by Simon Wood
"This is plastic."
"I didn't say it was a good fake. You still got someone following Faulks?"
"Yeah."
"Tell them to get my money back. Let's get out of here."
Henderson went to place the skull back on its pedestal. "You should take a look at this."
Kelso snatched the skull from Henderson.
"Underneath."
On the underside of the skull were two words, not in Spanish. They read: Thanks Kelso.
Kelso dropped the skull. They didn't bother covering their tracks. They charged out of the house and into the car. Henderson drove at breakneck speed, slicing his way through the late night traffic. The police were waiting for them when they reached Kelso’s home.
Henderson brought the BMW to a halt at the end of the drive. Two detectives met them as they approached the house.
"Mr. Kelso, I have to inform you that your home has been burglarized."
Kelso brushed by them. The detectives followed at his heels. They reeled off what they were doing about the break-in, but he wasn't listening. None of it was important.
He went straight to the Scrimshaw Room. The skeleton was gone. The glass case where he kept the artifact was shattered.
He couldn't believe he'd come so close only to lose it all. Canchelskis had set him up by playing to his vanity, and it had worked. Kelso tasted bile.
"Was it valuable?" a detective asked.
"More than you know." He thought of Canchelskis beginning the adventure of a lifetime. "More than you know."
The Raffles Tavern Burglar
After three weeks, Jane Horsley had become a pretty decent bartender. She remembered what the regulars drank, the slang names for drinks and their prices at the Raffles Tavern, but none of this was bringing her any closer to apprehending the Raffles Tavern Burglar. If she didn’t catch the thief soon, a career in bartending might be her only option, as her future as a cop would be over.
A thief with a sense of style frequented the Raffles Tavern. He was robbing the homes of customers while they enjoyed a drink. He left a memento at every crime scene—a Raffles Tavern cardboard coaster. Although no one lost a Picasso or a Rembrandt, the crimes gained notoriety thanks to some TV exposure on the local news stations. The pressure on the police for a result came all the way from the mayor.
Tom, the Raffles Tavern owner, sidled up to Jane. He reached inside the fridge and retrieved a bottle of water. Cracking the seal, he whispered into her ear. “I don’t care what they say about this burglar. He’s a lovely fella. It’s going to be another busy one.”
He was right. The burglaries had resulted in an increase in business. The English-style pub was the place to go in the city. People frequented the place with the hope that their house would be next. Everybody wanted to be a victim of the Raffles Tavern Burglar. None of this helped Jane. As her pool of potential victims swelled, her thief grew bolder. The interval between break-ins was shortening.
“I’ll be upstairs working on the receipts,” Tom said. “If business keeps up like this, I’ll need a full-time accountant.”
Jane attempted a smile. Tom wasn’t trying to be cruel, but his words couldn’t help but impress upon her the failure of her position.
“You’ll be okay down here on your own?” he asked.
Jane surveyed the demanding faces lining the length of the bar. “I’ll be okay.”
“Good,” Tom said and disappeared up to his office.
Jane asked, “Who’s next?”
“I am,” Frank, a nice guy and regular, replied and reeled off his order.
“Where’s Kenny?”
“Oh, he’s not in tonight. He’s got work or some such excuse. Personally, I think he’s under the thumb courtesy of that new girlfriend of his.”
Jane laughed, slid Frank his drinks and took his money. When he left, she jotted Kenneth Harrison’s name on a legal pad she kept under the bar. She’d come to the conclusion that the thief was a regular. A regular would know his fellow drinkers, be able to solicit addresses without suspicion and know what nights the other regulars drank. The list established a pattern of movements and if a regular kept being absent on the nights of the burglaries then she had her perp. Except it hadn’t worked out that way, no one person was out for all of the burglaries. She’d begun to wonder if the Raffles Tavern Burglar was a team of thieves.
The shift ended and she went home with sore feet, aching hands and a stiff back. On the drive home, she called her lieutenant and gave him the list of regulars who hadn’t made an appearance at the tavern that night.
“I’ll get Mike Kansas to follow up on their movements, Jane,” Hernandez said. “Hopefully, tonight’s B&E will lead us to the perp this time.”
“What B&E?”
“A report came in about an hour ago. He made off with some nice jewelry and a stamp collection. Close to ten grand worth according to the homeowners.”
That made it the ninth burglary and the third during her time at the tavern. What had she missed this time?
***
Tom let Jane in before opening time. “I suppose you heard,” she said.
“The theft? You bet. Expect tonight to be busier than last night. There’s always a spike after a break-in.”
Tom’s prophecy was proved right. A new theft always brought more clients than the night before and the tavern was so busy that Tom stayed in the bar all night with Jane and together they just about managed to keep up with the pace. Around ten, Tom helped himself to a beer, as was his nightly custom, and brought one over to Jane.
“Can I interest you in one? It’s on the house.”
“I’m on the job. You know the rules.”
“Well, you can’t say I didn’t offer.” Tom put his beer down next to Jane while he took an order from some new faces to the tavern.
Jane stared at the beer bottle for a moment. Things fell into place and she smiled. She couldn’t wait for the next burglary.
***
The following Friday, Jane helped Tom lock up. She bolted the main doors and turning, asked, “Want to tell me about it?”
“About what?” Tom replied, upturning chairs and placing them on the tables.
“How you’re the Raffles Tavern Burglar.”
Tom laughed. “Now where did you get that idea?”
Jane pointed at his empty water bottle next to the cash register. “You drink a beer every night.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Not tonight though.”
“I felt like a change.”
“I’ve been keeping track. Every night you drink water, there’s a burglary and there was another tonight.”
Tom laughed the accusation away. “I’m here every night whether I drink beer or water.”
“No, you’re not. The nights you drink water, you disappear to your office to “work on the receipts.’ You request credit card owners’ address information from the credit card companies and while the owners are here, you leave to rob their homes.”
“Rubbish!”
“Last time you went upstairs, I checked your office and you weren’t there. One of my colleagues followed you and watched you break in. We’ve got all the evidence we need.”
Tom sagged. “You need a steady hand cracking locks. Alcohol blunts your wits.”
“But staying tee-total gave you away.”
Spit
Tanner didn’t like what he was seeing. Sharkey’s shyster lawyer was holding the door open for Sharkey. Both men were laughing and joking as they came out of the district attorney’s offices. Tanner made a beeline for his prime suspect.
A sensible cop would have done his homework before approaching the defendant, but not Tanner. He wasn’t a sensible cop. If he were, he’d be police commissioner by now. Instead, he was a passionate man who believed in justice and not politics—that made him an excellent cop.
Tanner blocked Sharkey and his lawyer’s path. “Where the hell
do you think you’re going, Sharkey?”
The lawyer raised his hand. “Back off, lieutenant. My client has nothing to say to you.”
“Maybe you should take it up with the DA, Tanner.” Sharkey said the policeman’s name like he’d trodden in something nasty. “You can’t win ‘em all, buddy.”
“Excuse us,” the lawyer said and pushed Tanner aside with his arm. Or to be exact, the lawyer tried to push Tanner aside, but being a good ten inches shorter and seventy pounds lighter, he was forced to go around the detective.
Tanner let them go. He’d deal with them later. Right now, somebody had some questions to answer.
Tanner burst into the DA’s office. His shocked secretary jumped up from her chair.
“Where is he?”
“I think he’s on a call, detective,” she blurted reflexively.
“No, he was on a call. Now, he’s in a conference.”
Tanner applied the same treatment to the DA’s private door as he had to the office door. It slammed against the wall with enough force to shudder back.
“Tanner, wait outside!” the DA shouted with his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece.
“I think I prefer to wait inside,” he growled and slammed the door shut. “Why is Sharkey smiling? Can you explain that to me, Polson?”
“I’ll call you back,” Polson said into the phone before hanging up. “Why do you think?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. I just catch them. You’re the one who’s meant to prosecute them.”
“Okay, smart guy, a little law 101. You can’t prosecute shit, if you don’t have any evidence.”
Tanner thumped Polson’s desk. “I gave you a truckload of evidence.”
“Yeah, circumstantial evidence.”
“Bullshit!” Tanner’s fingers dug into the desk’s varnished surface. He knew he was getting uptight. His wife and doctor had told him to keep calm or he’d blow a blood vessel. But he couldn’t help being who he was. It was the nature of the beast. “I gave you everything on Sharkey. His one surviving vic gave us his description and the description of his van. From a gas station receipt and two VISA receipts from restaurants, we placed him in the vicinity of two of the other murders. And his alibis for all four murders are built on shaky foundations.”
“Smoke and mirrors, Tanner. Smoke and mirrors. None of that’s real. The girl who got away, she did give us a damn good description. The only problem was that she couldn’t ID Sharkey in a lineup.”
“We screwed up. The girl was intimidated by him. It was too soon for her. She had only just left the hospital.”
Polson continued, unimpressed. “The receipts. Great. You’re right, they place him in the vicinity of Andrea Hasting’s and Tamara Jackson’s murders, but they don’t tell us he was the man. I’m sure there are a hundred guys who could provide the same receipts from the same places at the same times. So, what were they? Accomplices?”
“Screw you. You’re just making excuses.”
“No, screw you, Tanner. You might have the right man, but you fell down on the job. You didn’t give me any physical evidence. Get me some of that good stuff and I’ll nail the son of a bitch to a tree. You can guarantee it. Now, do your job and get the fuck out of my office.”
Tanner was out of Polson’s office before the DA could lift the phone to complain to his captain. He wasn’t about to let Sharkey get away with murder. And Polson was going to get the physical evidence he wanted. Before the day was out, everybody was going to be a happy camper—except Sharkey.
The lieutenant charged through the corridors and hallways of the justice building. Man, woman, child—Tanner knocked anybody aside who was in his path. He couldn’t afford for Sharkey to get away.
He spotted him and his lawyer on the steps outside. Tanner’s blood pressure was up and he could feel the veins in his neck throbbing with over-activity. He blew through the tall doors and down the stone steps.
"Please state your name for the court." Tanner rounded his prey, blocking their path. “I can’t wait to hear you answer that in front of a jury.”
“Piss off, Tanner,” Sharkey said.
“It’ll never happen and you know it.” Sharkey acted bored with Tanner’s theatrics, casting his eyes skyward and shaking his head.
Sharkey’s lawyer got in between the two men. “Lieutenant, you have no case. You’ve had to drop the charges. This is harassment.”
“Shove it, shyster.”
“I’ll be reporting you to your superiors.” The lawyer wagged a finger in Tanner’s face.
Tanner sneered and waved a dismissive hand.
Sharkey dropped his killer’s hands onto the lawyer’s shoulders and massaged them. “I wouldn’t bother, David. The lieutenant’s blown the big case. He’s in enough shit already. He doesn’t need any more.”
“I know you did it, Sharkey.”
“Christ, don’t you have another record to play, Tanner? If you had any proof, the DA wouldn’t have dropped the case before it could come to trial. You’ve lost—admit it. Be a man. I might just respect you.”
Tanner’s blood boiled in his veins. How could this killer taunt him? The law had become so twisted that no matter how much evidence was produced—it was never enough. Justice didn’t stand a chance. It was about time the bitch took off her blindfold and saw exactly who was giving her the finger.
“I’ll pin this one on you, Sharkey.” Tanner was inches from Sharkey’s face. The lawyer squeezed between them. “I’ll make it my life’s work, if necessary.”
The lawyer forced Tanner back. “That sounds suspiciously like you’re going to falsify evidence.”
Tanner snorted. “I wouldn’t sweat it, lawyer-man. I won’t have to falsify shit. This moron will convict himself.”
“Don’t call me a moron. I’m warning you!” Sharkey shouted, pointing an accusing finger.
“Warning me? You’ve got to be joking. You wouldn’t harm me. You’re not man enough.”
“Quit it, Lieutenant.” The lawyer sounded like a schoolteacher trying to break up a brawl between five year olds.
Tanner ignored the lawyer. “But you’re man enough to pick on defenseless women.”
“Fuck you,” Sharkey hissed. “I’ll have your badge for this.”
“What’s it like to swipe girls off the street? Do you feel strong when you see their fear? I bet you shoot your load when you finally end their misery and cut their throats.”
“You’re a twisted fuck, Tanner, do you know that? You sound like you get off on this shit.”
“Hey, I think I’ve got it.” Tanner nodded to himself. “You can’t get off. I bet that’s it. I bet you prey on women because you’re a limp dick failure.”
Sharkey spat in Tanner’s face.
“Right, that’s it,” the lawyer said, pushing his client back. “You’ll be hearing from me, detective. You’ve pushed it too far this time.”
Tanner was igneous. He wasn’t about to move for anyone or anything. He let the lawyer shove and guide his seething client to a waiting car.
Tanner waited for the car to make a turn before he smiled. “I’ve got you, you son of a bitch.”
Bystanders watching the debacle were staring at the grinning cop without comprehension. They gave him a wide berth and slipped by hoping not to be drawn into his insane world.
But Tanner didn’t care. He had spit running down his face. He had Sharkey. The man was toast. They used to lack the vital piece of the puzzle that would bury Sharkey, but not anymore. Tanner wiped his face with a clean handkerchief.
Polson came stumbling down the steps and stopped in front of Tanner. “I knew you’d do something like this. I was watching you. What the fuck have you gone and done now?”
“I did exactly what you asked me to do.”
“What?” Polson hadn’t understood.
“You wanted physical evidence. DNA evidence is physical evidence, isn’t it?” Tanner finished wiping his
face and slapped the damp handkerchief in Polson’s hand. “There you go. There’s your physical evidence. I’ve done my job. Now, I suggest you do yours.”
Polson stared at the handkerchief for a moment then realization crossed his face. The penny had dropped. They’d never managed to get a blood test out of Sharkey—his lawyer had blocked every attempt. Finally, he held Sharkey’s DNA in his hands. He smiled. The smile became a grin. “Thank you.”
Walking away, Tanner fumbled for his car keys. “Counselor, let me know when there’s going to be a tree nailing. I want to bring my own nails.”
The Stash
The squirrel stood on its hind legs, twitched its nose and stared at Detective Jane Horsley. Jane stared back. The squirrel was a funny little fella. He was a patchwork of gray and red with a fantastic fountain of rust for a tail. She didn’t know what they called these crossbreeds. Patches, as she’d just christened him, cocked his head to one side and weighed her up with the same quizzical eye she reserved for him.
Detective Mike Kansas rubbed shoulders with Jane. “Do you think he’ll make a good witness?”
“I’m sure he saw something. I doubt much gets past him.”
Mike fished out his cell and poised a finger over the keypad, ready to punch in a number. “Shall I call in Sergeant Doolittle? I believe he speaks fluent squirrel.”
Jane turned to him. He was smiling as much as she. “Shut up, you fool.”
Mike put the phone away. “Jokes aside, we sure could do with a break.”
Jane sighed. He wasn’t wrong. The cul-de-sac burglaries, as the press had dubbed them, were an embarrassment to her and the department. She’d had excellent stats until this case. Her conviction rate was second to none. Although nothing was being said, not directly to her anyway, she knew the pressure was on to get a result. She was at the stage where she’d take a break-in, whatever shape or form it came in and she wouldn’t turn down an inquisitive squirrel in a hurry.
“C’mon,” Jane said. “Let’s not give the residents the image that we’re taking this case lightly.”
