“I think we need to resort to the inside track at the exercise center. I know it’s boring going around it twenty-eight times to equal a mile, but at least it is air conditioned.” Ethel fanned herself.
Betsy Ann puffed through her cheeks. “Agreed.”
“Let’s head over there to finish up then.” Janie changed directions and strutted up Sunset Drive, her pace slower this time. Ethel and Betsy Ann walked along side.
“You’re certain you feel up to hosting Bunco tonight?”
Janie set her chin. “Absolutely, Ethel. Before that, however, I want to go over all those petition reports again.”
Betsy Ann tilted her head. “Didn’t we turn those in to Mrs. Jacobs to discuss with the board?”
“The petitions, yes. Not the reports. I want to discover who else may have spotted the mysterious white van. I’m hoping one of them can tell us how many people they saw inside. The Walkers couldn’t recall when I asked them about it.”
Ethel shook her head. “Two would be my guess, because they usually only have that many seats in the front. Which means a third could have been in the back.”
“That’s true. Hmmm.”
Betsy Ann waved her hand as they entered the parking lot. “Ooh, maybe the burglars stopped off at the Get ‘em and Go. Perhaps, Ethel, if you could get hold of the sketches we could query the clerks?”
“Well, I do have the folder Blake copied for me. It does have a picture of both perps. Nonetheless, why would they stop off for a fountain drink on the way to a robbery? Doesn’t fit the normal M.O.”
“The what?”
“Modus operandi. Normal behavior of a criminal, Betsy Ann.”
“Oh, my. You and your lingo, Ethel.”
Janie switched her weight. “Ethel, perhaps it would be best if you stayed out of this investigation.”
“Why is that, Janie?”
“You need to remain unbiased, right? You promised to stay out of this.”
Ethel made a raspberry sound. “Now when have you ever known me to do anything like that?”
She opened the glass doors to the recreation center and waltzed toward the exercise area.
Janie frowned as Betsy Ann covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
As they swished their hips around the room, they caught the local morning news on the TVs angled for the exercisers to view. A perky news anchor peered into the monitor. “Police still have not identified the man found shot and bound in the San Gabriel River day before yesterday just south of Tejas Park. A reliable source has told our reporters he appeared to be in his mid to late forties with black hair and a stocky build, approximately five-foot seven or eight. He may have been involved in criminal activities. If anyone knows of a missing person that matches this description, contact Detective Connor Hemphill at the Alamoville Police Department.”
Ethel came to a sudden stop. Betsy Ann and Janie barely missed slamming into her back. She spun to face them. “Did you hear that? The man they found floating in the river matches your burglar’s description.”
Betsy Ann sighed. “Yes. Janie told Detective Hemphill and he told Hornsby. Hornsby discounted it because half of the men in this county match that description, right Janie?”
Janie raised her forefinger. “Ah, but most of them haven’t disappeared, have they?” She dug her cell phone out of her pocket. “I’m calling Connor right now.”
~*~
Connor sighed when the caller identification popped onto his phone’s screen. Blake had been gone only two hours and already Janie was bugging him. He stared at it through three rings, then decided to answer before the call went to voice mail. He swallowed and smiled into the phone. He’d heard in a public relations seminar that tactic made your voice sound friendlier. “Hey, Janie. What ya need?”
“Connor, I just heard on the news a vague description of the criminal they drug out of the river.”
“Now, Janie. We don’t know that specifically...”
“Well, I do. Because as I told you, it fits the description of the man George, Betsy Ann, and I saw that night in the alley. The night Officer Jenkins got shot.”
“True, Janie, but...”
“Look, has anyone reported a person missing that matches that description?”
“No.”
“Well, then. That proves my point. Nobody is going to report a criminal missing. Obviously, your floater wasn’t some loser who gambled too much and couldn’t pay off his marker.”
Connor shifted the phone to his other ear and grabbed a pen. “You have a point. Unless the guy is from out of town. I’ll scan the missing persons in other Texas metropolises and see if we get a match.”
“That’s what I’d do. Want me to help out? I have Gate’s permission, remember?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you know. Just to be clear, you are absolutely positive you did not identify Jacob Wellington running past you in that alley?”
“Without a doubt. Betsy Ann as well. Ethel showed us Wellington’s driver’s license picture and Betsy Ann agreed he looked nothing like the one who dashed by us toward the golf course.”
“Ethel?”
“Blake gave it to her as part of the files she should review. She’s on the I.A. committee.”
He rubbed his forehead. Great.
“Connor? Any word on the phone I found?”
“No, not yet. I.T. in Austin is backed up. That’s where we had to send it.”
“Oh.” Her voice dropped.
“It did have Wellington’s prints on it, though. That much we do know.”
“And no one else’s?”
Hemphill grinned. “Yes, one other.”
“Who? Who?”
He couldn’t hold it inside any longer. He sputtered a laugh. “Yours, Janie.”
She harrumphed loud and clear. “Very funny. So how can we determine why Jacob Wellington hid in West Woods? Perhaps the man we three observed ran to meet him?”
“To be determined. It’s not my case anymore, remember?”
“Here’s the weird thing, Connor. When Phil Edwards pulled Betsy Ann and George from the window and then headed around to the front, another cop in plain clothes followed him.”
Connor sat up straight in his chair. “You sure?”
“Yeah, though I didn’t get a good look at him. He did have a weapon drawn, though and I’m pretty sure he flashed a badge.”
“Hmmm.” Connor edged forward and grabbed another notepad. “It sounds like that front lawn was more crowded than I thought. Wonder who he was? Phil didn’t mention him, nor did Aaron.”
“I definitely remember seeing him.”
“Maybe the second burglar did as well, and when he saw Wellington downed by the police in the woods, he hightailed it.”
“Wouldn’t you, Connor?”
“I suppose.” He chewed on the end of his pen.
“Are you ready for this? He also matches the description of the guy we saw run down the alley. I’m thinking he’s one and the same, not another burglar.”
“So now you think this cop ended up in the San Gabriel two days later, Janie? Assuming it is the same guy.”
“Correction, Connor. The father and son found him two days later. Did the coroner determine how long he’d been fish bait?”
“Janie, really. That’s disrespectful.” He pressed his lips together to hold in a laugh.
“And so will you be if you don’t answer my question.”
Whoa. The woman had spunk—he had to give her that. A whole new respect for Blake Johnson began to surface in his mind. Man, the things he had to put up with continually with Janie as his relative.
“Let me verify.” He pulled up the report on his computer. “Twenty-four to thirty hours. Rigor mortis had peaked and declined. The river’s temperature was around seventy-six, so the coroner stated the decomposition would be at a fairly normal rate...”
“Which means he would have been killed the day after Wellington had been arrested.”
A
chill went up his back. He shook it off. “Can’t be certain they’re one and the same, though. The description you gave is vague and could fit dozens of men.”
“So, I keep hearing. Suppose there’s no way for me to glance at the post mortem photos?”
“Janie, trust me. You don’t want to. They’re kinda gross. The catfish and turtles had already enjoyed a feast.”
“Oh, I understand.” She paused. “No matter. The man we witnessed wore a black hoodie anyway. Or perhaps navy blue. And dark slacks. They could have been dark blue or black jeans. But we all believe they were blue. Does that help?”
Why did that strike a bell? “Possibly. Look, Janie, I have to run. Anything else?”
“No, but if I think of anything...”
“Later, then. Bye.” He hung up. Phil Edwards walked in with two cups of coffee and set one on Connor’s desk. He nodded. “Thanks, man. Say, does a black hoodie mean anything to you?”
“Other than the one worn by the second perp?” Edwards took a long sip. “A Houston cop was found in a burnt-out car in a gully up near the lakes west of Austin. He wore one. Guess they’re fairly common.”
“Really, do you have a name?”
Phil thumbed through the reports on his desk. “Ah, here it is. A Joe Balantini. Been on the force twenty-four years. Age forty-three. Must have joined the academy right after high school.” Phil shrugged. “I almost did as well, but my parents insisted I get a college degree.”
“Me, too.” Connor slurped his java.
“Really? Anyway, it says he came to the Austin area on an undercover assignment. At least that is what he told the wife.” Phil wiggled his eyebrows. “Car VIN confirmed it belonged to him. Traces of his wallet and watch found as well. And his favorite black hoodie, though it was pretty charred.” He stated the last sentence with emphasis.
“Foul play?”
“Nah. Dude left a suicide note in a flea bag hotel on South Lamar in Austin.”
Connor got up and came over to Phil Edward’s desk. “By any chance did he have dark hair, weigh about two twenty and stand about five-seven?”
Edwards slapped the paper down. “Howja know that?”
“Same description of the guy pulled from the river a day earlier.”
The rookie whistled. “What are the odds? Kinda fits the description of the second burglar, too.”
“Which is why Janie’s already called today.”
Edwards snapped his fingers. “Say, and the plain-clothed cop who responded with me at the scene out of the blue and then disappeared in the confusion? I think he might be a close fit as well. Hoodie included.”
“At the time, you thought he’d gone to check out the van.”
“What if he didn’t? You thinkin’ what I am?”
“You had a concentrated bead on Holden. The other cop could have slipped out of your peripheral vision…”
“And chased after Wellington who bolted from the van when he approached.”
Connor slapped him on the back. “Right. See, you do have a nose for being a detective.”
Edwards blushed.
Connor knitted his brows. “Still it is uncanny we have three reports of what seems to be the same guy. Not possible. You can’t be dead twice in two different places.”
“Yeah, and the Houston cop did himself in.”
“Unless someone silenced him and made it look that way. Just as they did Wellington. Wait, the man and his son who discovered our floater. They were from Houston and he said the dead man looked vaguely familiar.” He rubbed his chin. “You are sure the guy was a cop, right?”
“No doubt about it. I saw his badge. At first I thought he might be a private eye or off duty security responding.”
“Which is why he doesn’t show up in any of the roll calls.”
“Right. But neither did the sandy haired Grayson cop Amos states downed Wellington.” Edwards furrowed his brow. “This case is getting weird.”
Connor tapped his finger onto the desk. “Perhaps this undercover detective from Houston, Joe Balantini, and our mystery man later found in the San Gabriel, who our father and son identified as also being from Houston, had been tailing Holden. We have no record of him hitting houses betwen 2012 and three months ago, but it may mean he switched cities for a while and never got caught.”
“You think so? Two cops matching the same description?”
“Why not? Like Hornsby said, dark hair and stocky describes a bunch of people.” Connor stood and started to pace. “Look, Weldon may have been a small cog in a bigger machine, and these two cops were close to discovering who was doing the cranking. So they both had to be eliminated. One in the river, the other in his car made to look like suicide. Run the DNA through the database again, but not on perps in Houston. On the police department files.”
“How do we get hold of that? It’s not supposed to be our case anymore, remember?”
“It is if the cop who followed you and the guy in the river are the same one. I’ll get Hornsby to make the call.”
He gulped his coffee and knocked on the temporary chief detective’s door. Hornsby raised a finger and pointed to his ear, which pressed against the receiver of his phone. Connor rocked on his toes as he waited. Janie, I apologize. You may have hit the nail on the head without realizing it. No wonder Blake listens to you.
~*~
Janie tried on three outfits before deciding which one to wear for her dinner date, er, meeting with Chief Gates. She decided on a navy-blue skirt that swirled slightly at her calves. A white lace sleeveless blouse under a sheer navy overlay with longer folds in the front finished the ensemble. She slipped on her white, summer dress sandals and inserted her lapis earring drops through the pierced holes in her ears. She clasped the matching bracelet, a tenth anniversary gift from Jack, over her wrist and sighed. Was there a psychological reason she wore jewelry given as a gift by her late husband? No, of course not. It matched her outfit. Most of her jewelry box sported either pieces he gave her or ones she’d inherited from her mother. No big deal.
The doorbell rang, and she greeted her escort. “Good evening, Jonathan. Right on time.”
“Punctuality was pounded into me at an early age.” He stepped back as his eyes traveled the length of her. “My. You do look fetching.” A rosy tint etched his face. “Do they still say that?”
She laughed. “My grandchildren say ‘sick,’ but I’m glad you didn’t choose that adjective.”
He swished a bouquet of long-stemmed pink roses nestled in baby’s breath from behind his back. “For you. In gratitude for your willingness to dine with me and in anticipation of a wonderful evening.”
For once, Janie’s tongue would not move. She sputtered a thank you and went to place them in water. When she returned, he stood on the threshold, his eyes scanning her living room. “Very pleasant décor. Cozy, but tasteful and classic.” He extended his elbow. “Shall we?”
“OK.” She locked her front entry and walked down the sidewalk on his arm.
When they got to his car, he added, “I thought we’d try the Cow Lick.”
Janie widened her eyes. “Steak?”
He stopped with his hand on the door handle. “If you aren’t supposed to eat red meat, they have fish and chicken as well.”
She brushed the thought away. “Oh, no. I love a good steak. I just didn’t expect you to take me to a place where reservations were required.”
He shot her a wolfish grin as his eyes dropped to watch her swivel her legs inside the car. “Where else would I take a lovely lady?”
“Um, I thought we were meeting about the case?”
He bent to face her. “There’s nothing saying we can’t also enjoy ourselves, is there?”
As he closed the door, Janie huffed a long breath and pulled her skirt over her knees. What had she gotten herself into? Thank goodness, she always carried a twenty-dollar bill folded up in her coin purse for emergencies. In case she needed a taxi. She hoped he’d given up alcohol as her Jack fin
ally did. Probably. Many a young cop indulged, but the seasoned ones either learned to cope or were drummed out for being under the influence too much to do their jobs.
She made a decision as she watched him round the car to his side. Tonight would be all business. Don’t bring up the past unless he connects the dots. And do not succumb to his charms.
Janie made a mental list. Discuss her suspected link between the hooded man and the one in the river. Go over what the Sunset Acres community might do to help. What about the white van? Surely, it had been impounded and checked over thoroughly. Did the fingerprints found on the phone match any in it?
As long as she steered the conversation, what could go wrong?
TWENTY-SEVEN
Connor pushed his food around on his plate, his breathing shallow.
“What is it, Connor?” His wife laid down her fork. “Something has you stirring the stew pot. Literally.”
He removed his napkin from his lap and slapped it on top of the table. “It’s Mitch Hornsby. I swear the man diverts everything I bring to him. I’m beginning to take it personally.”
“For example?”
He rubbed his neck. “Today Blake Johnson’s mother-in-law called. She made a semi-valid connection between the man she saw dash away on the night Jenkins was shot and the man we fished out of the San Gabriel.”
“She’s the one Blake warned you about, right?”
He wobbled his hand from side to side. “Warn is too strong. Cautioned, perhaps. Though he did tell me some of her harebrained schemes do end up being spot on.” He flipped his knife back and forth. “Well, then Phil tells me of this Houston cop who apparently committed suicide by launching his sedan over a guardrail up by the lakes.”
“Oh, dear. Was he married?”
Connor laid his hand over his wife’s. “Yeah. But kids are grown. No grandkids.” He squeezed her fingers and then released them to take another gulp from his glass. “Anyway, that guy’s description also matched. So, I ask Mitch to get the Houston P.D.’s permission to look at their database to see if by some chance the dude’s story jibed. He’d told his wife he was in Austin on an undercover assignment.”
Threes, Sixes & Thieves Page 14