“More space for us would work as well,” the officer agreed. “There were only, what, six on the force when it was built? We’re tripping over each other.”
The sketch artist cleared her throat. “Uh, gentlemen? Perhaps we need to get back to this sketch? I’m getting paid by the hour, including travel time.”
~*~
An hour later, Blake left with the sketch in hand. Maybe now he’d receive answers. Before he went to Grayson, he decided to visit Ethel at her condo. He glanced at his watch. He was already running late by fifteen minutes. He texted her as he walked to the car. Sorry. On my way. Be there in ten.
She greeted him at the door, all smiles, her eyes bright as a child’s on Christmas morning. “Come in. Come in. What can I get ya? Coffee? Water?”
Blake raised his hand. “I’m fine. I don’t have much time, but I want to ask you something. How would you like to be on the Internal Affairs Committee investigating the manhunt?”
He half-expected her to faint. She almost did. He caught her elbow and eased her into her chair.
“You all right?”
Ethel gave him a giant grin of anticipation. “Absolutely. Read me in.”
He snickered at her investigative cop-show slang. “Very well. Here are the reports I have so far. Why don’t you review them while I make a run to Grayson? I’ll be back in two hours, tops. After I return, I’ll answer any questions you have.”
She jumped up and grabbed her purse. “Why don’t I go with you? It’d save time.”
Blake laid his hands on her shoulders. “No can do. Sorry. You’re not to help gather evidence, just review it in an unbiased manner.”
“Oh, very well.” She opened the front door.
He placed his Stetson on his head and peered into her eyes. “One thing. You can’t discuss this case with anyone. Not Janie, not Betsy Ann. Got it?”
“May I ask why?”
“Unbiased, remember? They are prime witnesses.”
She raised her chin. “Right. Got it.” She ran her thumb and forefinger across her lip, mimicking a zipper.
Blake winked. “Good girl. I’ll inform Janie so she understands as well. See ya in a few.”
Driving away, he caught her peering out of her living room window, clutching the folder to her chest and waving wildly. Oh, boy. Lord, tell me I’ve done the right thing.
NINETEEN
Janie looked at the map she’d copied from Mrs. Jacob’s office again. Something tickled her brain the way one of Mrs. Fluffy’s airborne-hairs often did when they landed under her nose. What escaped her memory? She closed her eyes and envisioned the events of that night for the fifth time. Running toward Annie’s place. Being met by Mike Martin. George and Betsy Ann...well, yes, they were both in the bedroom with the lights off. Not her business to judge. Knowing her friends as she did, she believed their explanation that nothing happened.
She clenched her eyelids tighter. To continue. Huddled in the carport, all the sirens, police footsteps. Bam, Bam. The shadowy figure dashing past headed for the golf course.
Her eyes flew open. That’s it! Why did they assume the burglar ran by them? The yellow light bulbs maintenance installed in all the carports to ward off insects had hampered a clear view. Several of the police force had shown up that night in civilian clothing. Detectives, off duty officers. In fact, hadn’t a plain-clothed cop flashed his badge and followed Phil Edwards around the corner? It would make more sense if he’d been the one they saw running by.
Yes, that had to be it. However, the man they saw ran west toward the fourth hole of the golf course. The Grayson cops apprehended Wellington in West Woods, which, despite the name, ran mostly to the south of Sunset Acres. She pondered that as she traced her finger over the map. The plain-clothed cop went down the alley to try and cut the suspect off who probably had hightailed it down the street in front of the condos. Perhaps the suspect switched directions, ran toward the south, and sought shelter in the dense trees. She guessed she’d do the same under the circumstances. Yes, her new theory made sense.
She tapped in Betsy Ann’s phone number. Her friend answered on the second ring.
“Janie, what’s up?”
“I want to wander around West Wood to see if there are any clues the police might have overlooked. Want to come? I think having a buddy tag along might be a sound idea.”
“Well, George is picking me up in ten minutes. We were going to the outlet mall to buy his great niece a birthday present. Perhaps we could spare an hour or so before we shop.”
“Super. I need to go over what you two recall anyway. Two birds with the same stone. Do you want me to walk over to your place?”
“That works. Won’t it still be taped off, though? I mean where they shot the guy.”
Janie thought for a moment. “Possibly. Guess we’ll find out. I’m more interested in determining from which direction he entered the woods. I’ll explain on the way.”
~*~
The Grayson Chief of Police scratched his head. “Well, I hate to admit it, but this guy doesn’t ring a bell.” He spat some chew into a paper cup. “Then again it might be Jess Maxwell. He has about twenty two hundred acres to the southwest. Deputized him a few years back. His daddy before him, until he suffered a debilitating stroke. Let me review the roll call again.”
Blake waited as the man thumbed through the rat’s nest on his desk, searching for the piece of paper. Blake glanced at the clock. Two fifteen. Day two. In the Bible, Joshua prayed for God to stop the sun, and He did. Would God do that for him? Nah, probably not.
“You say he identified himself as a Grayson cop to your officer?”
Blake shifted his weight to his other foot. “Yep. Told Officer Branson he rode in the ambulance to make sure the guy got locked up, or you’d have his hide. The perp seemed to recognize him as being one of the arresting officers in the woods. However, Amos says the name your officer gave to the nurses at the hospital wasn’t Jamison, but similar. He figured in the confusion of the night he’d heard him wrong the first time.” He flipped through his notes. “Um, you know a James Smith?”
The chief scoffed. “Yeah, he lives down the road from John Doe.”
A rush of ice water coursed through Blake’s veins. “So, you’re saying...”
The chief leaned back and sighed. “’Fraid so. Not our guy.”
Blake’s knees buckled. He eased into the chair opposite the cluttered desk. “In that case, who shot Wellington?”
The chief pressed his fingers together. “Exactly my question. Guess I need to call everyone in.” He leaned toward the intercom and clicked it on. “Angie. Roll call. Thirty minutes. Everyone in the breakroom, on or off duty.” His chair creaked as he shoved his spine into it. “I gather you want to stick around?”
“Yes.” Blake pushed up the cuff on his shirt and studied his watch. “First I need to make a few phone calls.”
The chief of police swallowed. “So do I. Mayor’s gonna flip out.”
Blake gave him a look of deep sympathy. He rose from the seat. “May I suggest we e-mail or fax this sketch to Red Oak, Round Rock, Georgetown, and Pflugerville? I’m going to contact my chief to go through their roll calls he received just in case. Someone out here has to recognize this guy.”
“Hand it over.” He walked Blake out and gave the sketch to his clerk. “This goes out ASAP to every police station in a hundred-mile radius. Ask if anyone can I.D. him. If no one can, try two hundred miles.”
The clerk saluted as he bounced a glance between the two superiors. “What about the state association of police officers?”
Blake turned to the Grayson chief, who nodded. Blake placed a hand on the clerk’s shoulders. “Great idea, rookie. Ask for Andrew Mayes. He knows everyone.” He turned to the chief. “Breakroom’s this way, right?”
He walked down the hall as he punched in Chief Gates’s cell phone number. He needed a strong cup of coffee and a gooey candy bar. Two aspirins wouldn’t hurt either.
TWE
NTY
Janie stood on Betsy Ann’s stoop, about to knock, when she heard George’s baritone voice behind her. “Hey, pretty lady. Do I have the pleasure of your company as well this afternoon?”
She smiled. “Only for a bit before she drags you shopping.”
He rocked back and laughed. “Well, I need Betsy Ann’s expertise. I have no idea what to buy a twelve-year-old going on thirty.”
Janie shrugged. “Who does? Betsy Ann will have a clue, though.”
As if on cue, Betsy Ann opened the door all smiles and cheek dimples. Janie caught a twinkle in George’s eyes.
George rocked on his heels. “Hello, my dear. My, don’t you look positively enchanting today.”
Betsy Ann’s cheeks reddened. “Are you two coming in, or are all three of us headed out?”
George knitted his eyebrows.
Janie sniggered. “Betsy Ann volunteered you both to accompany me into West Woods. It shouldn’t take more than an hour. While we walk, I want you two to recall step by step what you saw that night.”
“But you were there as well.”
“True, George. But you may recall something I don’t.”
Betsy Ann closed her door and edged toward George’s ear. “She’s been commissioned by Chief Gates to investigate.”
“Well, well. We have come up in the world.” George shook Janie’s hand.
Janie cocked her head. “It’s not in an official capacity. Blake’s in charge of getting the internal affairs investigation well underway before he leaves on vacation, so Jonathan, er, Chief Gates has asked me to do a little bit of info gathering on the burglary.”
George winked and mouthed the name “Jonathan” to Betsy Ann who in return pressed her lips together, obviously to avoid a giggle from escaping.
Janie chose to ignore their reaction and waltzed down the sidewalk.
They strolled down the block to Sunrise Court, and then onto the golf course. Along the way, Janie asked them to describe the man who ran by them. Their vagueness matched her own.
“Why do you want to know?” George halted and waited for her answer.
“Because, we all assumed, if I may venture to say, he was one of the burglars. What if he was a plain-clothed cop?”
Her two friends turned to each other, wide-eyed.
Janie lifted her chin. “Exactly. We can’t be sure.”
“If he wasn’t one of the burglars, then...?”
“Then, Betsy Ann, he was headed in the direction he saw one of them escape. Which doesn’t jibe.”
George snapped his fingers. “Because the robber was shot in the West Woods, south of the golf course.”
“Correct. So, he would have changed directions and crossed the creek. I want to see if we can find out where.” She screwed her mouth to one side. “Of course, there may be another scenario.”
George flashed her a puzzled expression. “What?”
“Wellington could have been the third burglar. Perhaps the driver of the van? He ran when the gunshots sounded. Which means the second burglar got away.”
“Would not the police already have determined that, Janie?”
“Possibly, George. Can’t be sure. Wellington didn’t match the description of the man we saw. So, either the man we saw was a third suspect or a cop.” She stopped at the edge of the golf course and shaded the sun from her eyes. “Let’s say Wellington ran south instead of west, which would put him in the vicinity of the woods. Would any of the neighbors along Sunrise Court have heard him? Perhaps one of their dogs reacted?”
George huffed. “With all the sirens and commotion, I imagine every pooch in the community was howling.”
Janie’s shoulders slumped. “True. There must be some way to determine where he went.”
He pointed. “I surmise he followed the creek. He may have even waded in it to hide his scent, just like in the movies.”
“Then so shall we.”
“Wade in the creek?” Betsy Ann looked at her slinky, rhinestone sandals. “I don’t think so. Not in these.”
Janie shoved her hands to her hips. “I told you I wanted to scope out the woods. Why didn’t you wear your tennis shoes?”
She pouted. “I forgot.”
Janie felt her face heat. “Since George has come into the picture, your brain has often left. Never mind.”
Betsy Ann narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Come on, George. We have shopping to do.” She yanked him by the arm and began to stomp back to the condos.
Janie harrumphed and walked in the opposite direction toward the creek, her breaths short and sharp through her nose. Oh, how that woman could get on her nerves. She stomped her foot and felt a sharp pain. It raced to her heart and tore it a tiny bit. It reminded her how helpful Betsy Ann had been when her hurt ankle laid her up. The giggles they’d shared over the years and the fun Bunco games. The morning power walks and conversations about everything and nothing at all. As she searched the ground for any clue someone had passed by the creek, she ignored the emotional ache. But her conscience niggled her more and more. She stopped, pulled out her phone and speed dialed Betsy Ann’s number.
“Yes?” Her friend’s voice quivered a bit.
“Oh, Betsy Ann. I’m so very sorry. That was horrid of me.”
“It’s OK, Janie.”
“No, no it’s not.” She leaned against a tree. “Truth is, I think I’m a tad jealous of the fact you have George in your life.”
“What about Jonathan?” She sang-sung his name.
“I have no earthly idea what you mean.” Her anger rose again, but she swallowed it down. “Look, you two have fun at the mall. I hope you find his niece the perfect present. And apologize to George for me too, OK?”
Her voice softened. “I will. And I hope you find a good clue. See you tomorrow morning for our walk?”
“Sure thing,” Janie clicked off. The tightness in her chest eased.
She spotted something reflecting the sunshine in the stream. She bent over the bank and reached under the shallow current in between wedges of river stones. Her hands grasped a small, rectangular object. She yanked it out and rose to her feet.
A cell phone. What on earth? Could it be a burner that someone chucked during the chase?
~*~
Arnie rubbed his hand down his face. The dispatch radio lit up with every police force in the area calling in their men and women to report pronto. Figures. Explains why both perps had to buy it and Joe as well. Too many tongues might wag, and the whole plan would explode like a spray can in the noonday summer sun. He texted a message. Problem with radio. Need repair ASAP.
The response came within a minute. Wires faulty. Bring it to repair shop in three hours.
He pocketed the phone, left a substantial tip on the counter next to his half-eaten cheeseburger and strolled out of the diner. Things were turning sour too fast. Had the boss anticipated this?
He could disobey orders and disappear. Trouble was, he needed the last installment in order to do that. Ten thousand for this job meant all the difference in his life. He’d already wired the first five to the loan shark to partially cover his gambling debt. Two more were due by midnight tomorrow or his family would be in danger. He didn’t doubt the threat. He’d seen what this guy’s goons could do. Filed many an investigative report on their handiwork in the past, so he knew full well they didn’t bluff.
That would leave three―enough for his wife to get by for a few months while he lived off the streets in some big metropolis. Best way to become invisible. He’d hop a bus and head to Los Angeles or New York. In a year or so he could surface and land a minimum wage job where they did little background checks, if any. Fast food or day labor. Not how he planned his life to turn out, but it would have to do.
His wife and kids deserved better than the loser he’d become. Time to cut bait. He reached his hand inside his jacket pocket and felt the divorce papers he’d paid a not-so-reputable attorney to draw up. Best all around.
Arnie spread the folds out a
gainst the side of the building and scrawled his name. He refolded it and stuffed it back in the envelope. On the way out of town, he’d drop that and the cash in the mail slot for her to find.
Arnie pinched his nose to stave off the tears and walked down the street, away from his life.
TWENTY-ONE
Connor Hemphill took the call. He motioned to Phil Edwards. “Got a floater.”
Edwards looked up from his mountain of paperwork. “Who?”
“Male. Approximately forty years old. Shot execution style from the back, right through the heart. Fingerprints scraped off, and teeth knocked out, too. Ready for your first case?”
“I guess.” The newbie detective grabbed his jacket and followed his partner, who tapped on Hornsby’s door.
“We’re headed out. Looks like a new murder.”
Hornsby peered at him over his computer monitor. “Where?”
“San Gabriel River. They just pulled him out.”
“Really?” Hornsby’s eyes narrowed. He returned his attention to the computer screen. “When it rains, it pours. Keep me posted. I have to report to Gates in a few.”
“Right.” Connor motioned for Edwards to follow him down the hall to the parking lot. He stopped with his hand on the knob.
“Something wrong?”
“Nah. It’s...well. Blake always wants to come when there’s a new crime scene. Figured Hornsby would as well. But hey, to each his own.” He pushed the fire door open and headed outside. “Newly back on duty, he’s probably trying to get up to speed by reviewing all the recent cases.”
Ten minutes later, the two detectives pulled up and parked on the shoulder of the road above the riverbank. They slapped plastic covers over their shoes and put on disposable gloves before they shuffled down the short bluff. The coroner was already bent over the body and two patrol officers corded off the area to protect the crime scene.
Threes, Sixes & Thieves Page 10