CHAPTER TEN
I pushed Jon away from me with a punch to the side of his head. I figured that was the body part with the littlest to be damaged.
Alvin was cuffing Heck’s wrists. While he was at it, he yanked the nylon off Heck’s head.
Alvin caught my stunned gaze and grinned. “Once a cop, always a cop, Sam.”
I grabbed Heck’s gun before Jon, holding his punched ear and moaning, could think to reach for it. I couldn’t stop staring at Alvin, couldn’t believe he was really there.
Alvin’s grin grew wider, and his teeth gleamed bright as the gold on his chain necklace. “The police saw you through the front doors, on your own. So I knew you’d managed to avoid the gunman so far. I figured that, if you could, you’d make it to the side exit. That’s where I waited, and that’s where I got in.
“I also figured you’d have a better chance to stay clear of the gunman if the cameras were off. So, being pretty familiar with control panels, I shut the power down.
“I knew that one of these guys would hot-foot it into the control room to find out what happened. I moved aside one of the ceiling tiles, climbed up through, and hid. The easier to crash-land on you, huh, Heck?”
Heck snarled at him. Alvin laughed his big, booming laugh. “Pardon me. ‘Heck’ would be short for … lemme guess … Hector?”
Heck burned tomato-red.
My stepdad’s loud laugh wasn’t bothering me anymore. In the circumstances, it was sweeter than any of Rafferty’s background music.
“That’s what I did, too,” I told Alvin. “They had me locked in the office, and I escaped up through the ceiling.”
“I know – Gina told me.”
“Gina? But she’s – ”
“She’s fine, Sam.” Alvin’s tone was kind, understanding.
I thought of all the times I’d been rude to Alvin, or sullen. I had a lot to make up for, but it would take time. More time than we had here.
So, for now, I just smiled crookedly, back at him.
Alvin nodded. He understood.
Mr. Rafferty knelt beside Jon, who was sobbing: “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean it … ”
“Correction,” I interrupted. “You did mean it. You just don’t mean it now that you’re caught.”
I looked back at my stepdad. “I still don’t understand. How’d you get in?”
Alvin stood up, though keeping a foot on the middle of Heck’s back. “Open that door, and you’ll find out.”
I opened it, this time wide as it would go.
In front of me, was a line of police officers.
I threw the gun down without even looking at it. My eyes were fixed on someone just behind the cops.
On tiptoe, watching anxiously over their shoulders, was Gina.
“When I opened the exit door to escape, a big man wielding a crowbar forced his way in,” Gina related. She glanced at my stepdad with an apologetic giggle. “You sure can look scary when you want to, Mr. Schelker. What with the crowbar, and the police yelling at you not to go in, I assumed you were one of Heck’s gang. I screamed.”
“Yeah,” Alvin nodded, rubbing an ear. “Repeatedly.”
“The gunshot I heard,” I said. “That was Heck, reacting from wherever he was to Gina’s screams. Firing off the rifle is Heck’s standard reaction to just about anything. It’s his way of showing everyone who’s boss. Heck really didn’t know what had happened to you, Gina.”
We were on the sidewalk. Police, with ambulance medics in tow, were gathered around Mr. Rafferty, Heck and Jon.
More police, along with the city coroner, were inside with Rick’s body.
The medics had already loaded both Heck and Mr. Rafferty on stretchers. Jon was rattling on, in high-pitched, whiny whispers, to the cops. I heard my name several times. Jon was trying to blame me for the heist. He slid a sneer my way.
Alvin waved reassuringly at my mom, who was behind a yellow cordon tape the cops had strung along the sidewalk. I waved at Mom, too, but my gaze kept boomeranging back to Gina. She was alive. She was okay.
My stepdad said, “Once in the control room, I gave Gina the shorthand explanation of who I was. I explained why I’d come in – to get you out.”
A plainclothes officer, overhearing, levelled a disapproving look at Alvin.
Alvin laughed. “Sam, meet my old friend and former colleague, Inspector Bill Abbott. Bill, this is my stepson, Sam Jellicoe. To say I’m proud of him would be the understatement of the millennium.”
Inspector Abbott stepped over to us. He’d been writing down the stuff Jon was saying. Now, popping a mint in his mouth, he said, “You were a good cop, Al – even if you broke every rule in the book to get things done. But now there’s a problem that even you may not be able to fix.”
The officer jerked his thumb at Jon. “Rafferty’s son claims young Sam here and the store custodian, Rick Murray, cooked up the heist. Young Rafferty says Rick shut down the power; then your kid here shot him so’s not to have to split the take.”
Past the cop, Jon smirked at me. I started for him. The smirk was nothing that a second punch, this time into that lying face, wouldn’t cure.
Alvin placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. To the Inspector he said, “That’s baloney and you know it, Bill. Sam just arrived in Winnipeg a few days ago to stay with his mom and me. He doesn’t know anyone else in this burg. And he hasn’t had time to plan robbing a lemonade stand, let alone a department store.”
Scowling at Jon, Gina blurted, “I saw Heck murder Rick. Heck was the gunman. Rick wasn’t involved. Just Heck – with Jon. I know it.”
“Oh yeah, Ms. Unemployed Make-Up Specialist?” jeered Jon. “And just how do you know it? You’re obviously sweet on Jelly. You’ll say anything.”
The ambulance attendants were strapping Mr. Rafferty on the stretcher. Another minute, and they’d take him away.
I called out, “Tell everyone it’s not true, Mr. Rafferty. Tell everyone Jon was involved up to his over-gelled hairdo.”
The storeowner wiped a hand over his face. “It was all so fast, so confusing,” he mumbled.
Mr. Rafferty was going to go through with it. He was going to lie for his son.
From his stretcher, Heck drawled, “I had the gun for a while, sure. I wrestled it away from the custodian. But the gun belongs to Jelly.”
He paused, no doubt for dramatic effect. I looked at him. In those deep beady eyes, a pinpoint of light flickered. Triumph.
A chill ran through me. I knew what Heck would say next even before he spoke. I saw myself back in the control room, picking up the gun after Heck dropped it. I saw myself clenching it right till I got outside.
Heck said, “After all, Jelly’s fingerprints are all over the gun.”
At that, Alvin blew up. He yelled about how absurd it was to suspect me. He yelled about the indignity of blaming the murdered custodian. Inspector Abbott tried to calm him down but Alvin just kept yelling. He sure was loud.
I liked his loudness, though. It showed me I had a fighter on my side. Someone who believed in me and wouldn’t give up.
There was someone else who believed in me. I turned away from Heck, who was watching Alvin, still with those pinpoints of light in his beady eyes. Heck was so very sure of himself. He’d even started that creepy, off-key humming.
I murmured to Gina, “You told everyone just now that I wasn’t involved. What finally convinced you I was telling the truth?”
She blushed, but didn’t lower her gaze. She looked right at me, and I realized Alvin had been wrong about something. I did have a friend in Winnipeg.
I also realized I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to get back to Vancouver.
Gina said, “It was simple, Sam Jellicoe. It was when Jon found us at the playhouse. He bellowed at Heck that he’d
found you. I figured that, even if Jon had been trying to ‘cooperate,’ as he said, with Heck, he would’ve told me to run for my life.
“He didn’t,” she finished. “But you did. Then I knew that you were the honest one, the one who – ”
Now she did lower her eyes. “ – who cared.”
“Yup,” I said. “I do.”
She didn’t say anything. Just smiled.
Inspector Abbott was trying to calm Alvin down. “We’ll sort it all out,” he promised. “You gotta understand my problem. The only person inside the store who understood how to shut off the power was the custodian.”
Heck just hummed away. I was so close to recognizing the tune, even though he was mangling it.
“Heck shut off the power,” I insisted.
“Prove it, Jelly,” sneered Jon.
Heck’s eyes gleamed. He was having the time of his life. He was gloating.
“Heck was inside before,” I repeated. “He was in the control room.”
Jon shook his head at Inspector Abbott. “Don’t waste your time listening to him, sir.”
Jon was being all-serious now, the good, helpful young citizen. As an acting job, it wasn’t half-bad.
But I wasn’t interested in Jon. I was interested in Heck’s humming. Slowly I was re-arranging the off-key notes into their proper tune.
Alvin said, “It makes sense, son. If we could just prove that Heck was in Rafferty’s at the moment the power went off … ”
I smiled at him. He wasn’t my real dad, but I didn’t mind the sound of that “son.” I didn’t mind it at all.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’re gonna cross all the i’s and dot all the t’s.”
I played Heck’s tune around in my head some more. Then I had it.
“Mr. Rafferty,” I called. “That background music you play in the store. Is it timed? Like, could you track when a certain piece of music was on earlier today?”
Abruptly Heck stopped humming.
The storeowner nodded. He cast a despairing glance at Jon. He sensed where I was going with this. Maybe Mr. Rafferty also sensed he wouldn’t be able to pretend about Jon anymore – to himself or anyone else.
I faced Heck. “All the time you had us hostage in the store you were humming You Are My Sunshine.”
Jon barked, “So what? Somebody shut this wallet thief up.”
Jon didn’t get it. He was too much of a mini-mind.
The heist’s mastermind, Heck, was smart enough to clue in. He bolted from the stretcher, ready to make a break for it – till Alvin and a couple of the uniformed cops pushed him back down again.
Inspector Abbott was scribbling down notes. “Go on,” he told me.
I looked at Heck. “You Are My Sunshine was playing when the power cut out. That’s why you kept humming the tune, right up till now. You could only have heard it because you were inside the store.”
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Scottish-born and mystery-minded, Melanie Jackson is a former journalist, and author of 12 children’s/young-adult suspense novels. No Way Out is her first book with Midway, an imprint of Playfort Publishing. Melanie thanks Louise Wallace and Harry Goldhar for their many good insights in bringing No Way Out to press. Melanie lives in Vancouver with her family, where she is plotting another mystery. For school presentations, please contact Melanie through the publisher.
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