 212 posted this information...
2 ft H, 3 ft W, 1 ft from floor
"Looks to be another wrinkle added to the case, Clarice," Jake said. “This opening cannot be coincidental, we need more data.”
Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was a vent opening boarded over from old construction. As I understand the technology, the thermo-image shows measurable airflow through doors, windows, roofs, or whatever. And here was a newly discovered two foot by three foot opening in the back of the building everyone seemed oblivious to. Obviously, 212 had wondered about the opening, and its being conspicuously positioned directly opposite the rear of where the SS would be located inside the Precinct building. That has to be more than just a coincidence. It seemed our investigation was taking a new pathway.
After sitting here in Mickey D's parking lot for at least an hour after meeting with Detective Jones, we thought we'd hurriedly slip by the back of the 2P building and snap some pics.
After one last glance at the tablet screen viewing Detective Jones pull away from Leo's residence, we pulled out of McDonalds headed for the rear of 2P.
"What is that? Is it a storage building? It has to be some kind of storage building given its size," Jake said. "It looks to be a newer addition, but you can see they've blended it well with the main building. You can tell its added construction."
Jake was running video while we pass what looks like an addition attached to the main building. It appeared to measure approximately 8 to 10 foot high and about 30 feet long. It had a double door’s on it, typically 32 inches wide per single door, so I'm guessing the entire width of the addition to be about 6 or 7 feet wide. It was a concrete structure, probably concrete block smeared over with plaster to give it a rough textured appearance. We saw no separate two foot by three foot opening on the backside of the entire building. The opening in question had to be on the inside of this added structure.
"They probably keep lawn mowers and a rake in that little building."
Jake speculated further...
"I'm thinking it houses a backup generator for the main building. Regardless, the tagged opening on 212's drone-view has to be on the inside of this storage area, as I see no singular opening on this addition but the door.”
"Don't tell me Captain Cranbury wasn’t aware of this addition? He would have had to inspect the building outside, wouldn't he?" I queried.
"Remember, he’s new here...or maybe he's just not the investigative type," Jake mumbled.
6:12 P.M., Thursday, June 13, 2013
We were below the Ambassador Bridge parked within fifty yards of the water; they call it the Detroit River. Jake loves to come here to think and coordinate activity with the Irregulars using his many communication portals. The signal strength is strong and the bandwidth plentiful at this specific location. It’s even better than our roof top.
"Wish we had heard the alleyway conversation between Detective Jones and Uncle Leo, don't you Jake?"
"I suspect Jones asked Leo what he knew of the missing money, was he involved, what did he know, was Leo mixed up with criminal elements, things like that."
"Whatever happened to Junk Dog? He had to be in Leo's house when Jones arrived?"
"Jones left the house pretty quick looking for Leo...I'm betting Junk Dog was hiding upstairs when Jones arrived. Jones had to be unaware he was there, otherwise, he probably would have arrested him."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"For what – what charge?"
"Anything, something, whatever...he's a known gang member. He's inside Joneses Uncle's house. You just invent something and haul his ass in."
We sat there another hour sorting out what we knew for fact and what loose ends needed tying up. We disseminated the following information to the JakeForum, the realtime personal bulletin board, so all team members could deliberate our current data status...
>Money went missing from 2P, date range May 20 to June 12.
>Cranbury is federal agent attached DPD.
>7 identifiable suspects inside access where money kept.
>2 of 7, family related.
>Gang member observed with 1 of 7, connection unverified.
>Opening in building directly behind inside containment area.
We then listed the loose ends...
>Exact date money missing not determined.
>Unsure money taken from inside or outside building.
>Unsure involvement of Uncle Leo.
>Unsure involvement gang members.
>Unsure/Unverified actual opening inside added storage building @ P2.
At least now we had chronicled a few 'talking points' for the entire Irregular team. Everyone needed to know what each individual knew, that was critical. We took nothing for granted knowledge-wise. The forum model enabled our efforts to be brief, current and quick. Jake would always say to us...'quick is good.'
We were stretched out on plastic-folding Wal-Mart beach loungers Jake kept in his vehicle. We were about 50 feet from the river’s edge; I surmised Jake's need to be near the river reminded him of Holmes' Reichenbach Falls. Jake told me his mind felt liberated near the water. His linear reasoning abilities were enhanced.
As we stared into our devices, a post appears from 212. It said...
...p2 tag3
opening confirmed...building inspector friend says opening hidden behind large box...2X3 opening dimensions confirmed...location alignment to SS confirmed...see opening pic-separate file...
As I stared at the picture of the concrete opening it looked to have a greyish-colored cloth hanging from one end. Obviously, the cloth was taped across the opening so anyone looking from inside the building, into the back of the SS, wouldn't see or notice the missing concrete section. The large cardboard box pushed against the cloth must have helped it stay in place.
"How do we determine who made this hole and when," I asked.
"The data is yet complete, eh Darby?"
Jake's mind was spinning, obviously. As was always the case, to the detriment of the JakeForum, none of us kept pace of his reasoning abilities. What Jake thought or surmised would be helpful to the whole team should he reveal 'all' his thoughts. But that didn’t happen. His ciphering gift from famous ancestry worked too damn fast to even record. Jakes thoughts were amended, added to, and subtracted from, in very short periods of time. Much faster than any team member or I could keep pace and apparently for him to keep posted to the JakeForum. This frustrated team members because we all knew, reminding him on occasion, that he could speak into his phone or tablet and the voice recognition software would translate in writing...creating an forum entry. Yet, here we are. We surmised it to be Jake's theatrics and sense of drama preventing him from using this tech component – perhaps the result of channeling a Holmes behavior.
"We must obsolete false pathways from known information. First, confirmation of Mr. Burris's criminal-gang collaboration must be met. This criminal element relationship requires resolution preceding other venues."
"I agree."
"Then we shall pack our belongings and move to the Burris' residence, where our inquiry, vis-à-vis this 'Dog' person necessitates declaration."
As we drove to Leo’s house I checked with Epic22, who relayed a camera shot of him in a rocking chair on the back porch of his house. We quickly walked through the alleyway behind the residence, coming to Leo's backyard alleyway entry gate. We stopped at the gate before entering.
"HELLO MR. BURRIS, CAN WE SPEAK WITH YOU?" I bellowed.
Again I sang, “MR. BURRIS”
He was startled by my shouting, probably half a sleep. Finally, he looked up.
"What do you want? Who are you?" Leo said.
"WE WANT TO TALK TO YOU FOR A MINUTE, CAN WE COME IN?"
"WHO ARE YOU?" He shouted, seeming more awake now.
"WE'RE FRIENDS OF YOUR NEPHEW, JULES. CAN WE COME TO THE PORCH?"
He waved us in and we walked to the back porch. The next door neighbor on the south side watched us like a hawk, giving Jake and I the evil eye, while whispering to the lady next to him.
As we approached Leo he stood up from his beige-colored wicker rocker, identical to Jakes white rocker located on our recreational roof space. So right away, I felt we had something to talk about besides the missing money and his possible involvement with drug-trade gang members.
"Hello Mr. Burris – thanks for seeing us. My name is Clarice Darby and this is Jake Spade. We're friends of your nephew, Jules Jones."
We shook hands and sat down on the porch just above the steps, as Leo pulled his rocker closer to where we were. The porch area, as well as the home, were quite weather beaten, badly needing a new coat of paint wherever you looked.
"Why you wantn' to see me?" Leo asked, with what looked like a genuinely inquisitive expression. He was a fit man who carried a proper weight-height ratio, unlike his heavier nephew Jules. His hair was sprinkled with grey which contrasted nicely against his darker African-American skin tone. He had on khakis with a crimson and grey flannel long-sleeve shirt, with the cuffs turned up to his elbow. Clearly the shirt he was wearing was too hot for June as the perspiration dripped freely from his chin. Then again, maybe it wasn't the shirt making him perspire so heavily.
"Mr. Burris, we want to ask you a few questions if we may, about what has happened at the 2nd Precinct Station, where you work."
"What'sha talking bout? Why? What’s happened?"
"Money is missing Mr. Burris?" Jake interjected.
"Money? Where money? What money?"
"Jake and I are not saying you've taken any money...we just want to know if you are aware of anyone who may know something of the missing money from the 2nd Precinct?"
"Why you askin' me? Am I a thief? Why you thin' I done it?” Leo spoke with a low, almost monotone, apathetic voice.
"Perhaps your collaborator, a Mr. 'Junk Dog White,' would say otherwise?" Jake continued.
"Who? Don't know'em...nev'r met'em"
"Mr. White was in your house earlier today. Do you still say you don't know Mr. White?" I said, trying to console Leo to some degree with my sympathetic voice, unlike Jake's verbal mauling.
Jake and I continued questioning Leo about White and his relationship with him, if indeed he had a relationship. We kept mentioning White’s appearance at Leo’s home; even to the extent of showing him a video of White’s entering the back door earlier in the day. Mr. Burris continued denying knowing White and seemed somewhat confused by the video presentation, saying, “not my house, don’t know the man.” I pointed out the beige rocking chair in the video telling him it was the very one he’s setting in now, to no avail. It appeared that confirming, visual evidence was of little value to Mr. Burris.
“I gotta go now,” Leo said.
As he rose from the rocker his daughter appeared at the door, carrying her young child. The little girl looked sick and emaciated, as she rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. Loving children as I do, I approached the daughter and cooed over the child, asking if she was well or needed a doctor’s attention.
“Her heart’s bad, she needs an operation,” the daughter said.
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope you are having that attended to. She sure is a cute little girl.” The daughter nodded yes.
As we turned to walk to the back gate where we came in, Leo produced a white business card with Jake’s name and number on it.
“Jule gave me yur number an toll me to call you...that yur name is it, Jake?”
“That’s me Mr. Burris. Call me anytime.”
“Can’t talk anymore Jake – gotta go,” he mumbled.
As we walked toward the alley I made the connection between observing Detective Jones in the video handing Leo something, it was Jones’ card with Jakes name and number written on the back.
“Interesting,” I whispered to Jake.
Jake shrugged and kept walking, reading from his phone.
“Leo’s an interesting fellow, complex” he said.
“Well, you should know,” I retorted, winking.
We drove from the alleyway headed to the river, I imagined. Jake loved this time of day, dusk, right before the sun sets and being near the river. He needed to think.
He said nothing until we pulled up near the water and opened the Mountaineer’s back hatch grabbing a lounger for me while he set on the hatch’s deck. You could hear the water rushing and lapping the bank, we both loved the magical noise it made. Vehicles were crossing over the Ambassador Bridge, some had their lights on – it was getting dark.
“Did you remember to tell James to lay-out the steaks?” Jake asked me in a jovial tone.
I smiled, thinking about our roof-top cookout planned for later tonight.
“Sure, are you kidding? Didn’t think I’d forget a thing like that did you?”
James was our house-man who managed the building. He was menacing-looking, hiding a heart of gold, and our ‘go to guy’ relative to anything needing done around the building or neighborhood. That included food shopping, plumbing and electrical, and most important, security. James had been a welterweight contender once upon a time; his quick left jab was damn good, with fists like concrete. Jake rescued James from the streets after his storied fighting career. He liked to think of James as his Mrs. Hudson, I suspect.
They were close, knowing each other many years.
“It seems the Captain will be joining our soiree tonight, along with Epic’s 3 and 212,” Jake smiled, fingering his phone.
“We need to have the camera’s ready to zoom in on the Enterprise door when James opens it to see Cranbury’s figure staring back at him, that’ll be a shock don’t you think?” I smiled.
“Oh yeah, for both of them…we must capture that on vid’s, have it playing on the big screen when the Captain enters the main floor. He’ll want to see his own expression meeting James.”
“We all will,” I chuckled.
At our 666 residence visitors entered from 15th street into a gated lower garage with a motion sensor when a vehicle arrived at the entry way. James viewed a monitor inspecting who was calling and had a bull-horn like speaker to query, if need be. The caller was either admitted or cursed mercilessly, driving them away from the entrance. Jake and I had a garage door opener that circumvented the harsh James’ salutation.
James met us at the door that led from the garage into what we called a mud room. This was not your normal door; it was a double door with no door handles. Jake made the door unique by allowing it to open from the center, like a huge elevator door. It had a swooshing noise made louder by a couple small hidden speakers. The door, and its sound, reminded us of the ‘Space Ship Enterprise.’ We loved that door.
Separate from the main-floor living area which was one floor up, the mud room was tiled in some areas and planked with old barn timbers in the other – stridently decorated with deer, moose, and antelope antlers, along with old pictures from the Victorian era. Three security cameras caught critical facial and movement positions of anyone entering the Enterprise door. It was also fitted with metal scanners tripping a ‘James Alarm’ to any metallic guns, knives, bombs, etcetera. We felt the room secure while being quietly accommodating.
We arrived at 666 running late, rushed past Enterprise and James, sprinting up the concrete staircase Jake had treaded with huge walnut planks. We parted past the top door as each of us headed to our respective bedrooms for a shower and comfortable clothes.
The Mystery Maxims of Jake Spade - Case #1 FORGIVEN Page 4