by Jim Riley
We walked back to the cabin together. The trek that had taken Sarge two hours was only a fifteen-minute walk when you weren’t worried about noise and could take the most direct route. When we got back to the cabin, Danny was waiting with the rest of the team. They had built a fire and were sitting around telling tales. I had expected Danny to still be on post, and then I noticed a red mark in the center of his back. Sarge hadn’t said anything about already getting Danny. I guessed that’s why it took him so long to get to where I was. Then I wondered why he even had ended up on that trail if he’d already killed Danny.
“Looking for you,” he explained.
Danny chimed in. “You sure are a quiet son of a bitch.”
“Not quite quiet enough,” Sarge said as he showed off the red paint mark I’d put on his right shoulder.
Troy Zimmerman reached out to give me a high-five. I gave him one back but told him it wasn’t all good and showed them all my chest wound.
In all it was the best training day, in fact the best day, I’d had in a long time. I had also gained a newfound respect for the Sarge. The fact that I’d gotten anything on him had made me feel good, and I think the others were pretty impressed with it, too. The bullshit and beer flowed for hours that night. I drank lots of Pepsi.
I was nipple-deep in a rash of burglary cases when Bell called me. I hadn’t spoken to him in well over two months. It was like talking to a long-lost friend, and he picked it up like we talked daily.
“Get my hot tub warmed up.”
“Why, you bringing the wife up for a vacation?”
“Nope. I found your guy.”
“The boyfriend?”
“Yep. That’s the good news. The bad news is he’s dead.”
“You’re shittin’ me. Tell me about it.” I was excited and let down all at the same time.
Bell explained that the boyfriend’s vehicle had been found in San Antonio. The doper that was driving it had traded it for some meth. He hadn’t even gone to the trouble of wiping the blood and brains off the headliner. The San Antonio P.D. contacted Bell, who filled them in. The guy was arrested for possession of a stolen vehicle and suspicion of murder. He rolled on the hype he’d gotten the car from so fast he may have set some kind of record. He didn’t want any part of a killing.
Just like the first guy, the hype who had sold him the car spilled his guts before they could finish the Miranda warning. Seems he didn’t want any part of a killing either. The only difference is this guy had actually seen the former owner, one blond-haired and blue-eyed man, get capped. The former transient had been hiding, although he referred to it as lounging, in the bushes behind a well-known hype hangout in Lubbock when a large SUV pulled up alongside the small blue car. Some words were exchanged, and the driver of the SUV pulled a handgun and shot the driver of the blue car. After the SUV left, which was immediately, the transient went and checked it out. Sure enough, the blond-haired guy was deader that hell. He figured the guy didn’t need the car anymore, so he put the body in a dumpster and took off to San Antonio, which is where he was from and wanted to get back to. The way he looked at it, what he told the detectives anyway, it worked for everyone, like karma.
Bell found the body at the dump after two days of digging. He started to call me when it all started happening but decided to wait until he had the body.
“And guess what the best part is?”
“Your transient ID’d Mrs. Gittleson?”
“No.”
“The bullet in the boyfriend matches the bullet that whizzed by my ear?”
“No.”
I could hear a little discouragement in Bell’s voice. I guess I was taking away his thunder. “What then?” I tried to still sound upbeat.
“The transient did say he thought it was a woman’s voice in the SUV, and the vehicle he described is like the one the Gittlesons have.”
It wasn’t a smoking gun but it was something. Maybe enough to get a warrant. “You getting a warrant for her place?”
“Serving it in the morning. You want to come down?”
It sure was tempting. But I’d already given the case back to Kelly. I could take it back or go down there with her. But we’d have to drive all night to get there. Either that or try and catch a flight out tonight. Either way, I’d be up all night and all the next day. I turned him down. I told him he knew enough about my case to know what to look for and call me after he’d served the warrant.
“By the way, what’s the guy’s name?”
“Don’t know yet. We’re going to have to run his fingerprint through AFIS and hope we get a hit.”
“Fingerprint? As in one?” I knew that the FBI’s computerized fingerprint catalog, AFIS, was capable of finding just one print, but more would have been better.
“Yeah. All he had left was one that could be salvaged enough to ink. Well, that and DNA.”
“DNA. I need that.”
“Yeah. Figured you might. When I get it, I’ll get it to you.”
“I owe you.”
“Only a lot.”
The next day drug on forever waiting for Bell to call. I called Kelly, and she was excited at first about the break in the case. I could tell as the conversation wore on that she seemed less enthusiastic.
“You okay?”
“Sure.” She tried to sound confident, but it was thin.
“If something breaks I’d like to work the case with you again. But I won’t take it away, you can be the lead. I’ll be your partner.”
“Sounds good. Does that mean I get to pick the restaurant?”
“Only if you’re paying. And it’s steak.”
“Nope. Sushi.”
I didn’t argue. I don’t think Lubbock has a sushi restaurant.
Then things just slowed down again. The bank and credit card records had finally come, and Kelly was well into trying to find a clue in the mess. I had looked over them a couple of times with her, and it seemed like she had a knack for what she was doing. Kind of a bookkeeper type of mentality that I didn’t have. She had found the purchase of the bottle of Gavi Mr. Gittleson had made at the liquor store. The only other purchase she’d found that was very interesting had been a $227 charge at D’Angelo’s on the same night as the purchase of the wine. That was also the night before he died. Since mine and Tish’s meal there had been significantly less than that, I guessed by the amount that he had not been alone. Kelly had come to the same conclusion. In fact, she had gotten the sales receipts for that night. Even better, she’d gotten the waitress’s original order pad which showed “brown” got pasta with Bolognese sauce and “blond” had gotten smothered risotto. Kelly had asked the waitress if she remembered anything about the people she waited on that night, but it had been several months. She looked at the notes and informingly stated that one was a brunette and one was a blond. Blond. The blond pubic hair? Oh great, another blond.
Bell had not called me the next day. I almost called him, but I knew if he’d had time he’d have picked up the phone. I waited. The next morning, I got the call.
“It was her.”
“You got a confession?”
“No, she lawyered up when she opened the door.”
“Maybe it’s just your charming personality.”
“Yeah. That’s what my boss said, too.”
“Did you find anything?”
“No smoking gun, as they say. We did find an empty holster, though. The bullet that killed the kid was still in the car, if you can believe that. Ballistics said it came from a Smith & Wesson 6906. The holster was a leather Gould and made for that model gun. No ammo or gun, though.”
“She say anything about it?”
“Yeah. Well, her attorney said she wanted to report it stolen. I damn near hit him.”
“I’ll bet you did. I’ve seen him. He’s bigger than your sex drive.”
“Yeah, well, I almost had my partner hit him then.”
“You have enough that it gets you a warrant for her?”
&nbs
p; “Nope. She doesn’t remember where she was at that night but thinks she was home sleeping. She knows it was too long ago for me to try and destroy her alibi. I’ll pull her phone and credit cards, though.”
“You hit her with the eye wit?”
“Yeah. She didn’t flinch.”
“She even admit she knew the kid?”
“Nope.”
“Crappy case. You’re a shit magnet,” I told him.
“I wasn’t until I met you. Now it’s the best I can do.”
I wished him luck and he promised he’d copy everything he had and send it to me as soon as he could. I knew he would since the two murders were obviously tied, even if it was indirectly. I might turn up a lead for him.
I tried to put the murder case out of my mind and focus on my string of burglaries. I owed it to my department to put the effort there, and besides, I needed a win because I was starting to feel discouraged. I actually had a couple of very viable leads and one informant out beating the bushes trying to work off a small drug pop. The burgs all had a common theme, well, besides the obvious same tool mark on the Point of Entry, or POE. The thieves only targeted jewelry, guns, and money. That wasn’t too unique, except that it strongly implied they were experienced. Those are the items that sell or pawn the quickest.
I had also figured out from footwear impressions that there were two of them. I had been running pawn queries on the state computer for all of the known local burglars, or the usual suspects. I had also put out an alert to the surrounding counties to see if they had any similars.
I’d been working the case for a week, among other cases, of course, but had just about reached the end of my leads when I got a break. I’m a firm believer that people make their own luck. It really pisses me off when some lazy cop talks about another cop always being lucky. Most luck is nothing but the payday off a lot of hard work. You turn over enough rocks and a clue will eventually pop out. Then again, sometimes it’s just luck.
A patrol officer assigned to the D.A.R.E. program was at the high school doing his thing and noticed a tennis bracelet on a seventh grader’s wrist. Now, in a town where millionaires and famous people rub elbows with the common folk, it would not be unheard of for a thirteen-year-old to be wearing a $10,000 bracelet. Only the D.A.R.E. officer happened to know this girl, or more correctly, her father. He was a local ski-bum-turned-even-less, and they lived in the only trailer park in Logan County, just outside of the town limits. She had no more business wearing a tennis bracelet than I did a crown. That was luck.
Unlike many school officials, and especially one in charge of a school full of children from very liberal and rich families, the local middle school principal was very law-enforcement friendly. It may have been because his father had retired from the Chicago P.D. and his brother was a shift supervisor there still. But more than likely it had as much to do with the fact that when he taught in Chicago, he was stabbed in his classroom. His tolerance for disrespect was even shorter than mine.
Her name was Sally and she was a very obnoxious thirteen-year-old. She sat in the straight-backed chair with her arms folded and her jaw taut. The diamond bracelet was on the desk in front of her so she could see it.
“So, you found it, huh?” Boy, like I wouldn’t have guessed that was what she was going to say.
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You found a diamond bracelet and you don’t remember where?”
“Nope.”
“Was anyone with you?”
She thought about it for a second, probably trying to figure out if it would help her or hurt her. “Nope.”
I nodded. “If you don’t remember where you found it, how do you remember you were alone?” Kids are not very smart when it comes to lying; you just have to pay attention.
“I don’t remember.” However, they can be trying.
I knew I was treading on thin ice interviewing her without a parent there. So far, I could say I was interviewing her as a witness since I had no reason to believe she herself had done the burglary. I figured that out pretty fast when I looked at her size five feet. The impressions at the scene were at least a men’s size nine or ten. At this point I knew she was lying, though, and I was getting extremely close to the line of custodial interrogation.
“Where’s your dad?”
The principal answered for her, which I wish he hadn’t done. I know he just was trying to help, but it really breaks the flow of an interview. “We tried to call him but there was no answer.”
I figured I’d try and use that. “Well, I guess we’ll have to take her into custody for now. Maybe ship her to Juvie for the night.” She didn’t flinch. I guessed the thought of Juvenile Detention didn’t bother her. Either that or she knew it was a bluff. That’s when I tried something else.
“You have a brother, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“He’s been to Juvie lock-up before, hasn’t he?” I acted like I knew what I was talking about, but I was really only guessing. She shrugged and I knew that meant yes. I also knew where I was going with this thing now.
“On second thought, I think I’ll get a search warrant for her house. My guess is all the other stolen stuff is there. Hell, maybe I’ll get the whole family.” I was speaking at the principal, but I was talking to her. I saw her head drop and her shoulders start rocking slightly. She was crying. “It was your brother, wasn’t it?”
Tears were pouring out of her eyes. I had never seen a child put so many tears out so fast. “He doesn’t know I took it from his room.” She sobbed again. “He’s gonna get in trouble, isn’t he?”
“Some. Who did it with him?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t know if she was telling me the truth or not.
“Maybe it will help him if you tell me.” It was a lie, or at least it probably was, but I could legally do that. Maybe I’d feel bad later. Probably not, though. The little shits were breaking into people’s homes. I owed them squat.
“I don’t know,”
“Do you have a guess?”
“Maybe Casey. That’s his best friend.” She hadn’t said it as though it was a guess, but a statement.
“Maybe Casey, or it was Casey?”
She nodded.
“How do you know it was Casey?”
“I saw them looking at the stuff the other night and talking about it. That’s how I knew where it was. Are you going to tell him I told you?” Her big, tear-drenched eyes were pleading. I couldn’t lie here. Not this obviously.
“Yes. I’ll have to. But you know what? You’re probably doing him a favor. If he kept breaking into people’s homes, he may get shot. Maybe you’re saving his life.” It was actually the truth.
She looked at me with the knowing smirk of a teenager that had grown up in a family of shitheads. “I’m sure he’ll thank me.” It dripped with sarcasm.
I shrugged and grabbed up the bracelet.
Casey, who I interviewed first since he was the first one I could find, confessed like the inexperienced little burglar he was. I couldn’t take notes fast enough and finally had to tell him to slow down. I cleared eight burglaries and several vandalisms from his statement. He also threw his buddy under the bus without even hesitating. I told him the only deal I could make with him was that I’d talk to the DA and tell them he cooperated. Tony, little Sally’s brother, was eighteen years old by a mere twelve days. If I’d caught him after the first few burglaries I’d have had to take to him Juvenile Detention. Lucky for me, and unlucky for him, he got to dress out in orange in the county jail with the big boys. He still cried like a child, though.
Tony, having experience to fall back on, had kept his mouth shut and requested a lawyer. It may turn out to be a good move, but I had an awfully good case against him. I’d also use up any favors I had built up at the DA’s office to make sure Casey got a break and the brother took the full hit. Asshole.
I slept well that night. It
always feels so good to close a case with catching the bad guy. A lot of the stuff had been traded for dope or pawned. Some of it I’d probably get back, and there was one particular piece of antique jewelry that I’d recovered from the kid’s house. It had meant a lot to the victim since her recently deceased husband had given it to her. When I handed it back to her she cried. It reminded me of why I do this job.
Coop called the next day to remind me there was another Joint Terrorism Task Force meeting coming up. I assured him I was going to make this one, and he told me I better. He asked how it was going, and I told him about the burglaries I’d cleared up. It wasn’t like solving the Hoffa case, but it was something. We talked shop a little more and he told me that he had to head back to Quantico for a series of meetings, then on to Washington. It would not have been unusual for him to tell me he was going back for some training or meetings, but I sensed in his voice he was trying to tell me something without saying it. I played along and asked.
“What’s up?”
“Can’t say. But I think I might run into someone you know.”
I didn’t know many people that ran in the circles that Coop ran in except the few I’d met over the JP Goldstein building incident. I took a guess. “Is he a Colonel?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this about what we’ve discussed in theory in the past?”
“Maybe. Hey, you come across any of the New Millennium yet?”
He was changing the subject. That meant he’d said all he felt comfortable saying about what was obviously top secret. I knew that he was talking about a U.S. version of a Britain’s MI5.
“No. None yet, but if I do you’ll be the first to know.”
“Okay. Well, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you when I get back. And don’t forget about that meeting. Even if I’m not back yet.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”
Bell called me later that day and told me he was sending me a packet containing what he had in the case so far. It included the DNA information on both Mrs. Gittleson and the still-unnamed, blond-haired, dead boyfriend. The single fingerprint they had been able to get off the body had not produced anything in AFIS. Either he’d never been printed or the quality just hadn’t been good enough. Either way, it was a wash. I was pretty impressed with the speed at which he’d gotten the DNA results, though.
