Should he mention his division’s woes? No. Not unless specifically asked. “So you’re saying Bridgid isn’t allowed to get sick.”
“No head colds or broken bones. And for God sake, no pregnancy.”
“You’re in luck.” Joe smiled. “Two different doctors determined that she’s barren. It’s a sadness. She wanted children.”
“Luck baloney.” Szchypanski wagged his head. “I want to be unlucky and see her be a momma, ‘cause I bet she’d be a great mother. She’s good working on kids, especially real little kids.” He studied his desk a moment. “You know, she can back the hook and ladder right into its slot.” And he slid one palm past the other.
Someone out on the floor must have started up a chain saw.
Szchypanski winced. “I gotta get that bay door opener fixed.”
They both stood up. Szchypanski led the way out onto the station floor as the pumper backed cautiously into its slot. Moments later, the other bay door ground open, much less noisily. Its lights flashing, the aid van came home. Two grey-haired EMTs in navy blue jumpsuits hopped out of the back doors and crossed to a clipboard on the wall. They signed out on it.
“Volunteers,” Szchypanski said. “They get five bucks a run.”
Joe watched them put the vehicle to bed and he found himself sad and angry. Fire, police, same problem. Self-important suits who mistakenly thought they had brains fancied themselves hotshot financiers, while the guys on the line—these firefighters, the police—were doing their best and serving well, but the brass decided they cost too much.
Szchypanski explained, “Whoever drives gets stuck completing the run report. She’ll be out in a minute.”
It was several minutes, but Bridgid opened the driver’s-side door and slid off the seat to the ground. She was child size in a King Kong size vehicle. She hung a clipboard on the wall and slipped out of her jumpsuit. Joe reached over her shoulder and hung her jumpsuit up for her.
Her grin dazzled. “G’d evening, Joe.”
“Good evening. I hear you toured Phoenix.”
“Aye, Fortieth to Mays and home. And didst y’rself burn up the raceway?”
“Johnny tried a little trick with the engine to make it go faster, but it went slower, so he undid the trick. Took most of the day.”
“And have ye planned out the balance of the evening?” She led the way out the back door to the Midget.
“I have.” He seated her and came around to his side. “We’ll stop by Mays and check in on Tommy, then—”
Her yelp cut him short. Her hands were clapped to her mouth.
“He’s okay. Couple broken ribs. I’ll tell you all about it. He’ll be released this afternoon and Gretchen will pick him up. Then we’ll go over to Hugh’s. Mr. Applegate’s in Pennsylvania, so we might just stay at Gretchen and Tommy’s tonight.”
“Oh?” She studied him a moment. “Ye found Stover.”
“Very perceptive. Yes, by accident.” His timing was pretty good. His explanation came to an end as they pulled into the Mays Memorial visitor lot.
Gretchen had beaten them to Tommy’s room, but not by much, and she had brought him more casual attire than his working garb. She sat in an armchair in the corner, and he was putting on his Hard Rock Café T shirt as Joe and Bridgid walked in (for the record, he had never entered an actual Hard Rock Café. The shirt was a gag gift precisely because he despised rock).
Gretchen smiled, but it was a sad smile. “Wow. There’s more investigators here than there are in the Vulture’s Roost.”
“It’s turning out that way.”
“Show me,” Bridgid ordered, so Tommy hiked his shirt to give her a good look at his battered ribcage.
Gretchen watched the cousins a moment. “How is she taking to Phoenix?”
“Very well. And now that we’re past the hottest part of summer, she seems to enjoy the climate.”
Tommy exclaimed, “Hugh, me man! What brings ye to the depths of Mays?” because Hugh Bartoli was walking in the door.
Hugh looked from face to face. “Visneros called me. He doesn’t have the manpower to do much and we want to nail that fucker. There’s too good a chance Stover’ll get past us and reach Bridgid here.”
Joe nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. We’re seriously underestimating him.”
“What we’re underestimating is his extreme, dogged determination. It comes with the psych profile.” Gretchen came over and sat down on the edge of Tommy’s bed. “He’s reckless enough to steal the devil’s girlfriend. And he’s not just hiding, he’s conniving. That’s in the psych profile too.”
And the horrid truth smacked Joe in the face. “He wanted a job at Chico’s because we go there a lot. He was going to lie in wait for us.” He glanced toward Bridgid. It was the first time he had ever seen sudden fear in her. And it scared him.
“Do ye suppose he could get into the apartment unbeknownst?” She looked from face to face.
“Aye, a locked door be no deterrent if ye be determined enough.” Tommy looked grim.
They all looked grim.
“My house.” Hugh stood straighter. “I already called Jerry. We need a war room, and my kitchen is as good as any. Order in Mexican and develop a plan. We gotta get proactive about this.” He looked at Tommy. “Do you happen to know if chipotle is contra-indicated with pain meds?”
War room indeed. They did not meet in Hugh’s kitchen, they gathered in his dining room. His lady turned off the TV and announced, “I’m going over to Vera’s. It’s going to be too noisy in here.” And out she went.
Hugh shrugged and they brought in chairs from all over the house. They carried a padded armchair in from the living room for Tommy. They sat down.
Hugh got up and brought out a six pack and three cans of beer. “Sorry. This is all I got.” He sat down.
Someone knocked on the door and they all bolted to their feet and went for their guns. They looked at each other a little sheepishly, but no one apologized. They sat down.
Hugh answered his door. Visneros and Jerry walked in carrying six packs.
Jerry also plunked a two-liter of 7Up on the table. “For you.” He looked at Tommy. “Beer and oxycontin don’t mix.”
More chairs. They sat down.
Then their food arrived, so Hugh and Joe tipped the delivery boy and brought the bags to the table. They sat down.
Hugh looked around the table. “Are we all settled?”
“No. We need plates and forks.” Joe got up and helped him raid the kitchen for plates and forks.
“A glass for Tommy?” Bridgid asked. Hugh got him one. They sat down.
“Before I forget.” Visneros tossed Joe and Hugh their badges. “I retrieved them, just in case. Y’know?” He served himself a tamal. “I called Jerry to fill him in. He said you were coming here for a powwow, so I decided to invite myself over. Hope you don’t mind.”
“You’re welcome.” Hugh got a taco. “So’s the Guinness you brought. Thanks. First order of business, is a uniformed officer adequate protection for Bridgid or should one of us also hang out with her?”
Gretchen looked around. “Joe picks her up after work, but he has a job and he’s not always available. And yeah, I think one of us should stay with her.”
“I can take it. I’m not doing anything at the moment.” Jerry slopped salsa on his taco.
Joe got hit with two very emotional thoughts at once: 1) what a great gang of friends! and 2) what hideous danger Bridgid is in!
Hugh bobbed his head. “Tommy, tell us what happened, from the horse’s mouth as it were.”
Tommy ended his tale of woe with, “Twas supposed to be a simple, basic take-down. And for the life of me, I cannot figure out what went wrong with that plan.”
Gretchen added, “Stover almost got hit by three different cars as he ran across the street getting away from us. The guy doesn’t care. He just doesn’t care.”
“Which makes him especially dangerous.” Jerry uncapped a Guinness to accompany
the taco.
Hugh looked mostly at Jerry. “Do we take him down dirty?”
Jerry asked Bridgid, “What was that kid’s name? The one he murdered?”
“Wilkie. Bram Wilkie.”
“An eye for an eye. It’s biblical.”
“So is blessed are the peacemakers.” Hugh grimaced. “Take your pick.”
“Let’s go with eye for an eye. He won’t come peacefully.”
Heads nodded all around. Hugh got a tablet and pen out of the dining room hutch and flopped it down beside his plate to make notes.
“So how do we find him?” Visneros asked.
Joe knew the answer to that. “We can’t. We could do the footwork of checking everywhere he might be and still miss him.” He reached for another enchilada. “We’ll have to lure him to us.” He paused. “I just got a really ugly thought. Tommy, when you did that brief bio of me at the wedding reception, he was present. He heard it. He knows that Bridgid has two domiciles, the apartment, but also the house.” He pulled his phone out of its holster and tapped in the home number.
Fel answered.
“Fel, have the kids pack a toothbrush and take them to Inez’s house. I don’t want them at our house at all for a few days. I’ll explain later.”
“Stover, right?”
“Right.”
“Half an hour.”
Joe holstered his phone. Much as he disliked carrying a big, clunky phone around all day, there were a few times when it came in downright handy.
Gretchen asked, “It’s good the kids are sequestered, but how would Stover know where the house is? It’s in Fel’s name. Sanchez, not Rodriguez.”
Joe shrugged. “How did he know we frequent Chico’s?”
A somber silence descended.
Hugh frowned. “Are we attributing more smarts to this guy than he deserves?”
Bridgid offered, “Nae, he is indeed as sly as we suppose. I posit: How many restaurants are there in Phoenix, and yet he came knocking at that one. And it features a Mexican cuisine. When he purchased all those frozen dinners, none of them was Mexican food. Twas all meals that would appeal to an Irishman; or to a European, at least. So he be not interested in Mexican food as such.”
“Good. Good.” Jerry was actually smiling. “We need everyone’s input for this, including Bridgid’s. She knows him the best of anyone.” He glanced at her. “I don’t suggest that’s a good thing.”
“Good, because tis not.” She scooped herself some Spanish rice. “He’s fond of drink. Might he apply for work in a tavern?”
“I doubt it.” Visneros. “I don’t think he’s the kind to look for steady work.”
“Another reason to think he was probably setting himself up to ambush us in Chico’s.” Joe was feeling more and more morose.
“Bridgid? What was his job for Mr. Applegate? What did he do?” Gretchen uncapped a Guinness.
“Cleaned up after the ponies, did whatever odd jobs turned up around the farm. There are many little chores that need doing on a farm, things to be built or repaired, and much dung to fork. Ponies make a deposit five or six times a day, and there are nearly a hundred ponies. Ponies kept in a barn or paddock require much attention. From the brief time I was there, and from what Mr. Wilkie said when showing us the ponies, I should think that Mr. Wilkie attended to the health and training of all those ponies. Stover did the physical labour, or the most of it, and of course Mr. Applegate handles the business aspects.”
“Not steady work at one task or steady hours. A variety of tasks and patchy hours.”
“That is correct.”
Gretchen nodded. “Mr. Applegate says that Stover was really good at shirking his duties. Avoiding work. Let’s start looking for him out at Cloverleaf Downs. He knows what’s involved in keeping horses, and he’s practiced in shirking duties around a horse operation. And it’s on the north side of town where we would be least likely to be searching for him.”
“While we’re at it, let’s check out the dog track, too,” Visneros suggested. “They’re both on Bell Road. And the stockyards.”
“Good. Now how do we proceed when we find him?” Hugh looked around at faces.
One of the greatest strengths of the Homicide division was this pooling of ideas right here, the brains and experiences of everyone focused on one objective. And around this table sat the brightest and best of the squad. Joe began to feel a breath of hope, a modicum of confidence that they might actually find and neutralize Jimmy Stover, one way or another, before he found Bridgid.
Hugh was making notes. “We need someone to check out the farm-and-ranch supply stores. Tommy, are you up to that? Tommy?”
Gretchen waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, he fell asleep ten minutes ago.”
Chapter 16 Jerry Hocks
“How are you doing?” Joe parked Jerry’s Le Baron in the Cloverleaf Downs racetrack visitor lot. They were driving this vehicle and Jerry was driving Joe’s MG; this vehicle was unknown to Stover and it had tinted windows. Half a dozen other cars sat about here and there.
“Well enough.” Tommy picked up the binoculars and focused them in.
Joe left Tommy to watch the lot and walked to the Cloverleaf Downs grandstand. The Le Baron might not be known to Stover, but Joe sure was. The flak jacket he wore beneath his shirt itched, and it chafed under his left arm.
Okay, so it was patently illegal; Joe flashed his badge as if he had not quit. No one of Stover’s appearance or description had applied at the racetrack. He left his card and numbers with the secretary as well as the manager. Secretaries knew what was going on; the people they worked for usually did not. The dog track wasn’t hiring. Neither were the stockyards. “But you might try that chicken ranch on McKellips.” Chicken ranch?
There was indeed a chicken ranch on McKellips, two long Quonset huts and an office. No, they weren’t hiring until the end of October. They only brought in broods in winter; chickens die too quickly in summer if the AC fails. You cannot imagine the mess and stink of having ten thousand dead, rotting chickens in a hot Quonset. Sorry. You might try the stockyards.
Joe flopped disconsolate behind the wheel. “Okay, so you’re an Irishman. Where will you apply for work if you need money but you don’t like to work?”
“Golf course. I can lay me rake on the ground and hide behind trees.”
Joe called Hugh to bemoan their lack of success, and they started in on golf courses.
Finally it was Bridgid’s quitting time. They ended their fruitless canvass of golf courses and went across Thomas to Bridgid’s station.
Jerry and John Szchypanski had apparently hit it off famously. They, the uniformed officer assigned to Bridgid, and a firefighter Joe had not met were hot into a game of Monopoly. Bridgid was the banker.
Jerry looked up at Joe as he entered the office. “Darn! And I have Boardwalk, too.”
“Is it possible to freeze the game and take it up on the morrow?” Bridgid tidied her stack of twenties.
“We can.” John bobbed his head. He was grinning. “You’re going home, right, Jerry?”
“Right. Thank you for letting me hang out here.”
The uniformed officer looked at his watch. “Uh, my tour of duty ends in ten minutes.”
“We have it.” Jerry’s face suggested he didn’t think much of clock-watchers.
“But the, uh, other officer isn’t here yet.”
“Send him over to my house when he gets here.”
“I don’t know where you live.”
“You’re a cop; you’re supposed to be an investigator. I suggest starting with the phone book. Hocks. It’s in the Hs.”
“So we’re at your place tonight.” Joe leafed through Jerry’s stack of deeds. He had monopolies on both blue and green. “How come you didn’t win already?”
“The banker refuses to cheat. When the banker cheats, I can win even without Boardwalk.”
Bridgid laughed out loud.
Jerry led the way out, leaving the uniformed officer
behind. “I called Hugh to tell him we’re meeting at my place. He’s babysitting your house, just in case he shows up there. Gretchen is watching the apartment. Visneros called me twice asking what to do about this or that. He’s in over his head, but he’s doing pretty darn well, considering. I was thinking Chinese for dinner, but Marj says she’ll whip something up.”
Tommy wrapped a lanky arm around Jerry’s shoulder. “That be four different things going on simultaneously. Y’re beginning to think like a street cop again, glad to see.”
Jerry slid behind the wheel of Joe’s Midget and drove away, so Joe seated Bridgid in the LeBaron.
Tommy climbed in back. “Quite a hot game of Monopoly, I see.”
“I be starting to understand it; may’ap I’ll join as a player next game.”
Joe cackled. “Just don’t try to play the kids while you’re still a beginner. You’ll get creamed.”
Bridgid smiled. “They claim they have altered the rules to make the game more interesting. When ye pay taxes or fees—the sort of charges levied by a chance card—the money goes not to the bank but to the centre of the board. Should ye land on Free Parking, ye get whatever be in the middle. I could not find that in the rules pamphlet.”
“The kids use that gimmick, too. And they don’t bother with the ones. They just round the figure up to the next five.”
“Mr. Szchypanski and the others do likewise. As the banker I could not help but note that the money is all quite worn, but the ones look like new.” Bridgid clicked her seatbelt in. “I feel ashamed in a way, that I be such a nuisance.”
“I’m sorry to hear you feel bothered. Please don’t.” Joe pulled out into traffic. “It’s not you who’s the nuisance.”
How many times did Joe tell her, “Please don’t let your mother’s mindset guide what you do.” She didn’t want to, but yes, that was exactly what she was doing. She felt very sad and useless.
She could just hear her mother screeching, “You’re a low-class girl, a mere working class girl, not worthy of being fussed over!” True, today on a run to a choking baby, she probably saved the infant’s life. That’s hardly useless. But all these policemen, and a few former policemen, were fussing over her, and surely they had more important things to do. They were every one of them important people. It was all her fault; she couldn’t shake that ugly thought.
Pony Up Page 18
