Threes, Sixes & Thieves

by Cosgrove, Julie B;

  “Go on...”

  “Well, we’d hit a dead end on matching the perps in Houston to the face the computer generated on our river John Doe. Then I recalled the dad who discovered the body being from Houston and stating he recognized him, but couldn’t recall when or where. At first, I thought perhaps from TV news. I mean the dude had been professionally hit. Like a drug deal gone bad or something.”

  “So, you think he was a cop from Houston as well, and that the other one didn’t commit suicide?”

  Connor grinned. “I have such a smart wife.”

  She blushed. “Then why did Hornsby squelch it?”

  Connor shrugged. “Too thin. Not enough to go by. No motive. Didn’t want to call the chief detective in the big city of Houston,” he faked a salute, “and then end up with egg all over his face.”

  “Well, honey...”

  Connor pushed back his chair. “Yeah, yeah. He’s right. Besides, the Austin P.D.’s coroner ruled it suicide. End of case and not ours. So why does it niggle the back of my brain?”

  She smiled. “Because you’re loyal to Blake. He recommended you be promoted to detective. You never knew Hornsby before he got shot. I think you might be bucking his authority just a tad.”

  He stood and kissed the crown of her head. “Perhaps.”

  She rose as well. “I’ll fix you a nice cup of decaf and bring it to your study. If you want dinner later it’ll be in the fridge.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You are the best, you know that?”

  “Yes, but I’m glad to hear you admit it.” She winked as she pushed her chair to the table. “I have that neighborhood beautification committee meeting tonight. I’ll be home by ten. Tess and Amy are at Belle’s ninth birthday party. They all went to see the latest animated movie. Then they’ll sleep over.”

  A grin spread across his lips. “I’ll wait up for you, then.”

  She winked. “You’d better, mister.”

  ~*~

  Jonathan pulled out the chair for Janie, waited for her to be seated and then gently eased it closer to the table. The steak house aromas enveloped her senses. Across from them a young couple held hands, their faces illuminated by the candlelight from the centerpiece votive. Jonathan flicked his napkin into his lap. “Ah, young love. So unaware of what lies ahead.”

  “A blessing, don’t you think? Still, I wouldn’t trade one minute of my life with Jack.”

  His lips curled into a tender smile. “We were on the force together in Austin. I made detective a year before him. Didn’t run into each other much, though. My beat was north of Koenig Boulevard in the suburbs. He had downtown and south of the river, poor man,”

  “Where all the hippies hung out.”

  Jonathan laughed. “Still do.”

  Together they chimed the familiar city’s slogan. “Keep Austin weird.”

  “So, you do remember me?”

  “It took a moment. Barbecue party, right? You ended up in the pool when you were pregnant, and I almost ended up in a fight with Jack. I learned my lesson that night. Watch the booze. It can sneak up on you.” He raised his water glass. “So, thank you. Belatedly.”

  For a few minutes, they chatted about the old Austin during the days of Janis Joplin and the Armadillo music hall. Both had fond memories of family times at Zilker Park, Barton Springs, and the Night Hawk Restaurant on South Congress. A camaraderie of shared pasts hovered over their meal. Janie, feeling a bit uncomfortable over the nostalgia bonding, chose to change the subject.

  “Jonathan, need I remind you Blake often uses my investigative skills to help on the peripheral edge of cases? So, did Jack.”

  He reared back and chuckled into his napkin. “Which is why I’ve asked you to report to me. So where is this leading, dear lady?”

  She wiggled forward just as their salads arrived. After their waiter left, she continued, “Now mind you this is simply a theory in the works...”

  He held up his hand. “Let’s pray over our food and the evening first. All right?”

  She blushed. “Oh, um, of course.”

  He offered a simply worded blessing. Janie silently sighed in relief that he’d not wanted to hold her hand. When he said amen, she cracked open one eye.

  His gaze bore into her as he forked a piece of lettuce doused in ranch dressing. “Now, tell me what’s churning in that marvelous brain of yours.”

  She explained her theory of the mystery cop and the one found in the river as he chomped on his salad. “So, what do you think?” She stabbed a cherry tomato and plopped it in her mouth.

  He wiped his lips. “First, Hornsby is correct. There isn’t enough evidence to assume the two men were the same. He is an excellent detective and I trust his instincts when it comes to following leads.”

  She sighed.

  “I think the waters have muddied too much. We need to get back to the basic query. Why were three residences with similar street numbers targeted?” Jonathan wiped his mouth. “However, digging through the archives to find any similar crimes to these threes and sixes burglaries in Sunset Acres would be time-consuming work. That’s where you should concentrate your efforts and that of your friends. Expand out to other cities in Central Texas, and if you don’t see anything, try Houston and San Antonio.”

  “Very well.” She slumped over her salad plate. “That will take a while.”

  He reached for her fingers and squeezed them. “This is vital investigative work. I want to determine if Weldon worked alone or was part of a larger network. The department will greatly appreciate your help in that regard. Nonetheless, Janie, bring everything to me, not Hornsby or Hemphill. I have my reasons. Please don’t ask me to elaborate.”

  “Politics, right?”

  “You might say so. I agree the public has the right to know, but at times, the press really can get in the way of an investigation and set it back weeks.”

  She punched a few lettuce leaves with her fork. “And if word got out a bunch of Bunco biddies were helping you...”

  He waggled his finger. “I didn’t indicate anything of the sort.”

  Janie grinned.

  After dinner, Jonathan dropped her off. He walked her to the door but only shook her hand and thanked her for her brainstorming. Then he walked down her path and drove away.

  She leaned onto the closed front door, kicked off her heels, and let out a long exhale. Her cat rubbed her jowls on Janie’s stocking feet. She reached down and lifted the cat to her shoulder. “Well, Ms. Fluffy. Been a while since I spent the evening across the dining table with a handsome man my age.” She shook off the dreaminess creeping into her thoughts. “Back to business, and pronto. The man definitely is playing games with me, and I won’t have it.”

  Janie set the feline onto the couch and made one phone call. Then she paced back and forth in her living room until the clock struck ten. The doorbell rang. She opened it to find Betsy Ann and George on the stoop. “Thank you both for dashing over here.”

  “Tell us what’s up, dear woman?”

  “George, I truly think Hemphill may be on to something. I don’t understand why Mitch Hornsby is shoving it under the rug. And tonight, at dinner, Jonathan, um, Chief of Police Gates, might have well patted me on the head and given me a lollipop. At first, I was flattered he wanted me to report to him. Now, I think it was a ruse to take me out. He brought me roses.”

  “Well, Janie,” George glanced at Betsy Ann and then continued, “you are an attractive widow. And you did get Blake in a bit of hot water, so perhaps he had second thoughts about getting you involved.”

  “True, but you see, Jonathan and Jack knew each other. We go way back.”

  Betsy Ann’s eyes widened. “Oh, so he’s that Gates. Well, well.”

  George’s bushy eyebrows became one line of white fuzziness.

  “Never mind, dear. I’ll fill you in later.” She turned back to Janie. “Maybe you have it backward, Janie. It’s because he remembers Jack that he wants you to be on the case, but he must trea
d lightly with the mayor breathing down his neck. So, he pretends to date you instead.”

  “Seriously?”

  “The roses are pink, which stands for friendship and gratitude—not red for romance.”

  “I don’t know...But then again, after a few traipses down memory lane, our conversation did become more professional.”

  George interceded. “Then the man wants you on board. After all, Hornsby’s plate is getting rather full, I’d think. He’s just back from leave, and he has to not only oversee all the open cases but take over the internal affairs investigation for Blake, correct?”

  Janie stopped, her hands thrust on her hips. “Which Ethel is helping with and can’t discuss in detail. So she remains unbiased. I can’t discuss anything with her. It is as if a brick wall is being erected around this whole thing where there should be a bridge.”

  Betsy Ann gave her a side hug. “That is only temporary. There are plenty of other things you and Ethel can discuss.”

  “True. Thanks for letting me vent. So, since you came over, where do we stand?” She motioned them into the living room.

  George sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion for Betsy Ann to join him. “Janie. Let’s face facts. None of us got a good look at the man in the alley.”

  Janie slid into the occasional chair. “I’ll buy that, George. But we can agree he was neither close to six feet nor in his early twenties.”

  George clicked his teeth. “He did more rightly match the fellow they found shot execution style at the riverbank.”

  Janie nodded. “Whose fingerprints had been scraped off. Someone certainly did not want him identified.”

  Betsy Ann held her stomach. “Eeewww.”

  George jumped to his feet. “So, let’s assume this gentleman, and I use the term loosely, did run by us that night. Then he could have been an undercover cop tailing Weldon.”

  “Yes, George. My guess is the mastermind of these heists decided he needed to be eliminated for some reason.” She started to walk around again.

  “Perhaps because the robbery went sour.” He began to pace as well.

  “Or our mysterious policeman knew too much.” Janie halted and snapped her fingers. “Which is why Wellington was hanged as well. They feared he’d point the finger back to the organizers.”

  George stopped as well. “It is conceivable. Maybe he planned to kill Holden and Wellington all along so he could keep all the money from the loot, and our cop got too hot on his trail.”

  Janie laughed. “Now you sound like a gumshoe from one of Ethel’s paperbacks. However, your idea has some merit. I’m thinking, and Hemphill might, too, that the undercover detective in the Austin crash may have been assigned to the case as well. Two out-of-town cops dead under suspicious circumstances a few days apart after a manhunt? Fishy to me. No pun intended.”

  “Indubitably.” George wrapped one arm to his waist and rubbed his chin with the other hand.

  The two began to walk again, deep in thought. Betsy Ann joined them, shuffling to keep in step. As they rounded the coffee table, she voiced her thoughts. “So, you think they were both killed to protect the mastermind from being discovered?”

  George gave her a warm expression. “It does seem to make sense. Rather classic, really.”

  “Exactly.” Janie smiled back at them. “So, how do we find out who this mastermind is?”

  George and Betsy Ann looked to each other then to Janie and shrugged. The three resumed walking in an oval around the couch and coffee table like a miniature train set around a track. Mrs. Fluffy crouched underneath the furniture, protecting her plumed tail.

  “Oh!” Janie halted mid-stride.

  George and Betsy Ann almost collided with her. She spun on her heel. “The reason Gates gave me an assignment to look for similar burglaries outside of Central Texas is so we could find out who’s the brains of the outfit. And I thought he’d sloughed me off.”

  She felt her face warm, half from excitement and half from her misconception of Jonathan’s intentions. “Let’s start with Houston. Back to the archives. Look up burglaries in the surrounding suburbs. We still haven’t discovered why they chose residences with house numbers that had only threes and sixes.”

  Betsy Ann raised her hand. “Well, in Bunco when someone rolls three sixes it ends the game. That could be why.”

  George gave her a sweet smile. “I doubt the burglars play, my dear.”

  She hung her head. “True.”

  Janie patted her arm. “It’s all right, Betsy Ann. At least you’re trying to come up with an answer. You two find out if any of the Austin robberies occurred at similar addresses as well. Perhaps, that is what led our undercover cops to this area. They saw a pattern as well. Also, look for any eyewitness reports that match the descriptions of the three robbers.”

  He saluted her. “Right-o. My lovely companion and I’ll hit the downtown library in the morning after a scrumptious breakfast at the pancake house.”

  Betsy Ann danced on her toes and clapped.

  “Great. I’ll get Mildred, Roseanne, and Babs to check the Georgetown, Round Rock, and Pflugerville weekly papers online. As Ethel says, ‘the game is afoot.’”

  George chuckled. “I believe a certain gentleman on Baker Street in London first coined that phrase. We should bid you adieu. My sweet one here needs her beauty rest.”

  Betsy Ann laced her arm through his. “Oh, George.”

  “Yes. It is late. Thanks for dropping by.”

  Janie watched George escort Betsy Ann to her condo, hand in hand. She shut the door and gulped back the bile in her throat. Why did she feel the green meanie rising in her? She admitted it. She appreciated flattery from a man as much as the next woman. Not a flaw, surely. Just a sign of missing something she once almost took for granted.

  She had received it earlier that night, several times. She knew she’d blushed in reaction just as Betsy Ann did. She hoped she didn’t give Jonathan the wrong impression. Surely not. He acted the perfect gentleman all evening. Their conversation veered from shared pasts in Austin to business. But over dessert and coffee, it slipped into current affairs, politics and, heaven forbid, even religion without a glitch. Their views jibed perfectly.

  He blended in well at church and struck up conversations easily. And during their discussion over the sermon on the way home, his thoughts were insightful. In fact, Janie had to admit to herself she truly liked being with him. And, yes, she looked forward to seeing him again at church on Sunday instead of walking in by herself.

  She ran her fingers over the hand he’d shaken on her stoop an hour earlier and sighed. “Oh, Jack. I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “We were talking about this on the way over to breakfast. What if the threes and sixes connection doesn’t exist? The burglars used the pattern to throw the police off the scent.” Mildred swirled a piece of her French toast through a pool of strawberry syrup.

  Janie pondered the idea. “For what reason?”

  Babs took a sip of orange juice. “Who knows. I think we should look for other patterns. They might have chosen a new one for each neighborhood. Kinda of like a calling card.”

  All four who volunteered to glean information from the other towns in the area’s weekly newspapers responded in agreement. Janie sat back and grinned. Her underlings were getting the hang of this investigative stuff. She could tell by the gleam of adventure in their eyes. All of these women had seen their men off to war in the jungles of Vietnam, raised families, and held down jobs. Now they had little or no responsibilities other than to care for a pet. Boredom was probably the most common ailment of folks over sixty-five.

  She gazed upon each of her friends with warmth. She prayed they would all stay healthy and independent for many years to come. Betsy Ann, George, and Ethel as well. Which reminded her, she needed to go visit a few of her friends in the assisted living section who weren’t as spry. She rose from the table.

  “Ladies, I appr
eciate your enthusiasm and your efforts. Sorry none of you came up with anything solid, but I’m sure the Alamoville police appreciate any effort we offer, even if it rules out a theory. Call me if you find anything, no matter how vague. Be sure to write down the paper’s name, volume, and date.” She grabbed her bagel. “I have to run. Toodles.”

  Back at her house, she wrapped up the roses Jonathan brought her in pairs, swaddling the stems in a wet paper towel and then aluminum foil. Six small bouquets of love for her six friends. She tied each with a red curly ribbon, made a bow, and slid her scissor blades through each end to spiral them. With a satisfied smile, she slipped the flowers in a plastic sack and headed out on her errand of mercy. Better than tossing the blooms in the trash, which had been her first instinct last night.

  She’d really have to tell Jonathan she wasn’t ready for anything more than a friendship. If only the chief of police hadn’t been so dapper, attentive, and engaging over dinner.

  Well, maybe she wouldn’t tell him. After all, she could be mistaken. It’s not like he’d made a pass at her or anything. Perhaps he only wanted to make up for the faux pas at that long-ago barbeque to ensure they had a good working relationship.

  She nodded to herself. Nothing wrong with going to church or eating a meal together. Truth be known, she’d missed the simple company of a man. Was it wrong of her to want to revel in it? Besides, how else would she keep her finger in this pie while Blake sat on the beach with his family?

  ~*~

  Mike Martin pulled the police cruiser over to the side of the road. “What the heck?”

  Two Grayson cops stood on the riverbank, rifles aimed at the far bank. He strolled over to them. “Fellas? Need assistance?”

  The sandy haired one lowered his aim. “Nah. Just shooting nutria. Jake Smithers at the Bar C Ranch is paying one hundred bucks per hide.”

  Martin whistled. “How many have you two bagged?”

  The darker-haired one spit. “Fifteen over the past three days. Darn varmints have taken over the rivers in Central Texas. They breed faster than rabbits.”

  “Not a bad way to spend a lunch break, eh?” The blond police officer winked.