by Frank Zafiro
“Well, no,” Katie admitted. “But I volunteered because they all have families.”
“And you don’t! What do you call me?”
“Families with spouses and kids, Mom. You know, kids? Little ones who wouldn’t understand why Daddy has to work on Christmas?”
Her mother snorted. “Well, that’s just…well…”
“It is what it is,” Katie said. “Look, I drew the first twelve hours. Six in the morning to six at night. As long as nothing happens, I can be over there by midnight.”
“That’s not even Christmas anymore,” her mother huffed. “Besides, you can’t drive. The passes are shut down except for four wheel drives with chains. You’d have to fly to get here.”
“So I’ll catch a flight on the 26th. It’ll be easy. No one else will be traveling that day.”
“That’s because all normal people are with their families.”
“Mom—”
“Just do what’s important to you,” her mother snapped and hung up.
Katie stared at the handset for a long moment. Then she lowered it onto the cradle, shaking her head.
’Tis the season, she thought.
She showed up at ten till six with a hazelnut latte and the newspaper. The lights flickered and hummed when she hit the switch, casting wavering light down on the empty desks in the bullpen.
Katie hung her coat, dropped the paper onto her desk, and switched on the computer. After booting up, she checked email. All that was new were a couple of generic administrative messages. She deleted them.
The rustle of the newspaper seemed loud in the empty room. She read and sipped her latte.
She’d worked her way through everything but the sports page and the classifieds when her phone rang. She snatched the receiver, grateful at the prospect of human contact.
“Detective MacLeod.”
“Merry Christmas, girl.” Detective John Tower’s voice boomed in the earpiece.
Katie pulled the phone away from her ear momentarily. “Sheesh, John. Blow out my eardrums, why don’t you?”
Tower lowered his voice. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
Tower paused, then cleared his throat. “Anyway, I just thought I’d give you a call. You know, to say merry Christmas.”
“Thanks.”
“So, uh, merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, John.”
“Is it busy?”
“Two robberies and a serious assault already this morning,” she said.
“What? You serious?”
“Absolutely. I only just came back to get some more crime scene tape.”
“Oh, man. You need some help? I can call Browning, or maybe Finch and Elias. We could—”
“Relax, John,” Katie said. “I’m just kidding. It’s quiet. No calls.”
Tower didn’t reply. Finally, he said, “Really?”
“Really. I’m about to do the crossword.”
“Well, eight across is probably ‘gullible.’” Tower chuckled. “You got me, girl.”
Katie smiled.
“Anyway,” Tower said. “Have a good shift. And if it gets too busy, you can call me. Ben will have these presents torn apart before ten. After that, I’m available if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
Tower hung up.
Katie read the sports page and scanned the classifieds. Then she broke out a pen and began work on the crossword. When she realized eight across was “infatuated,” she allowed herself a long chuckle.
By noon, she’d played too many games of computer solitaire and was officially bored.
At one-thirty, the phone rang again.
“Detective MacLeod.”
“Merry Christmas,” came a woman’s bright voice. “This is Janice in Dispatch. Are you interested in helping patrol out with a call?”
“Definitely!”
Janice gave her the details. She scrawled them into her notebook and hung up with a thank-you and a merry Christmas. Coat in hand, she strode out of the police station. Five minutes later, she was parking in front of an ATM across the street from her destination. A marked patrol car sat directly in front of the business.
Officer Jack Willow waited for her at the glass-door entrance to the small business suite. He briefed her without preamble. “The owner came down to pick up some presents for his wife that he had hidden in his office. Found the door unlocked and the safe empty.”
Katie examined the door and saw no damage. “Is this the only way in?”
Willow nodded. “Yeah. And there’s no forced entry.”
“Did he forget to lock up?”
“No.” Willow shook his head. “In fact, he is adamant about that.”
Willow led her through the door and into the small office. Katie glanced around and saw no signs of ransacking.
Aside from the main office area, there was only one private office. That was where Willow took her. Inside, a middle-aged man sat at the opulent desk, his head in his hands.
“Mr. Burnwell?” Willow said.
The man looked up. His eyes were red and bleary and his hair askew from sleep. The jeans and T-shirt looked out of character on him, almost as if he were wearing a costume.
“This is the detective,” Willow told him.
“Oh, thank heavens,” Burnwell said, rising to stand.
Katie held out her hand and Burnwell shook it. His palms were damp but his grip sure.
“Are you going to find my money?” he asked.
“I’m going to try,” Katie told him. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Burnwell’s eyes flicked to Willow and back to her. “I already told him. I’d hate to think we’re wasting time here.”
Katie gave him a warm smile. “It’s not a waste. I just need to know the facts before I can begin my investigation.”
Burnwell sighed. “Well, of course. That makes sense, I suppose.” He sighed again and sat back down heavily into his overstuffed chair. With his hand, he motioned toward the wall. “I’ve been cleaned out.”
Katie followed his motion to the empty, open safe on the wall. “And you discovered the money missing this morning?”
“About an hour ago,” he said.
“How much?”
“All of it.”
“Do you have actual figures?” Katie asked.
Burnwell shrugged. “Eventually, after the season, we’ll figure it all out. But I’m guessing a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty.”
“Thousand?”
Burnwell nodded.
“Why was that much in your safe?”
“The vendors brought it in last night.”
“Vendors?”
Burnwell nodded again. “Yes. Detective, do you even know what business I’m in?”
“No,” Katie admitted, feeling foolish even though she had no reason to. “Why don’t you fill me in?”
Burnwell drew himself up in his seat. “Are you familiar with those kiosks in the mall? The seasonal ones?”
“I think so. They sell Christmas stuff?”
“Not just Christmas items. Remote control cars, sunglasses, jewelry, you name it. I have seven carts between the two malls. We do eighty percent of our yearly business in the month of December. Much of it is in cash.”
“And the vendors brought in the cash on Christmas Eve?”
“Yes. The last week’s worth, anyway. I put it in the safe.”
“Why not the bank?”
“The banks were all closed by the time they closed up shop at nine o’clock. I planned on depositing the money the day after Christmas when the banks open back up.”
Katie nodded in understanding. “Who else has access to the office?”
“Just my two employees.”
“None of the vendors?”
“No.”
Katie flipped open her notebook. “What are the names of your employees?”
“Carla Stehr is the accountant,” Burnwell said. “And Jeri Nives is the recepti
onist. But I don’t think they—”
“Did they both have access to the safe as well?” Katie asked him.
“Well…yes.”
Katie snapped the notebook shut. “Then I’ll need to talk to them.” She glanced around the room. “Did you get what you came for this morning?”
“Huh?”
“Your wife’s presents?”
“Oh.” Burnwell nodded. “Yeah, they’re in the car.”
Katie excused herself and returned to her police car. She considered calling out Forensics to photograph and print the scene, but dismissed the idea. The photos would be simple ones that she could take with her digital camera. And prints really didn’t matter. Both suspects’ fingerprints would be all over the office, including the safe. It wouldn’t prove anything.
She returned to Burnwell’s office and snapped a dozen shots, though she realized it was probably overkill. When she’d finished, she asked Burnwell, “Where will you be the remainder of the day?”
“I’m going back home to be with my wife,” he said. “Will you call me if you find out anything?”
“I will.”
Jeri Nives lived in a large apartment complex. Katie eventually found the building with the right letter on it, but it took another five minutes until she stood in front of the right apartment number.
No one answered her repeated knocks. She graduated from polite taps to loud pounds, but no one came to the door. She gave it one last try with the butt end of her flashlight before giving up.
The door across from Jeri’s opened up. “What’s the racket?”
Katie turned to the man. He looked to be in his forties, wore glasses and a drooping mustache. She held up her badge. “You know Jeri Nives?”
“Sure. She in trouble?”
“I just need to talk to her. Do you know where she is?”
“Went to her mom’s house, I think.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Yeah. I ran into her when I got the paper. I invited her over for eggnog, but she said she couldn’t because she was going to her mother’s house.”
“Do you know where that is?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t.”
“All right.” She handed him a business card. “Thanks. Sorry for disturbing you.”
“No worries…” He glanced down at the card. “Katie. You want to come in for some eggnog?”
She smiled. “Sorry, can’t. Working.”
“Okay, then. Well, merry Christmas.”
She had better luck at Carla Stehr’s house. Through the glass windows in the front door, she saw a woman in her fifties watching television. Katie knocked.
Carla answered the door. “Yes?”
Katie showed her badge. “Can I come in and talk with you for a minute?”
“Of course.” Carla opened the door wide and let her in.
Five minutes later, the two women were seated at the small dining room table sipping tea that Carla insisted on making.
Katie opened her notebook and took down Carla’s basic biographical information. Then she said, “Do you have any idea why I’m here, Mrs. Stehr?”
Carla shook her head.
“Your office was broken into. Some money was stolen.” Katie watched her reaction carefully.
Carla’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No. No one was there when it happened.”
“What was taken?”
“Money from the safe.”
Carla’s eyes widened further. “The money from the safe?”
“Yes. Do you know how much that would be?”
“Not exactly, no. Mr. Burnwell collected it from the vendors all day long. I knew he wasn’t going to make it to the bank before it closed.” She shook her head in amazement. “There must have been over a hundred thousand dollars in that safe.”
“You’re the accountant, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you count the money before it goes to the bank?”
“No. I usually deal with the bank receipts when I balance the books.”
“Do you have any idea who could have done this?”
She considered. “Well, obviously, it would have to be someone with access to the safe.”
“Who has that access?”
“Mr. Burnwell, Jeri, and myself.”
“No one else?”
“Not that I know of. Maybe Mrs. Burnwell, but I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“She’s…a little bit….” Carla stopped.
“A little bit what?”
Carla paused. “I don’t want to be mean. Let’s just say that if it isn’t socializing or shopping, she’s not too interested.”
“She’s a trophy wife?”
“Oh, that’s such a horrible description,” Carla answered. “But yes, I suppose so.”
“So between Jeri and Mr. Burnwell, who do you think could have taken the money?”
Carla raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I couldn’t say. I mean, to accuse somebody—”
“I’m not asking for an accusation, Mrs. Stehr. Just your thoughts.”
Carla looked down at her teacup. “I don’t know about taking money,” she said carefully. “But I’m pretty sure the two of them were carrying on, if you know what I mean.”
“An affair?”
“Something like that.” Carla looked up. “I don’t have any proof, mind you. Just my impression, based on how they behave around each other.”
“Did this affair start or stop recently?”
“Oh, no,” Carla said. “It’s been going on for most of the year, I’d guess.”
“Do you know where Jeri’s mother lives?”
“I do. I dropped her off once.” She gave Katie the address.
“One last thing,” Katie asked. “Did you take the money, Carla?”
Carla brought her hands to her chest. “Heavens, no!”
“Would you be willing to take a polygraph exam?”
“A lie detector?”
Katie nodded.
Carla pressed her lips together. Her hands shook slightly. “Well, I suppose. If it were necessary.”
Katie rose from her seat. “Thank you, Mrs. Stehr. And thanks for the tea.”
Jeri wasn’t at her mother’s house. And her mother, Pauline, wasn’t happy about it.
“You’d think a daughter would want to spend Christmas with the woman who brought her into the world,” she groused.
Katie tried to ignore the editorial comment, but a pang of guilt stabbed at her stomach, followed by a short flare of anger. She wondered if Pauline was as much a drunk as her own mother.
“Do you know where Jeri is?” Katie asked.
“I have no idea. If I did, I’d be giving her an earful, believe me you!”
Katie handed her a business card. “If she comes back, would you have her give me a call?”
Pauline took the card, but didn’t look at it. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, missy. She won’t even call her own mother.”
Katie didn’t reply.
At least I do that, she thought. No matter how painful.
She turned and walked back to her car without a word.
Katie drove back to the station and sat at her desk. She thought things over for a bit, absently chewing on her nails as she tossed the case over in her mind. A picture was starting to form. The problem was that she didn’t know enough to know if it was the right picture or not.
She reached for the telephone and called Burnwell’s house. On the fourth ring, a woman answered.
“Mrs. Burnwell?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“Detective MacLeod. I’m investigating the burglary at your husband’s business.”
“Oh. Is that finished yet? Because I was hoping to go out for dinner tonight.”
Katie paused. “Mr. Burnwell isn’t back yet?”
“No. He said the police needed him for a while yet. Are you almost finished?”
“Almost,” Katie said, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I do have a couple of questions for you, though.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Does your husband have a cell phone?”
“Of course.”
“Can you give me the number?”
Mrs. Burnwell recited it from memory. “What was your other question?”
“Did you enjoy the gifts your husband bought for you this year?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“I’m just curious. When did you open them?”
“This morning, before he left to go to the office. But what does that—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Burnwell.”
Katie hung up and dialed the cell number. It rang six times and went to voicemail. She left a message asking Burnwell to call her.
The picture seemed clearer, but she wasn’t sure yet. She let the ideas simmer in her head while she ran all three of the principals through the computer. None of them had any entries worth noting.
Katie looked up at the ceiling. “So the husband and the secretary took the stash and lit out for Mexico or something?” she asked the square tiles above.
Could be. But the problem was that it really wasn’t that much money. Enough to steal, sure, but hardly enough to run away on.
And why would he call it in if he was planning to run?
It didn’t make sense.
Her phone rang. She grabbed the receiver. “Detective MacLeod.”
“Uh, hey, this is Joe.”
“Joe?”
“From the apartments earlier?”
“Oh, right. The eggnog.”
“Exactly!”
“What can I do for you, Joe?”
“I was just wondering. You’re sure Jeri isn’t in any kind of trouble?”
“I just need to talk to her.”
“Okay, then. Well, she’s home now.” His voice dropped a few decibels. “Her and some older guy.”
Katie didn’t exactly run code to get to Jeri’s apartment, but she definitely broke a few traffic laws. She parked her car and took the stairs two at a time. At Jeri’s door, she paused a moment to catch her breath, then knocked.
No answer came for several moments. Then a female voice asked through the door, “Who is it?”
Katie held her badge up to the peephole. “River City Police, Jeri. I need to talk to you.”
There was a pause, then the rattling of a chain as Jeri opened the door. A woman in her mid-twenties with a flowing mane of blond hair stood in the doorway. Katie took in her perfect curves with a twinge of envy.
