by Ritter Ames
Pulling my desk drawer open and snatching my toothbrush and toothpaste, I whispered as quietly as possible, “Follow me.”
I passed Truman and Barbour in the hallway. Truman was lanky and Barbour was round, which accounted for their station-wide nicknames, Laurel and Hardy.
“Captain is waiting for you, Sage,” Truman said.
I had teeth to brush and a ghost to get rid of. “Yeah, yeah.”
Unfortunately, the bathroom was lacking in the privacy I required. Ashley Gibson was re-pinning her bun at the mirror. Ashley was a nice enough cop, and I’d tried to forge a friendship with her, but our budding friendship cooled after I was promoted to detective. On any other day, crossing paths with her in the bathroom would just be awkward, today it was inconvenient.
“Hi, Ashley.”
“Hi,” she mumbled around two hair pins.
Stepping two mirrors over, I began brushing my teeth while sliding a glance under the bathroom stalls to see if we were alone. Not seeing any feet under the stalls, I felt confident that once Ashley was gone, I could talk freely with Marmaduke.
“I see this is an excellent location for conversing privately, once Miss Bun puts her hair in order,” Marmaduke said. He tapped his fingers impatiently while Ashley affixed another pin, but then began taking two others out. “Oh, let me scare off this one. You just clean your teeth and behave normally.”
Before I could even consider the crazy possibility of arguing, Marmaduke’s visage appeared in Ashley’s mirror. “Boo!” he said.
The pins fell out of Ashley’s mouth with her gasp. She spun around, but there was no one behind her. She turned back around.
Marmaduke greeted her with a little wave. “Good morning, miss.”
“You okay?” I garbled, with toothpaste still in my mouth.
She felt her forehead. “Not so much. I think I’m coming down with something.” She half-heartedly pointed toward her mirror. “Did you?”
I rinsed, spit, then wiped my lips dry. “Did I what?”
She shook her head, picked up the hair pin and threw it in the trash, avoiding the mirror. “Nothing. I think I’ll go lie down in the breakroom. I had a long shift yesterday.” Dazed, she left, and finally Marmaduke and I were alone.
Having rehearsed a short speech the previous night just in case he returned, I leaned against the sink and cleared my throat. “So, Marmaduke, I’m flattered you’ve chosen to befriend me and that you feel you can help me out, but, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but you talk a lot, and I’m not really a big talker, and when you talk a lot I feel compelled to talk back, but then you’re not there and people are looking at me and thinking I’ve lost it and right now, the last thing I need in the world is to appear like I’ve lost it. I need to look like I’ve found it, you know what I mean?” To be fair, my “get lost” speech didn’t come out exactly as I’d rehearsed it.
“Goodness. Apparently, in addition to an invisible assistant, you are desperately in need of a speech writer as well. Your thoughts are not well-formed and your vocabulary is atrociously simplistic.”
“Leave me alone. How’s that for simple? And quickly, before someone else comes in here.”
“I see. You are dismissing me from service.”
“Huh?”
“Firing me, letting me go, giving me the boot.”
“I never hired you.”
“Tell me this, what report will you be giving your superior? He has asked for a report, has he not?”
“How do you know about that?”
“Just because you do not see me, does not mean I am not around.”
“I’m going to tell him the truth. I don’t have any leads. Yet.”
“How does one obtain one of these leads?”
“Interviews, forensics, research similar crimes in other jurisdictions, pray for one to fall in your lap.”
Marmaduke began to pace in front of me, his hands clasped behind his back. It was obvious he was formulating the basis for an argument. “Interviews? Whom do you interview? The victims?”
“Of course. And other people who might have witnessed suspicious activity. In this case, I interviewed the families who were robbed as well as their neighbors.”
“Do you interview them in their homes where the burglaries occurred?”
“Usually.”
His pacing halted abruptly. “Let me accompany you on one of these interviews. If I don’t prove my worth, I shall vanish from your life entirely.”
“I’ve already interviewed everyone.” My phone buzzed with an incoming message. I stopped to read it. “Great. A signal twenty-four.”
“A signal twenty-four? Sounds so official. Do interpret this term for me, please.”
“Robbery. A signal twenty-four is a robbery. In Sophie Rhodes’ neighborhood, the woman you had me talk to last night.”
“What good fortune! I imagine the next course of action is to proceed to the scene of the crime.”
“Your imagination is spot on.” I sighed. The ghost had hope written all over his ghost face. I rolled my eyes. “Fine. You can come. One interview. Please don’t distract me and don’t scare anyone. If you help me find a lead, I’ll let you stick around a little while longer. Let’s go.”
I pushed through the bathroom door and ran smack into Captain McCollough again. “Sir, I have to postpone my report—I’m heading to the scene of another burglary.”
“I think we should send you with a partner this time, Sage. Another set of eyes and ears to help sort this out.”
“Actually sir, I have a good feeling about this one.”
* * *
MARMADUKE YAKKED THE entire way. It was my fault. I asked him how he died. Clearly it was still a touchy subject. The story was long and confusing, something about his aunt, who was a witch. There was a car and a spell gone wrong. Maybe with the car. It was like my boss talking about fishing; I tuned out early on. I like my stories to the point:
Q: How did you die, Marmaduke?
A: Run over by a car.
To me, that’s an interesting conversation. I know what I need to know.
The house that had been burglarized was blue, two stories, with a covered front porch. From the police cruisers nearby, it was obvious the patrol officers were still on the scene. I cursed under my breath when I noticed Jesse Leeks had responded along with Shane Daniels. Shane was another officer unhappy I had been promoted instead of him. He was newly married with a baby on the way and craved the more routine, less dangerous job of detective.
“I know that man,” Marmaduke said. “Shane Daniels. I once thought him a cad, a louse, a horrible scoundrel of a man. He discarded poor Sophie like a day-old piece of bread. But I do believe he has changed for the better since his recent nuptials.”
Marmaduke was right. Shane had matured in the last year, and he was definitely easier to work with than Jesse. “I’m going to talk with Shane,” I whispered without moving my lips. “Go inside. Start poking your nose around. Listen to conversations I’m not a part of. Be the second pair of eyes and ears my captain wanted.” I shoved the door open and climbed out.
“This is terribly intoxicating—the thrill of the hunt. The solving of the puzzle that is a crime. As a young lad in Kent, I often yearned to emulate the brilliant Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Yes, yes, I know he is a fictional character, but I must say—”
“Oh, for crying out loud, enough talking. Would you just go?” In my frustration, I’d forgotten not to speak out loud.
Luckily, the only one who seemed to notice was Shane, who raised an eyebrow at me briefly.
Marmaduke removed his hat. “I say, a simple, ‘Please be on your way, Marmaduke,’ would suffice.” He vanished from my side. A moment later, he waved at me through the living room window.
Jesse was on the porch speaking with a middle-aged man and woman. The man scowled. He was dressed in a business suit. The woman had brown hair pulled back in a pony tail. If she was headed to work, she wasn’t dressed for it. Her swea
t pants and t-shirt were a little too informal even for a casual Friday. The couple’s posture told me they were married.
I crossed the front lawn.
Shane gave me a nod. “Detective Sage.”
“Good morning, Officer Daniels. What do we have?”
He handed me a piece of paper. “Burglary with no sign of forced entry.”
“Crap.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
I scanned the paper—a list of stolen items. “Smash and grab without the smash, just like the others?”
“Yeah.”
“Crap.”
“Yeah. Thomas and Belinda Rucker are the owners and residents. One adult child living out of town at college.”
I scribbled notes on my notepad. The ink in my pen was running out so I shook it, then continued scribbling. “Empty-nesters. I guess there’s no doubt it’s serial now.”
“Hey, you’re the detective, not me.”
I shook the pen again, harder this time, and grumbled. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on. I was hoping you’d be more helpful than Jesse. I just want to do my job.”
He handed over his own pen. “Sorry. You’re right. For what it’s worth, I know this is late coming, but congrats. You deserved it.”
I took his ballpoint gladly and shoved my own into my pocket. “Thank you.”
“Can I ask you a question though? And I’m not being sarcastic—is this case getting to you?”
“No,” I lied. “Why?”
“Sounded like you were yelling at yourself just a minute ago.”
Of course, my truthful response would have seemed batty, so I lied. “That wasn’t yelling. Motivating. I do that. A little pre-interview motivation speech. You know—you can do this Brenna. Get going and crack this case, Brenna. That kind of stuff.”
He narrowed his eyes to let me know he wasn’t buying my story.
I maneuvered around Shane and interrupted Jesse by introducing myself to the couple. “Mr. and Mrs. Rucker, I’m Detective Brenna Sage. I’ll be taking over from here. Officer Daniels has filled me in. Officer Leeks, thank you. You’re free to return to patrol.”
Jesse Leeks was cocky, but he was professional enough when professionalism was called for. He thanked me and retreated, but I expected I’d get a ribbing of some sort back at the precinct.
“So,” I said when Shane and Jesse were gone, “Officer Daniels provided me a list of items you believe were stolen.”
“Believe were stolen?” Mr. Rucker practically ripped me apart with his eyes. “We know they were stolen.”
“Right. And I’m sorry for that. I’d like you walk me through the house so I can identify a location for each missing item.”
Mr. Rucker was grumpy through the entire interview, checking his watch every few minutes and sighing loudly each time. He was late for a meeting and wanted to “get on with it.” He snapped at Mrs. Rucker more than once, and she snapped back. When I had what I needed from both of them, I began my usual routine—checked for unlocked windows on the ground level, walked the perimeter of the house looking for suspicious footprints, took a few fingerprints. The last three burglaries didn’t produce any suspicious prints, so there was no need to go overboard in that area. Most likely, my serial thief (or thieves) wore gloves.
Both Ruckers swore that all doors had been locked upon retiring for the evening. Mrs. Rucker went to bed at ten-thirty and Mr. Rucker thought it might have been eleven-thirty when he climbed into bed, having stayed up to watch the late evening news. Mr. Rucker first suspected a problem when he couldn’t locate his tablet, which he used for reading his web-based newspaper in the morning. It soon became apparent they were also missing Mrs. Rucker’s purse and cell phone, a diamond engagement ring and gold wedding band she’d left on a ring tree beside the kitchen sink, a coffee can of coins, and two laptop computers. All items had been on the first floor and within easy access of the front door.
I knocked on the doors of neighboring houses. Of the few people I spoke with, no one had seen anyone or anything suspicious between the hours of 11:30 pm and 6:30 am.
Not once during my investigative process did I see Marmaduke. Several times I wondered if he had vanished like the day before.
Mr. Rucker long gone to work, I gave Mrs. Rucker my card, told her I might need to speak with them both again, and that I’d get right to work on their case.
“Thank you,” she said. “I have a lot of work ahead of me canceling credit cards and getting a new driver’s license.”
“I know you’ve already said no one else other than your daughter at college has a key to your house, but are you very sure? Sometimes people give keys to neighbors in case they lock themselves out, or to check on things while they’re out of town on vacation. Anyone like that who might have a key?”
She shook her head. “Thomas isn’t very trusting of people.”
Her comment had a snide tone. I made a mental note—another similarity between the victims: husband and wife couple not the friendliest toward each other.
Just as I slipped the key into the ignition, Marmaduke finally appeared in the passenger’s seat. “Bravo,” he said. “You are a very thorough investigator, indeed. My commendations to a job well done.”
“I didn’t find anything. No footprints, and probably no worthwhile fingerprints if this is anything like the other robberies. They haven’t had any workmen in the house, and no one has easy access. All dead ends, just like the rest. There’s no evidence a bump key or pick gun was used on the front door, so I think the thieves are getting in with a key. But that’s just a theory. And whoever this is—person or persons—they’re smart. Not one of the stolen items has been recovered in pawn shops within a fifty-mile radius.”
“I am most curious—what is a bump key and a pit gun?”
“Pick gun. They’re both tools for unlocking a common door lock without the key. They usually leave evidence though, and they’re loud. They probably would have woken one or both of the Ruckers. Or possibly even a neighbor.”
“Fascinating. I have acquired a new piece of knowledge already.”
“Tell me you have something.”
“I am not positive, but I just might have stumbled upon a useful bit of information. The woman, Mrs. Rucker—did I hear her report her cell phone as a stolen item?”
“Yes. She said she always leaves it plugged in to charge every night in their home office.”
“Either she is forgetful then, or she is lying. I have seen it.”
“Where?”
“In her automobile, housed in the auto port. She received a phone call from someone named Jaxx. Spelled J-a-x-x. Odd name. Sounds like a bloke to me.”
“When did this happen?”
“While you interviewed them.”
I looked at my notes. Mrs. Rucker had claimed she called the cell phone carrier as soon as she knew it had been stolen. That phone had supposedly been cut off from service before eight am, so how could she have received a call while I was interviewing her hours later? “Maybe she wasn’t lying. Maybe she just didn’t tell me she has a second phone.”
“That seems most peculiar. Why would she keep a second phone? For business purposes, perhaps?”
I flipped my notepad closed. “Or to take calls from a bloke named Jaxx.”
* * *
YOU LEARN MARITAL affairs are all too common when delving into the investigation game. Secret phones are the preferred method for cheaters to conceal their infidelity. If Mrs. Rucker really was having an affair, what if she gave her lover a key to her house—to say, get in when her husband wasn’t there? It would be stupid, but people do stupid things all of the time. The problem was, the Ruckers’ burglary was identical to three other crimes perpetrated in the last four weeks. There was little doubt in my mind all four crimes were committed by the same person or persons. So, if my suspicion was correct and this Jaxx guy was Belinda Rucker’s lover and her burglar, then he was also having aff
airs with the other three empty-nester wives and had burgled them as well. How could four women happen to be having an affair with the same man? Didn’t seem very likely.
Usually, I’d be headed back to the precinct, logging fingerprints and sending them in for analysis, calling neighborhood watch leaders to put them on alert, and filing a ton of paperwork. With Marmaduke around, I decided to take a different approach today.
“How do you feel about working your magic during another interview?” I asked him.
“I feel positively ecstatic. Has there been another robbery?”
“No, but I want to revisit last week’s victims, the Blackwells. Debbie was the wife’s name. She runs a small business out of her house making jewelry. I’ll keep her in the living room with questions while you head upstairs. The first bedroom at the top of the stairs has been converted to her office. If she’s hiding anything from her husband, it would probably be there. I’m also pretty sure they sleep in separate bedrooms—just go everywhere, look everywhere. Any paper you see, read it, try to memorize as much as you can, especially anything that looks fishy.”
“I will not disappoint you.”
I rang the bell of the Blackwells’ two-story brick colonial. Late blooming pink and white impatiens flourished in billowing mounds on either side of the covered concrete stoop. The lawn was meticulously manicured and recently trimmed hedges dotted the front of the house.
“Perhaps she is not home,” Marmaduke said after a minute of waiting.
I motioned to the car in the driveway. “That’s her Mercedes. She’s home.” I rang again.
Debbie Blackwell didn’t answer the door quickly, but finally, I did hear footsteps on the other side of the door, which opened a crack. The bleached-blonde woman, whom I knew from our first interview to be fifty-three years old, blinked at me through the crack.
“Mrs. Blackwell? We met last week—Detective Sage from Stephens City PD, assigned to your robbery case. I had a few more questions for you and since I was in the neighborhood—”
“Now isn’t really a good time,” she said, keeping the door opened to a mere sliver.
