His laughter blasted through the phone. “As long as I’m still allowed to open doors for you.”
She faked an exasperated sigh. “Very well, if you insist.”
When they hung up, she cradled the receiver to her chest.
~*~
Mitch crossed his ankle over his leg and wiggled his foot. Watching the chief act like a school boy as he spoke with Janie over the speaker phone perturbed him. Wonder if Blake knew his mother-in-law was being wooed by his boss. He blew out a breath and snatched the evidence packet. “A third bullet, huh?”
The chief of police hung up. “A running theory, by Janie Manson who found it, is it might have come from someone else’s gun other than Phil’s.”
“You’re going to run it through again as she asked?”
“No harm. Go with Edwards to the firing range. Have him fire twice for good measure. Retrieve the bullets and take them to the lab.”
He stood. “Yes, sir. What’s this about fingerprints?”
Gates tented his fingers. “The John Doe pulled from the San Gabriel had none. Scraped clean, remember? He more matches the description of the man Janie Manson and her friends ID’ed that night than Wellington. She wonders if he shot the third bullet, and if that landed in Holden instead.”
“Which would mean Edwards didn’t down the first burglar but this mystery cop did?”
“Exactly. It would clear our newest detective of any wrongdoing. It might also explain why he only heard two shots.”
“If the second burglar used a silencer, you mean?”
“Or the other guy fired quickly afterwards, so Phil took it as an echo.”
Mitch cocked his head. “Interesting. And if so, who did he aim at? Holden? Edwards? Jenkins?”
“If the guy used a silencer, Aaron Jenkins would have been able to see the glow from the discharge and assumed he heard it. If the man was in the shadows behind Edwards, Jenkins may not have seen him clearly. Forensics should be able to tell us if the bullet was fired through a silencer. The pattern would be different. My guess is they never considered looking for that since everyone assumed the bullet that nailed Holden came from a police revolver.”
“True. Anyone can obtain a Glock.” Mitch shook his head back and forth. “I dunno. Sounds like grabbing for straws to me. Pardon me for saying so, sir. I think she’s getting under your skin. Blake did warn me she’d try to butt in.”
Gate’s face reddened. “I brought her in on the case, Mitch. And might I add, I’ve seen more out of her than you on it. Hemphill complained you’ve been stonewalling him as well. What’s up?”
Mitch jolted from his seat. “Nothing.”
Gates leaned back. “Oh? Then why the attitude?”
He looked at his knuckles for several moments. “I’m sorry, sir.” He sunk back into his chair. “I might have come back too soon.”
“Why do you say that?”
He rubbed two fingers over his brow. “To be honest, I feel as if I’m sinking. Maybe I want to push things aside as not worth dealing with, sort of like you shove leaves and scum out of your way in a river when you’re swimming.”
“Minimize their importance so they don’t pile up, correct?”
“We do have quite a few outstanding cases right now as well as the I.A. investigation. More than normal, as I recall.”
“Seems that way to me, too.”
Mitch let out a nervous chuckle. “This isn’t a small town anymore, is it?”
Gates sighed. “Nope.” He punched a button on his phone. “Mae. Hold my calls, please.”
Mitch felt the blood leave his face as he watched his boss come around and sit in the chair beside him and place his hand on his shoulder. “You’re an excellent detective. Even so, you’ve just walked into a hornet’s nest, haven’t you? I’m sorry.”
“Um, comes with the territory, sir, doesn’t it?”
Gates exhaled through his nose. “That burglary gone wrong that winged you? That wouldn’t have happened in our neck of the woods three years ago. Drugs, organized crime, prostitution, organ trafficking. It’s all seeping in. The town’s going through growing pains, and we’re catching the brunt of it. It’s no wonder emotions are high around here. They have been since your incident, Mitch, and then Blake’s kidnapping. So, even if Aaron hadn’t been shot everyone would be on edge.”
“Yeah, but just back from leave I should be the cool one in the bunch.” He wiped his eyes. “I honestly didn’t think seeing another officer take a bullet would have this effect on me.”
Gates patted him on the shoulder. “It affects a man. Makes him face his mortality. When Holden shot you, one bullet passed through your arm and another nicked your heart, Mitch. You were touch and go for a while there. It’s gotta mess with you. And now you watch a colleague go through the same thing by the same perp who got off from nailing you?” He whistled through his teeth.
“I admit, I haven’t shed any tears over the scum’s death.”
“Mitch, I shouldn’t have dumped the internal affairs investigation into your lap. On top of the fact you’ve had to rev up to speed on our other cases while getting acquainted with Mike, Amos, and Phil, all who were hired while you were out.”
“Yeah, things around here have changed a bit. But, sir, Blake needed this vacation. He hasn’t had a proper one in years. Besides, who else was there?”
“Nobody.” He stood. “Take the rest of the day off, son. That’s an order. Go talk to the shrink if it helps.”
Mitch snorted. “I think a nice, quiet afternoon fishing might do the trick.”
Gates rounded his desk and eased back into his chair. “I hear some of the men are taking up shooting nutria for a few extra bucks. Blasting a few rounds into vermin might be therapeutic.”
Mitch laughed. “Heard the same thing. Sounds like a plan. Thanks, sir.”
~*~
Jonathan texted a message. Worried about our friend.
A few seconds later the answer flashed onto his screen. You may be right after all. Keep an eye on him since I can’t.
Plan on it. Jonathan clicked off. He rubbed his hand down his chin, rose, and went to get a fresh cup of coffee.
THIRTY-ONE
Mike Martin wiped his brow and pushed his cowboy hat back onto his head. “Summer in Texas. Gotta love it.”
A joint-effort of both the Grayson and Alamoville police combed the bushes along the riverbank in search of a weapon.
Amos Branson chuckled. “Yeah, that river looks mighty inviting.”
“Yep. It does. If we don’t find anything in the next few hours, I’m heading in there.”
Bill Butterfield of the Grayson force joined them. “Hey, with that bushy hair, you’d better hope no one mistakes you for a nutria.” He stretched his arm to imitate a shotgun.
Branson laughed. “So, we understand you have a phantom on your force.”
Butterfield cocked his police-issued, baseball-styled cap back further on his head. “Weird, right? No one can figure out who those two were. Sorta matched Mason’s and Andy’s descriptions. Yet they were tracking the perimeters of the golf course with me near the highway.”
Mike shrugged. “In these parts, being tall with sandy hair or shorter with a paunch and dark hair would describe half the men in any beer joint.”
Butterfield nodded. “Probably two ranchers wanting to get in on the action. I don’t know about y’all, but sometimes they can be a chicken bone in our gullet. Just because they pay a majority of the taxes, often eat BBQ with the mayor, and are deputized, they think they can play policemen anytime they want.”
They all shared a laugh and went back to their search. Branson bent toward Mike. “Still gives me the jitters that he identified himself as a Grayson cop and even flashed me a badge. Talked like one, too. Knew protocol.”
“Yeah. But listen. We breed some hard-headed, macho-types around here. Think they’re royalty because they own a few thousand acres. Not your fault, kid.”
He heaved a sigh. “Tha
nks. Exactly what the chief told me.”
Two hours later, both forces got the orders to stop. Branson scoffed under his breath. “About time. I’ve memorized these blades of grass by now.”
Mike slapped him on the back. “Thoroughness, my friend. Hate to see some kid out here on a camping trip pick up the discarded pistol and play with it.”
“True. Let’s hit the water, yeah?”
Before Branson could peel off his shirt, Martin’s cannonball splashed. Whistles and claps from the other cops followed.
~*~
Betsy Ann wiped a dab of syrup off George’s tie as the elevator descended to the archive section of the Austin downtown library. “There. Much better.”
His cheeks became rosy. “I knew I shouldn’t have indulged, but the blueberry flavored one called my name.”
“Sorry it was brunch and not breakfast. I forgot about my hair appointment, and to reschedule would have been a nightmare. She books five weeks in advance.”
“Well, she did a marvelous job. Not that your hair doesn’t always look smashing.”
She gave him a quick lip-smack as the lift halted at their destination.
“Well, let’s hope this time it’s less adventurous than when we investigated the baby and kidney snatchers.”
She sighed deeply. “I always feel safe with you, dear.”
He held open the automatic door and motioned for her to step out first. They went to the information desk and registered to use the machines. Since they wished to search recent records, they were directed to the computers. The library assistant peered at them with a sugary smile. “All the newspapers have online editions now. Do you need me to show you how to use the search engines to narrow your hunt?”
George parroted back her facial gesture. “No need. We’ll muddle through.”
Her smile faded. “Very well. I’m happy to help if you need me. Computer number six is available. Sign here.” She swiveled the clipboard to face them and handed George a ballpoint pen.
After an hour and a half, the couple still hadn’t discovered any robberies that fit the pattern nor any suspects that matched the descriptions of any of the three men—Les Holden, Jacob Wellington, or the mystery man who had dashed by them. They’d added his features to the list just in case it panned out he wasn’t a cop. Betsy Ann stretched her arms behind her. “I don’t think this is getting us anywhere.”
“I agree, my dear. Perhaps these scoundrels hit smaller towns. Mildred and Babs may yet have luck.”
She rested her chin in her hand. “Or hitting up defenseless elderly people sounded like an easy gig, so they switched their M.O.” She emphasized the police lingo with her chin raised.
George grinned. “Perhaps. It still doesn’t make sense why the one man would hang himself. But these are desperate times.”
She lowered her gaze. “Yes. I’ve prayed for his soul and his family. Those poor parents.”
George caressed her other hand. “Shall we try going back a few more months before we give up?”
She let out a soft sigh and dug inside her purse. “Yes. May as well. It’s only five fifteen. The library doesn’t close until seven. First, let me text Babs to see if they’re having any better luck.”
At the sound of the ditty, meaning a text hit her in-box, Betsy Ann clicked the app open. Her eyes scanned the screen to read the response. She looked at George and shook her head.
Babs told her they hadn’t uncovered a thing. The three Bunco friends were in the Sunset Acres community resources center since it had several computers. That way, they could scan the weekly papers together.
“Well, let’s widen our search.”
Thirty minutes later, they stumbled across an article that sent a chill zipping up both of their chests. It detailed the burglary on a small ranch outside of Alamoville. The owners were on a two-week cruise in the Caribbean at the time, so they had let the staff off and none of the ranch hands stayed overnight onsite. The couple was known in the area for their fine art collection, and when the silent alarm tripped, the police responded lickety-split. Gun fire erupted.
George read the report in a whisper as he pointed at the screen. “One officer went down, hit twice. Once in the arm, and once in the chest. He was air-flighted to Brackenridge Hospital in Austin in critical condition. His name is not being released at this time, according to Chief of Police Jonathan Gates, pending notification of the family.”
Betsy Ann grabbed his arm. “Oh, my heavens. That must have been Mitch Hornsby, Blake’s partner.”
George nodded, his eyes wide. “The two suspects fled the scene, but police apprehended one of them a few hours later. However, due to a technicality, that suspect, later identified as Lester Holden, had to be released and was never charged.”
She put her hand to her mouth. “George. Mitch Hornsby is in charge of this case now!”
“So, he is. Must be rough on him. Still I guess there would be some satisfaction knowing the man who almost killed you is now dead.”
“Well, I know it’s his job to remain impartial, but still. No wonder he’s been a bit disgruntled. Poor man.”
George brushed her cheek with his hand. “Come on. Let’s print this out and go. Janie needs to hear about this.”
~*~
Janie answered the phone. “Betsy Ann, you were correct. All three posted on their pages they were not going to be home. And get this. They also listed their phone numbers on their profiles.”
“Pretty dumb, right?”
Janie scoffed. “For sure. Easy for the thieves with some ingenuity to get their addresses. That’s how they chose their homes to rob. Have you found any patterns elsewhere?”
“Well, yes...”
“Did the news list their names? I can look them up to see if they have pages, too.”
“Um, we found one article about a robbery a few months ago. However, it’s not a pattern we’d thought about.”
When Janie heard, she gawked. Her voice blasted through the speaker. “What? That means Jon...er, Chief of Police Gates, knew the man who shot Hornsby had been downed by Phil Edwards. Why wasn’t he forthcoming about that?”
George spoke next. “Nor Hornsby. My guess is he hoped the reporters didn’t connect the dots, or it may look as if the Alamoville police had a vendetta.”
Janie harrumphed. “So, they covered it up. Otherwise, Hornsby couldn’t have taken over, which meant Blake couldn’t go on vacation.”
“Well, he’ll still be on administrative leave when he returns, so Hornsby would have been handed it anyway.”
Janie slumped into her chair. “I feel responsible.” In the background, she could hear the car engine. “George, are you driving and talking?”
“No, we’re still in the parking lot. Just have the air conditioning running.”
“Oh, all right, then.”
“We wanted you to know about it right away.”
Janie’s ears heated and her chest muscles tightened. “What gets me is Blake knew as well, and never told me. Arrgggh.” She stomped her foot, which sent Mrs. Fluffy skittering down the hallway. “I feel as if the wool has been draped over my eyes. I have half a mind to call my dear son-in-law even though he’s on vacation with my grandkids and daughter.”
“Now, calm down, dear lady. He had to remain tight-lipped as long as the internal affairs investigation continued, right? Besides, there are still many unanswered questions.”
She grabbed her keys and her purse. “And I demand answers. Thanks, I’ll call y’all later.”
“Um, Janie? It’s almost six o’clock.”
“So? Gates will probably still be there. He told me he was elbow deep in paperwork, which is why he cancelled our meet-up at five.”
“It’s Thursday. We are due at your place for Bunco in an hour.” Betsy Ann’s voice blasted through the speaker.
“Oh, right. Well, I’ll be back in a bit. No worries. You remember where I hide the key? Just in case.”
“Well...”
J
anie hung up before she heard what else Betsy Ann had to say and pocketed her phone. She laid down her keys and handbag on the table and walked to the hall closet to get the folding tables and chairs. If she left them in the living room, everyone else could help set them up.
Halfway down the hall, she halted and slapped her forehead. “Dash it all. I forgot to get the potato bread for the egg salad sandwiches. Almost everyone is off gluten now. I’ll get a loaf at the organic store on the way back.”
Mrs. Fluffy gave her a blank stare. Janie shook her head. She’d resorted to talking to herself again. Widow’s plight. Oh, well. She had a lot on her brain. She snatched her purse again and headed to her car.
THIRTY-TWO
As she drove down the highway to Alamoville and wound through the tree-lined streets toward the police department downtown, she rehearsed how to give Jonathan a piece of her mind without flying off the handle. She practiced slow breathing, rotated her neck and shoulders, and tapped the steering wheel. Stay calm. Be sweet. Your mother always said you catch more flies with honey.
As she pulled into the parking lot, she noticed Hornsby slip out the back. Instead of getting into his vehicle, he gazed left and right before he dashed down the alley with his head lowered as if he didn’t want anyone to recognize him. How odd. Curiosity got the best of her. She exited her car, closed the door slowly so to not make a sound, and tiptoed after him to keep her heels from clicking on the asphalt. Every once in a while, he turned his head as if to check whether anyone noticed him. She stayed half a block behind and hugged close to the trash cans and back entryways.
Janie followed Hornsby four blocks and down another alley. She hid at the side of the florist shop, now closed, and peered around the corner. An older part of downtown stretched before her. Two blocks of rundown store fronts, some boarded up. Oh, great.
Hornsby halted and dashed into a side alley. Janie slithered as fast as she could and did the same just as a tall black man entered from the other end. His clothes were definitely secondhand. His face unshaved. Hornsby motioned hello with his head and strolled up to the other man.
Threes, Sixes & Thieves Page 17