by K. J. Larsen
“We’ll have Rocco run these prints. And your client can buy us lunch.”
“I hope you like dog biscuits.”
Max grinned. “Breakfast of champions.”
Chapter Seventeen
Rocco and Jackson were across town when I called, but they beat us to Vito and Nick’s Pizzeria on West Fulton Market. When you offer my brother free food, he hits the siren.
Max and I joined them at a quiet table in the back. I kissed my brother’s cheek, and plopped the bagged soda can on the table.
“What’s this?” Rocco eyed the bag.
“Fingerprints of the guy who has the captain’s dog.”
He looked appropriately impressed. “You found Sam I Am?”
“Crazy, huh? You wouldn’t think a crook would have his pizza delivered.”
Rocco’s face darkened. He wasn’t wowed anymore. “Christ, Cat. Tell me you didn’t go to this asshole’s house alone.”
“Uh…”
“Dammit. You should’ve called me.”
“It wasn’t his house. Mr. Smith is at a cheesy motel. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Wake me, please. Was Max with you?”
“Uh, sure.”
Max shot me a look and I kicked him.
“Thanks, man,” Rocco said. “I owe you.”
“Can you make a speeding ticket go away?”
Rocco smiled. “I got the magic touch.”
Max reached in a pocket and Rocco scooped the paper from his hand.
“He’ll give it to Uncle Joey,” I said.
“Thanks,” Max said.
Jackson growled. “Where’s this sleazy motel? I say we bring Sammy home tonight.”
“Damn straight,” Rocco said.
“Count me in,” Max said. “I’m gonna hang this asshole by his ponytail.”
“Stuff a cork in the testosterone, boys,” I said. “The hanging party will have to wait. Ponytail isn’t the only player here. We need to ID his partners.”
“Bullshit,” Jackson said. “We’re sending a message.”
“Not today. I have a plan.” I whipped out my phone and passed two pictures around.
Rocco stared at the pics. “It’s Sam. What’s your point?”
“The dog on the left is Sam. The other is Thor, Sam’s double. Sophie’s picking him up from a shelter as we speak.”
Max blinked. “Your plan is to switch dogs? It’s…”
“Brilliant, huh?”
“It’s insane.”
“With a little luck, it’ll buy us time to find Smith’s partners. And with Sam safe, the kidnappers lose their leverage over Bob.”
Jackson growled. “Or we could skip the theatrics and make Ponytail tell us where the other clowns are.”
“What if Ponytail doesn’t talk?” I said. “Only a fool thinks there’s no honor among thieves.”
“He’ll talk,” Jackson said. “I’ll make him.”
“Tough guy,” I said. “Here’s the thing. The captain wants this to go away quietly. That means we can’t arrest him. And you can’t waterboard him.”
“She’s right. They hold all the cards,” Rocco said. “I hate to say it, but we might need to negotiate with these sons of bitches.”
Jackson scoffed. “Pay them off? No way.”
“This is for the captain. That means we do this his way. You okay with that?”
“Hey,” Jackson said, “I just want lunch. And some sweet vacation when I place Sam in the captain’s grateful arms.”
Rocco’s phone buzzed. He dragged the cell from a pocket and checked the number. “It’s Cam Stewart. He might be able to tell us something about this clown train.” He pushed his chair back and took the call outside.
“Who’s Cam Stewart?” Max said.
“Cam Stewart was the detective assigned to the Baumgarten Jewelry heist,” I said. “It was never solved. But anything he has could help.”
We ordered sausage pizzas and salads around. Beer for Max and me. Sodas for the cops on duty.
“You should have dessert,” Max said. “This is on Cat’s expense account.”
“I could go for the peach cobbler,” Jackson said.
Max grinned. “Make that four cobblers. A la mode. Cat’s client is loaded.”
Rocco returned to the table with a thumbs-up. “Cam agreed to meet us. Jackson and I will head to his house after lunch.”
“Do you mind if we tag along?” I said.
“Why not?” My brother raised his glass. “I never bite the hand that feeds me.”
Max tapped Rocco’s Coke with his beer. “Or paw, as it were.”
“Shut up,” I said.
***
Retired Detective Cam Stewart had bright hazel eyes, a stocky build, and a pool table in his living room. He lived in a man cave. The chairs hugged a wet bar, and a sixty-inch screen broadcasting ESPN swallowed a wall. The space was a frat house wet dream. I wouldn’t have blinked if the guy was wearing a toga.
Jackson’s eyes went glassy. “Sweet digs.”
I made a wild guess. “You’re not married, are you?”
Cam met my gaze levelly. “My wife’s gone. Her ashes are on the mantle.”
My eyes flew to a gold urn with a smattering of dazzling jewels. I winced. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Cam followed my gaze. “The gold urn is Jack, my English bulldog. The best friend I ever had. Maggie’s ashes are in the tin cup. It’s dented cuz she threw it at me.”
The tin cup was further dwarfed by two shiny, gold soccer trophies.
I opened my mouth to say something and nothing came out.
Stewart howled. “I’m a kidder. The ashes in the tin cup are our marriage license and divorce papers. And Maggie’s paintings. I burned them all when she moved in with her hippie art teacher.”
“Wow. Just wow,” I said.
“Maggie said she’d send a truck around for her furniture. I cleared the living room and tossed it all on the curb with a ‘Free’ sign. And I bought a pool table.”
The guy was a douche.
“A kick-ass pool table!” Jackson hooted.
I threw him a you’re a moron look.
Cam checked his watch. “You have some questions about a robbery. I have a racquetball court reserved. If this is going to take some time, I’ll call the club and reschedule.”
“We’ll be brief,” Rocco said. “Do you remember the 1999 armed robbery at Baumgarten Jewelry?”
His face hardened. “You never forget the ones that got away. Three guys hit a local jeweler and vanished. We hauled in the usual suspects and watched the pawn shops but never got a solid lead. It was a frustrating case.”
“We know how that goes.”
“I remember the old man was out of town when the robbery took place. His son, Ron or Rick….”
“Rob,” Max said.
“Rob. That’s it. He was alone in the shop at the time. The heist occurred the day a diamond shipment arrived. As I recall, the old man ordered a delivery two or three times a year. The thieves scored. Big time.”
“The timing can’t be a coincidence.”
“If it wasn’t, they gotta be the luckiest punks in Chicago. The armored car delivered the package and they moved in before the son could secure the diamonds in the safe.”
“Is it possible the thieves had no plan?” I said. “They followed the armored car looking for a soft target. Baumgarten’s had no customers in the store. A lone worker. And a package valuable enough to warrant an armed delivery.”
“Entirely possible,” Cam said. “I’m wondering why you’re investigating this crime now? Even if the thieves confessed, the statute of limitations absolves them like a priest.”
“We’re investigating the hit-and-run that killed Daniel Baumgarten a few wee
ks later,” Rocco said.
“Unrelated,” Cam said.
“What if we told you the guys who committed the robbery were there that day and witnessed the hit-and-run?”
Cam paled and his face twitched. “That’s conjecture.”
“We have reason to believe at least one of the three was there. We want to talk to him. We hoped you could give us something that wasn’t in the file.”
“I got nothing. Ten years ago I messed up my back in a motorcycle accident. I was forced to take an early retirement.”
“That’s tough,” Jackson said. “At least you have your man cave.”
“And you can play racquetball,” I said.
Cam Stewart gave me a cool stare. I decided he probably got a huge settlement from the accident and now he plays with his boy toys all day. Nothing wrong with that. He’d been a good detective. He was passionate about his job. He didn’t like loose ends and he hated it when the bad guys got away.
“It’s days like this that make me regret hanging up my badge,” he said. “I’d appreciate being kept in the loop. Those guys gave me some sleepless nights.”
“No problem,” Rocco said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Jackson grinned and his gaze traveled the man cave. “We can meet here. I like your office.”
***
Robert Baumgarten didn’t look happy when I showed up at the jewelry store with Max on my heels. He finished boxing up a Howard Miller clock for a middle-aged couple and escorted them to the door.
“You’ll love this timepiece,” he said. “I have two. One in the living room. And a smaller one on my bedroom dresser.”
The woman’s eyes widened with interest. “Two?”
“Thank you, Mr. Baumgarten,” her husband said firmly as he took her arm and hastened her outside.
The three of us were alone.
The jeweler frowned. “You.”
“Max, this is my friend, Rob.”
“We are in no way friends,” Rob said. “My clients don’t like cops snooping around. It’s not good for business.”
“Well it’s a darn good thing we’re not cops.” I gave him my best smile. “I, uh, well actually, I am looking for a gift.”
His cool eyes thawed. “Excellent. For whom?”
I thought fast. “It’s for my assistant, Cleo Jones. She is out of town for a family wedding. I’m thinking of a small welcome home thing.”
“May I suggest this delicate teardrop diamond necklace?”
“Delicate is not Cleo’s look.”
“She might like these classic silver hoop earrings with diamond accents.”
“You’re getting warmer.”
“Tell me about your assistant.”
“Bling. Flash. Showy baubles.”
A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “I have some bolder pieces in the back. They don’t resonate with what we display in the cases.”
Rob led the way to the back room. The walls were covered with pictures telling the tale of a happy childhood. Rob with grass-stained knees in his soccer uniform. Rob at the local ice cream parlor with a triple scoop. Rob riding dirt bikes with three of his friends.
We followed him to a work table with three small trays of jewelry. “These pieces are sold in our Wheaton store and on our website. Sometimes on eBay. Each piece is an original design and one of a kind.”
“They’re breathtaking,” I said.
Max held an emerald necklace to the light and nodded appreciatively. “Tino remembers your dad was a gifted artist. You inherited his gift.”
I fingered the blue sapphire drop earrings. “They’re perfect. They scream Cleo. How much?”
He turned over a small tag and exposed an outrageous number. I gulped.
“That’s a lot of bauble.”
He smiled. “You’re getting a lot of bling.”
I took a measured breath. “Wrap it up. This year Santa’s coming early.”
“Excellent.”
We returned to the front of the shop. I selected a card and wrote a note. Welcome home. Happy Birthday. Merry Christmas. With love from Inga and Cat, your sisters in crime.
I added a dent to my plastic. Rob popped the earrings in a black velvet box and tweaked it with a satin bow. We thanked him and walked outside. The sky was a deep blue and the sun felt good on my face. We crossed the street to the bakery and bought coffee and apple spice donuts.
“I thought you’d have some questions for Rob,” I said.
“I didn’t have to. Rob tipped his hand when he took us in the back.”
“What did I miss?”
Max took a big bite of his donut. “Rob fences stolen jewelry.”
“No!”
I wiped a trace of cinnamon sugar from his mustache.
“Yes.” Max grinned. “Did you see the small, cloth bag in his desk drawer? It was quite full. I caught a glimpse of gold, maybe a watch, and what could be a diamond tennis bracelet. Rob caught me looking and closed the drawer. His face colored. Classic sign of guilt.”
“Or embarrassment. Maybe he buys estate jewelry and resets the gems. Cheesy and unethical, yes. But hardly criminal.”
“Jewelry that comes with a sales receipt isn’t dumped together in a string-tie bag. I think Rob buys stolen high-end pieces and resets them in fresh, unrecognizable settings. It’s risky but profitable. Stolen jewelry goes for ten cents on the dollar.”
I winced. “Are you saying I bought someone’s stolen jewels?” I gave myself a head-slap. “I wonder if there’s a way I can return them to their owner?”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. The original piece could’ve been a bracelet or brooch. Or anything. Even if the victim held Cleo’s earrings in her hand, she wouldn’t recognize the jewels as hers. Rob saw to that.”
“If Daniel could see what his son is doing to his business, he’d roll over in his grave. Rob is a putz.”
Max emptied his coffee cup. “Sometimes the acorn falls far from the tree.”
Chapter Eighteen
I was tackling dandelions in the backyard when my sister returned with the look-alike Sam in tow. Cleo’s silver star gleamed on Sophie’s belt. She’d polished it.
Inga dashed to Thor’s side and the sniffing party was on.
“We’re back,” Sophie sang.
I couldn’t remember seeing her so happy.
“Operation Thor. My first undercover assignment was a success. I kept an eye on the rearview mirror. I wasn’t followed.”
“Excellent.”
“I drove around the block three times before I parked at your house.” She giggled. “I’m a natural.”
“You’re a regular Charlie’s Angel.”
“I had a lot of time to think to and from Champaign.”
“It’s a long drive.”
“I realize I’ve been selfish, Caterina. I haven’t been here for you. The Pants On Fire Detective Agency needs me.”
I choked. “I’m good. I have Inga and Cleo.”
She gave a dismissive scoff. “Cleo Jones is not a DeLuca. She doesn’t have super sleuth genes.”
“Good Lord, I’ve created a monster.”
“I’m not leaving you with a woman who killed her husband. And a beagle who’ll eat the evidence.”
I had no defense for Inga. “Cleo didn’t kill Walter. Someone beat her to it.”
“A procrastinator. I suppose she’s late for work.”
She had me there.
“Sophie, you have children. You bake your own bread.”
“I can give you part time. Special assignments. Don’t pressure me for overtime. My babies come first.”
“God, yes. I can hear them crying now.”
“I just talked to Mama. They’ve had snacks and are settling down for a nap. I can go with you to the shooting ra
nge.”
“Shouldn’t you be at home, getting pregnant?”
She gave a giddy laugh and I knelt beside Thor. He was thinner than Sam and a touch taller. But the coat would fill him out and the similarity between them was uncanny. A switch wouldn’t fool the captain. But I was confident we could pull this off with Ponytail and his gang of thieves.
I ruffed Thor’s ears. “I’ll fix you a big bowl of dog food dripping in bacon fat. It might fill you out a bit. I know what bacon does to my thighs.”
Sophie rubbed her Barbie thighs. She hasn’t eaten bacon since George W was President.
“Shut up,” I said.
I removed Thor’s leash and he raced Inga around the yard. They wrestled with Inga’s toys and dug up my flower bulbs.
Sophie threw a few distracting balls and buried the flower bulbs. It was a losing battle. I disappeared and returned with two tart, icy lemonades. Sophie took a sip and frowned.
“Where’s the rum?”
I trotted back to the kitchen, as a sculpted babe-magnet dragged his head out of the fridge.
I swallowed a scream. “Don’t do that,” I said. “You scared the crap out of me.”
Max grinned and took a bite of cannoli. “I talked to one of the witnesses. An RN. She was coming out of the bakery when Danny was hit. She was the first to reach his side. She said there wasn’t much she could do.”
“Did she see the accident?”
“Not really. She said she was totally focused on the victim and trying to figure out how she could save him. It happened a long time ago but she never forgot how powerless she felt.”
“Did you ask her about the medallion?”
“She didn’t see it. She said she would have remembered it if it was there.”
“And you believed her.”
“Totally.”
I spiked the lemonades and poured two fat fingers of Uncle Joey’s hijacked whiskey for Max. He sipped the liquid amber and smiled.
“I don’t know who that second lemonade’s for. But I can see you love me more.”
I smiled. “Your glass has more courage. You might need it.”
“I’m a fearless guy, Babe.”
Sophia tromped in the kitchen. “Where’s my…?”