Threes, Sixes & Thieves

by Cosgrove, Julie B;

  Janie’s eyes filled. She gulped. “Have you heard from Blake?”

  Connor Hemphill’s face softened. “He’s on leave, ma’am. He’s not involved in this.”

  She nodded rapidly, set the platter on the dining table, and headed for her bedroom to pray for all involved. She found Mrs. Fluffy burrowed under her comforter. She patted the lump. “It’s going to be all right, kitty.”

  She tried Blake’s number once again. It went to voice mail. Janie hung up and punched in her daughter’s.

  A groggy Melody answered. “It’s after midnight, Mom. Are you OK?”

  Janie sighed. Where to begin.

  TWELVE

  Blake’s voice boomed over the phone. “Let me talk to Hemphill.”

  Janie carried her cell into the beehive of activity, which now resembled NASA’s control center more than her dining room. Hemphill hunched over a map calling out coordinates to the girl at the laptop. Janie tapped him on the shoulder and shoved the cell phone under his nose. “It’s Blake.”

  He rose up with a sigh. “Hey, man of leisure. How’s your quiet evening going?”

  Janie could hear Blake’s voice through the receiver. It didn’t sound happy. Hemphill nodded. “Yes, Chief Gates has been fully briefed. Hang on.” He walked into the kitchen.

  Janie resisted the urge to follow. She gazed around the dining room, trying to formulate a reason to also go into the kitchen. Betsy Ann and George sat on the sofa in the living room. She wandered over to them. “Why are you all still here?”

  George shrugged. “Can’t leave. Supposed to stay put.”

  “Right. Well, let’s start pouring more coffee.” She headed for the kitchen with Betsy Ann in tow. Seeing them enter the room, Hemphill stepped outside onto the back stoop, phone still pressed to his ear.

  “Rats.” She put several scoops into the basket. “I hoped to listen in. He’s talking with Blake.”

  “Oh, I see.” Betsy Ann brought the sugar canister, sweetener box, and another nondairy creamer from the pantry. “Ethel called. She’s spitting tacks because she isn’t here. Wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to sneak over.”

  “She better not try.”

  Raised voices and commotion blasted from the dining room. The young policewoman dashed into the kitchen. “Where’s Detective Hemphill?”

  Janie pointed to the back door.

  The girl rushed over, flung it open, and called out. “Sir. They’ve got him.”

  Hemphill bolted inside, the cell phone held to his chest. “Alive?”

  “Yes, sir. The perpetrator fired, and one of the Grayson officers returned, hitting him in the leg. Perp’s in custody and being transported to Mercy Memorial Hospital.”

  Hemphill raised the phone to his ear. “Blake, you get that? Yeah. Gotta go. Talk later.”

  Hemphill gave Janie a high five. “Great job.” He punched in another number. “Sir, it’s Connor...oh, you know already?” He shrugged as he listened to the response. His voice volume rose. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  Janie and Betsy Ann gave each other puzzled expressions. The coffeepot gurgled.

  Hemphill clicked off and turned back to the female officer. “Call in all hands to report to the Recreation Center parking lot for debriefing and roll call in fifteen. Officers from outlying towns, too. Chief Gates’s orders.”

  “Ten-four, sir.”

  Janie’s eyes narrowed. Chief Gates, huh? She’d heard Blake speak of him, and not too fondly. But then again, everyone had adored Chief Peterson and hated to see him retire two years ago. Jack and she knew a policeman named Gates back in the day when Jack worked the beat in Austin. She hadn’t been too fond of him either. Maybe they were related.

  Hemphill gave Janie her phone. “Thanks.” He exited into the dining room circling his hand in the air. “Let’s wrap it up, people.”

  Janie glanced at the full pot of coffee. She looked at Betsy Ann. “Oh, well. At least the cookies disappeared fast.”

  ~*~

  Finally, about two in the morning, Janie drifted off to sleep with Mrs. Fluffy snuggling as close as a Siamese twin. At seven forty, her phone rang. She yawned and reached for it on her bed stand. “Hello?”

  “He’s dead.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Who, Ethel?”

  “The guy they caught. Strung up in the cell by the bandages they used to wrap his ankle. It’s on the morning news now.”

  The cobwebs blew from her brain. “What? He hanged himself? Wait. I thought he was shot in the leg.”

  “Evidently he tripped and sprained his foot on the way to jail. According to the news reports.”

  “Thanks, Ethel. I’ll call you back.”

  She grabbed Mrs. Fluffy. “Tripped, huh? Let’s go find out more, kitty.” Janie waddled to the living room and turned on the TV. The local anchor in Austin reported.

  “The suspect has been identified as Jacob Wellington, age twenty-two. His partner, Les Holden, who was shot dead at the scene of the robbery, was his uncle. Holden had served time for burglary but, according to police, has not been arrested for any crime since 2012, except for the one three months ago, for which he was released on a technicality. Family members state Jacob made good grades, was on the football team in high school, and then attended community college in Round Rock while working at Pierre’s Pizza. They are appalled he would be involved in a burglary with his uncle, whom they consider a family outcast or black sheep.”

  Janie perched on the edge of her recliner and clicked the volume control. A distraught woman wringing a tissue appeared on the screen in front of a house. Her red-rimmed eyed husband stood next to her, his arm wrapped tightly around her. “Jake was a straight A student. He just got promoted to assistant manager at the pizza parlor.” Her voice quivered. “Last week he asked Mary Sue to marry him. They were planning an October wedding.”

  Her grief overcame her and her husband drew her to him. “My son would not be involved in this mess. What’s more, he wouldn’t have, have—” He gulped back his emotions. “—taken his own life. We demand a full investigation. I hold the Alamoville police responsible for his death.”

  Reporters began shouting questions and shoving microphones in their faces. The father pushed away and motioned for them to leave. He turned and led his wife back inside their home.

  The news anchor offered a bit more information about the manhunt last night, things Janie already knew. She clicked off the TV. Something inside her gut fluttered. The pieces were not fitting together. Sure, all parents think the best of their kids, but those two seemed genuinely shocked.

  How could she find out what really happened?

  Even more so, did this mean Blake was not going on vacation after all? Not if she could help it. Answers had to be discovered, and fast. She called Betsy Ann. “Did you hear? Uh, huh. Time to dust off your reporter’s cap. I need your assistance.”

  THIRTEEN

  Blake paced in front of Chief Gate’s headquarters, his report in hand. Outside the reporters gathered, no doubt looking for blood. He didn’t envy the man right now.

  Shuffles sounded on the stairwell and the hinges to the fire exit creaked open. Gates and two other men fast-paced down the hall. The police chief jiggled the key into the lock on his office door. He eyed Blake. “Guess you’ve heard.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m just here to turn in my report, though.”

  “Oh, no you’re not. Come in.” He led the way past a darkened reception area, flicked on his office lights, and plopped into his executive chair.

  Blake followed. “Sir?”

  “You know Councilman Ralph Rosenberg and the mayor’s public relations guy, Adam Meriwether?”

  “Yes, we’ve all met before.” The gentlemen shook hands.

  “Good.” The chief of police waved for them to be seated. He tented his fingers, elbows on the arms of his chair, and swiveled. “Well, how are we going to handle this fiasco?”

  Blake looked around. “Um, sir? You placed me on leave, right?”
<
br />   “Officially, yes. In an advisory capacity, no. Shots were fired. One suspect was downed. Next, his partner was found hanged in our jail cell. Internal affairs investigations are mandatory in these incidences. Since you were not actively involved in the manhunt or arrest, it puts you in a prime position to be my eyes and ears in this.”

  “But—?”

  He raised his hands. “I know. Not exactly kosher but the city council and mayor aren’t very trusting of outsiders peeking into our affairs. Besides, most of the surrounding towns became involved, including some from Austin where we’d usually recruit an investigative panel. Every cop in a thirty-mile radius responded―except for you, that is.”

  Blake rubbed the carpet in front of his chair with the tip of his boot. “True.”

  “You don’t leave on vacation until Thursday morning, correct?”

  He lifted his gaze “Well, yes...”

  “Perfect. I need you to help me put a lid on this between now and then. At least get the ball rolling. Form a team and give them some direction. Remember, per city policy, at least one has to be a citizen. They can report to you if need be even if you have suntan lotion on your back and sand in your toes.”

  Oh, Mel was gonna love this one. “I suppose so.”

  Meriwether leaned forward. “The sooner we resolve this, the better.”

  Blake shifted in his chair as he eyed the other three men. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “We’re not convinced Jacob Wellington committed suicide, nor are we sure how he got the stretch bandage.” Gate pressed his back into his chair. “Evidence is sketchy, but the gunshot wound pierced his calf muscles. That’s the extent of his emergency room treatment. Not an ankle sprain.”

  “So, he injured his ankle en route to the police station?” Blake narrowed his eyes.

  Gates nodded. “Supposedly tripped.”

  Meriwether peered at Blake over his half-rimmed spectacles. “That’s what we’re telling the press. He was limping on his hurt leg and lost his balance.”

  Blake puffed through his cheeks. “Right.”

  Merriwether edged closer. “What are you saying?”

  Blake glanced at Gate’s narrow-eyed glare. “Um, just that emotions were probably high, sir. One of our own had been badly injured. We are trained to be impartial and fair, but…” He shrugged his shoulder.

  Gates scooted his chair to his desk. “Which is why, in circumstances like these, an I.A. investigation is mandated. To make sure all involved behaved appropriately and upheld the law.”

  Councilman Rosenberg cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him. “We are calling an emergency council meeting for tomorrow morning at nine. We want to analyze what went right and what went wrong in this manhunt, which ended in the deaths of two suspects. Chief, I hope you can give us some answers by then. Good day.”

  He rose, spun on his wingtip heel and left, closing the door behind him.

  Gates looked to the two left in the room and exhaled. “Well? Suggestions?”

  Blake stood and began to pace. “You’ve documented who shot the first burglar?”

  “Phil Edwards says he did after the suspect, we now know as Les Holden, fired and missed his head by a hair. Fatally wounded, Les Holden shot back at Phil. The fall skewed his aim. That’s when he hit Aaron instead.”

  “How is Aaron?”

  “Still touch and go. Survived the surgery.”

  The room fell silent. Blake let out a long breath through his nose. “First, I’ll interview Phil. He’s above board, though. No doubt in my mind. Where is his weapon?”

  “Forensics lab. Corpse is in the morgue at Mercy. Coroner has retrieved the bullet. They’re doing the analysis now. Phil tested positive for gun powder residue. Aaron did not.”

  “Right. Next, we need to find out who transported Wellington from the hospital to the police station.”

  The chief tilted back in his chair. “Roll call was performed immediately after the incident resolved, along with the mandatory debriefing per my orders. We established where our men were. Can’t be sure about the other towns, though.”

  “Hmm.” Blake rubbed his chin. “How many squads were involved?”

  Gates leaned forward, his chair hinges complaining. He clicked on his computer. “Let’s see. Responses came in from Grayson, Georgetown, Round Rock, Red Oak, and Pflugerville. Also SWAT from Austin.”

  Blake whistled through his teeth.

  “To continue...” Gates peered at him over his readers. “Jorge Gonzales was on duty when Wellington was brought in, along with Amos Branson. Branson discovered the body on his last round before going off duty at o-seven hundred.”

  Blake nodded. “Good man. I trust him.”

  “His file concurs. Top in his class at the academy. Could have gone anywhere.”

  “His family is here.”

  “Ah, makes sense that Amos signed with our department, doesn’t it?” Gates nodded. “As far as the transport, I don’t have an answer. Branson helped with it as well, along with...” He flipped through the papers on his desk. “All it says is one of the arresting officers was from Grayson. Their roll call hasn’t been sent yet, so I can’t narrow that down. What I do know is one of the Grayson force shot Wellington. He and his partner cuffed him, applied pressure to the wound, and stayed until the ambulance came.”

  Blake scrunched his lip to one side. “I wonder exactly how much pressure?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Grayson is a small town, but their policemen are known to be tough. A lot of bikers ride through their streets on the way to the lakes. Brawls are common in the bars along that highway.”

  “Hmmm.” The chief of police rose and walked to the window. “Look at them camped in the parking lot with their cameras and recorders. I even see some of the Dallas and Houston stations’ news crews.” He rocked back on his heels. “It’ll only grow the longer they wait for a report. Perhaps I should address them.”

  Meriwether coaxed him back to his desk. “No need stirring the hornet’s nest, sir.”

  Blake snapped his fingers. “That’s exactly what we should do.”

  “Seriously?” The P.R. man’s jaw twitched.

  “Look, I understand your first instinct is to put a lid on this whole thing, but I suggest we do just the opposite. Gather the mayors and police chiefs of all the cities involved for a powwow to discuss exactly what the councilman wants. How did this episode go right, and where did it go wrong? Invite the reporters. Say in this post 9/11 world, large cities have plans for stuff like this. It is time we small ones did as well. Play up how Red Oak, Round Rock, Pflugerville, Grayson, and Georgetown came to our aid, as well as the SWAT and Crime Teams in Austin.”

  “OK.” Gates sat back down. “Continue.”

  “Take the limelight off the police department. Let Hemphill and I do some digging in the shadows. I know the men, sir. We’ll get to the bottom of this. If there’s any indication the prisoner didn’t take his own life, we’ll uncover it.”

  Meriwether furrowed his brows. “You realize one of your men may be a murderer.”

  Blake swallowed. “Let’s pray not. I imagine protests over this are already in the works. Always are when a cop kills a perp. Much less when the suspect is found dead in his jail cell. Not good.” He pressed his hands on the chief’s desk and locked eyes with him. “Sir, you need to speak out before speculations get out of hand.”

  Gates thought for a moment then shifted his attention to the P.R. man. “He makes sense, Meriwether. Tell the press I’ll address them in ninety-minutes. Set up in the chambers. Invite the mayor and ask the council members to be there as well to show a consolidated front. Then we’ll inform the press we’ll be fact-gathering today and pow-wowing further about this in the morning as the councilman inferred.”

  Blake smiled. “Set the meeting of the minds with the other mayors and police chiefs for tomorrow or the next day, if feasible, sir. You can shine in the spotlight while you place me in the dark for forty-eight h
ours.”

  “Very well, but Blake?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Keep your mother-in-law out of this.”

  Blake scratched his temple. “Begging your pardon, sir. She’s already knee-deep. She’s the one who called in the white van, was at the scene of the robbery, and later offered her home as command central. I’ll have to interview her and her friends.” He straightened his spine. “She may have valuable insight. I hate to say this, but sometimes her graying hair works for her. People tell her things they’d never tell me. She’s the one who discovered there was a suspicious vehicle cruising the neighborhood around the time of one of the robberies. Not one of our investigators.”

  “Blake...”

  He pumped his hands in front of him and tilted his head down. “I know. I know. I’ll keep her and her friends as much on the sidelines as possible. I must remind you, though, it happened in their community. They aren’t going to sit back in their rocking chairs and knit. They were teenagers in the sixties. They protested the war, survived all those assassinations, sang peace songs anyway, and chanted for civil rights.”

  Gates leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I did as well.” He studied the acoustic tiles for a few seconds. “Very well. However, I want to meet with her before I decide. Have her here by eleven today, but don’t tell her why. No sense getting her all stirred up. Now go. You have a psych eval to complete.”

  Blake heaved a sigh. “Yes, sir. Can’t it be postponed under the circumstances? It’ll take up to five hours of valuable time.”

  He shook his head. “Protocol. Sorry.” He turned his attention to the P.R. man. “In the meantime, Meriwether, convince the mayor we need to do this co-council pow-wow thing.” He pointed his pen at the man’s chest. “As you stated, the sooner, the better, right?”

  Meriwether’s face turned beet red at the parroted jab. He exited the room in a huff.

  Blake muffled his chuckle over the chief of police’s verbal slap. He saluted and left the office.

  Meriwether caught up with him in the hall. “This scheme of yours better work, Johnson.”

  Blake turned to face the P.R. man. “It’s your job to see that it does, isn’t it? So, let me do mine. OK, Meriwether?”