Odd Partners

by Mystery Writers of America

  “It won’t be long. We believe that the killer may have used your yard to access Mrs. Carr’s property.”

  Mrs. Block shook her head. “Impossible. I was home yesterday morning. I’m sure I would have heard something.”

  “What about Thursday morning?”

  “Thursday? I left at some point for a lunch meeting. I’d have to check my calendar, but I believe I left just before noon.”

  “So you were home Thursday morning.”

  “Yes.” She frowned. Thinking? Reflecting? Coming up with a lie?

  Gayle had been a cop far too long. She was suspicious of everyone. “Do you have security cameras?”

  She shook her head. “I couldn’t convince my husband that we need them. This can’t possibly be a coincidence. The theft. Poor Mrs. Carr.”

  “We don’t know at this point, but may we please inspect your backyard?”

  She hesitated. “Okay. Go ahead, but I need to call my husband. He’s a lawyer.”

  Great. A lawyer.

  “We already inspected Mrs. Carr’s side of the fence and it’s clear that someone climbed over from your yard,” Riley said.

  “This way.” Mrs. Block led them down a long hall to a sun room with multiple French doors leading to the backyard. “Please, right through there. I’m just going to call my husband and let him know what’s happening.”

  Gayle and Riley walked outside. The Blocks’ backyard wasn’t quite as deep as Mrs. Carr’s, but it was twice as wide and far more elaborate. A fancy black-bottom swimming pool, covered patio, waterfall, gazebo, long, green grassy area, a stone path that wound around the perimeter. Lots of tasteful decorations, including a stone bench along the back fence where the killer accessed Mrs. Carr’s yard. Gayle stopped and inspected the area.

  “Bricks. Stone. No footprints,” Riley said.

  “She was home Thursday morning. She could have seen something, but she didn’t say anything.”

  “An intruder could have gone through the side gate.”

  “We’ll check that next. Did you see what the Blocks have in the house?”

  “A lot of stuff.”

  “Exactly, and that was just what we saw walking out here, yet the thief only took some cash and one pair of earrings? That woman has to have piles of jewelry. Were the diamonds the most expensive? Did the thief know that? Someone she knows? A relative?”

  “The property crimes detectives would ask all those questions.”

  “It feels odd.”

  “I know the detective who caught the case. I’ll call—maybe there’s a pattern. Maybe Mrs. Carr’s death is related. She might have seen something.”

  But why was she killed on Thursday if the theft happened the following night? Unless the Blocks didn’t notice the missing jewelry until Friday. Maybe they were robbed Thursday morning.

  “Thanks, Riley.”

  Riley stepped to the far side of the yard to make the call, and Gayle inspected the fence and bench. It was marble, with two mates ten feet away on either side. It would be easy enough to jump on the bench and climb over.

  She took a couple of pictures, but there was nothing here.

  Mrs. Block returned before Riley. “My husband said he wants to help in any way possible. He’s heartbroken over Mrs. Carr’s death.”

  “When do your gardeners service the house?”

  She seemed surprised at the question. “Tuesdays.”

  “Any other visitors? Maintenance, pool, guests?”

  “Well—I don’t think so. My girlfriend stopped by Wednesday to pick up donations for WEAVE, and another friend came by yesterday—we’re planning a gala in the spring to benefit pediatric cancer patients. Last night my husband and I were at the theater with friends. That’s when we were robbed.”

  “You’re certain the earrings were there Thursday?”

  “Yes—I almost wore them Friday night, went back and forth between the diamonds and my emeralds. Picked the emeralds.”

  “Did you hear Mrs. Carr’s dog barking on Thursday?”

  “I really couldn’t say—there are a lot of dogs in the neighborhood, but our walls are very thick. They rarely bother me.”

  “No visitors on Thursday?”

  “No—my husband came home sometime in the morning because he forgot a file in his office, but I don’t remember exactly when.”

  Riley came over and clearly wanted to talk to Gayle alone. She thanked Mrs. Block and handed the woman her card. “If you think of anything else, please let me know.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  They left, and in Gayle’s sedan, Riley burst out, “I talked to the detective in charge. Get this. There’s been a string of similar robberies over the last couple of years. All cash, credit cards, and jewels. Nothing over twenty thousand—in fact, the Blocks are the largest score. Most of the thefts were less than five K, but the credit cards have been traced to an ID theft ring the feds are investigating. All the crimes are unsolved. No prints have shown up. There have been sixteen reports over the last three years that match the same MO.”

  “Which is?”

  “Old-fashioned lockpick. Someone who’s really good—and has gotten better. In fact, the last few places they didn’t connect right away because there was no visible sign of the locks being picked. And the detective thinks sixteen is low—that the thief has probably hit twice that many places, but the victims didn’t know they were missing anything. If their ID was stolen, they just dealt with their credit companies.”

  “No suspects?

  “You have one now.”

  “I do?”

  “Jamie Blair.”

  As soon as Riley said her name, it made sense.

  Riley continued, “The target area, according to the lead detective, is 36th to 53rd Streets west to east; J Street to Folsom Boulevard. All walking distance from her house off 65th. She’s a nice-looking girl who isn’t going to stand out in this neighborhood. The property crimes people have put this on the back burner because the amounts are low. The detective believes that a gang is hitting the houses, young, maybe in their twenties, but they could be off. They also said that because there were no mistakes, they think the places were well staked out, and the thieves know exactly when to go in.”

  “Who’s she working with?”

  “No one.”

  “You just said—”

  “That property crimes thinks it’s a gang. I think it’s one smart girl.”

  Gayle considered. “She found the dog at eleven Friday night. She could have hit the Block house before that, and the barbecue place is definitely between here and her house.” She didn’t know why she wasn’t happy with this news. She didn’t want to arrest the girl for burglary. She was fifteen. Send her to juvie? Give her probation? That wasn’t really up to Gayle.

  “Let’s talk to her,” Riley said.

  “Her life is going to be a mess.”

  “We don’t know that. What we think and what we can prove are two different things. Consider this: She might know what’s been going on at the Block house—who’s coming and going. I’ve worked with troubled kids before. That kid is pretty much on her own. I’ve seen it, you’ve seen it. Let’s see what’s what before we make any decisions.”

  Gayle concurred. “I want to catch Emily Carr’s killer, first and foremost. And if Jamie Blair has answers, she’ll tell us.”

  IV

  Jamie’s mom wasn’t home when the officer dropped her off. She was relieved—her mother would have a fit if she was being brought home by a cop.

  She made hamburgers for Duke and herself while pondering what she’d overheard at Mrs. Carr’s house. The police thought she’d been killed Thursday morning and someone had hopped the back fence that adjoined the house Jamie had robbed. She doubt
ed the owners had realized it yet, but Jamie knew that the wife hadn’t been alone Thursday morning. She also knew that there was no way to get into their backyard because the side gate was locked with a combination lock, not a keyed lock. The garage had a side door, and that’s the way she went in because it was an easier lock to pick than the front door, not to mention less exposed.

  Jamie went to her room and slipped her notebook out from under her mattress. She kept all her notes here when she staked out a place, and then would burn the notebook when she was done. She had to burn this one, too. But first, she wanted to check if her memory was right.

  It was. The wife’s beefy lover in the black Dodge had been at the house at 9:30 when she’d walked by on Thursday morning. His truck was gone by 11:30. She didn’t know when he’d left, but it was between those hours.

  She looked back at her notes. He always came on Monday and Thursday mornings during the last two months when she was staking out the street, and the occasional Wednesday. She’d written down his license plate number. He never parked in front of his mistress’s house, always three or four houses away, but Jamie knew he went there—she’d watched him several times.

  But that didn’t mean anything. Did it? Just because the wife was having an affair with the Dodge truck guy didn’t mean he killed the old woman. Why would he?

  Burn the notebook. Get rid of the earrings.

  She bit her lip. “Duke, I’m sorry about your owner, but this is only going to get me in trouble. It’s not going to help her.”

  They didn’t have a fireplace, but there was a park a mile away with barbecues and stuff. She’d burned her other notebooks there.

  Jamie stuffed everything into her backpack. She’d bury the earrings at the park until the heat died. Her instincts were good, and right now they told her to destroy everything and never talk to the police again. If they wanted the dog, they could have him.

  She went outside and opened the garage. As she got her bike out, she saw the police car. It was followed by the detective’s car.

  Oh shit.

  She closed the garage door, locked it, and hopped on her bike as Officer Knight stepped out of his car. His partner stayed inside. The detective got out of her car.

  “Hi,” Jamie said, “I need to go do stuff. You’re not taking Duke, are you?”

  “No, not right now,” Officer Knight said, “but we need to talk. Is your mother home?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know when she’ll be home?”

  Jamie shrugged. “I was just going to the store to get dog food. Can we meet in a couple hours?”

  The detective said, “We need to talk now. Let’s go inside.”

  She shook her head. She hated her house. It was a mess, and she was embarrassed. Her neighbors were looking out of their windows. She had always kept a low profile and now? She was the center of attention. Tears burned behind her eyes. For three years no one had suspected she was a thief. Now…they knew something.

  Or was that her guilt? That she was going to burn her notebook that might help them find out who killed Mrs. Carr? She wanted to do the right thing, but she didn’t want to get into trouble. She didn’t want to be locked up. She just wanted to be left alone.

  Detective Holman came up to her. “Jamie, I can help you, if you tell the truth.”

  She shook her head again.

  Duke licked her hand. As if to say everything was going to be all right. But nothing was going to be okay.

  “Let’s go inside,” the detective said.

  “It’s a mess,” she whispered.

  “Okay.”

  “The drugs aren’t mine. I don’t do drugs.”

  “I believe you.”

  She took a deep breath, then got off her bike and dropped it to the ground. She unlocked the door and went inside.

  Detective Holman and Officer Knight followed her. She’d cleaned the kitchen after lunch, and it was the only place that looked halfway presentable, so she sat at the kitchen table. The cop stood, and the detective sat across from her. She hated the pity in their eyes, because she lived like this.

  “I’m going to give you one chance to tell me the truth,” the detective said. “If you do, I will do everything in my power to help you. Officer Knight and I have a lot of clout in the department; his brother-in-law is a federal agent and the D.A. is a personal friend of mine. But you have to help yourself first.”

  What did they know? What could she say? How was she going to get out of this?

  “I—I don’t know what to do.”

  “The truth. You robbed the Blocks last night. Diamond earrings, some cash, a credit card.”

  They knew. How had they figured it out so quickly?

  “The MO matches sixteen other crimes over three years. But the lead detective thinks there were more that were never reported.”

  Jamie didn’t say anything. She’d robbed forty-five houses over the past three years.

  “Based on the evidence, we believe the person who killed Mrs. Carr climbed over the Blocks’ fence on Thursday morning at approximately 10 A.M. A neighbor reported that Duke was barking up a storm at about that time, but when she returned a couple hours later, he was silent. We know that the killer came in through the back door—it was unlocked. He left through a sliding glass door on the side of the house, likely because Duke was clawing at the back door. No visible signs of theft. The killer came in, killed her, left. That tells me he knew her.”

  Officer Knight said, “Her family is out of state. She has no wealth except her home. We don’t have a motive. Someone she angered? A thrill killer? If we don’t know the motive, it’s harder to find him.”

  “You walk around the neighborhood a lot, don’t you?” Detective Holman asked.

  She shrugged.

  “I don’t care about the burglary. I care about finding Emily Carr’s killer. And I’ll bet if I had a suspect, Duke would know him.”

  She looked up. “You think so?”

  “Based on what we’ve learned so far? Yes. But I need a direction.”

  “I’m going to get in big trouble.”

  “Maybe. But if you help us, I’ll help you,” the detective said.

  Jamie didn’t know what to do, but she didn’t want a killer to get away.

  She reached into her backpack and pulled out her notebook. “I was going to burn it. It’s going to put me in jail.”

  “You’re fifteen and have no record—I already ran you.” She held out her hand.

  Jamie handed her the notebook. The detective and cop read it, both clearly surprised.

  “This is very detailed,” Officer Knight said.

  She shrugged.

  “It’s confusing,” Holman said.

  “It’s not in chronological order—the number at the top is the address, then days and patterns. I’m good at recognizing patterns. It’s just my own shorthand. But I know what you want.” She flipped to the page for the Blocks’ house. “I’m not good with names, but I know numbers and patterns. A black Dodge truck was at the house every Monday and Thursday morning since I started, um, walking down the street regularly. Sometimes other days, but every Monday and Thursday. Always gone before noon. I figured that the wife was having an affair because he parked down the street. She let him in. That’s his license plate number.”

  “Can you swear that he was there Thursday morning?”

  “He was at 9:30 that morning, when I first walked by. When I came back at 11:30 he was gone. That’s what that check mark is for, the pattern.”

  “I’ll run him,” Knight said and walked out of the duplex.

  Jamie looked at her hands. She was done.

  “Hey,” the detective said.

  “I’m not sorry,” Jamie said. “I’m sorry I was caught.�
��

  “At least you’re honest.”

  “I never took a lot.”

  “That’s why you stayed under the radar for so long.”

  “Just—just enough to get by. My mom’s on disability.”

  “Your dad?”

  “Ditto. But he’s not around much. Don’t even know where he lives most of the time.”

  “You don’t have to stay here.”

  “Where would I go?” Now she was angry. “Foster care? Really? I’d never get out of the system. My mom isn’t a bad person. She doesn’t beat me or anything. She’s just lazy and thinks she’s a victim of everything. I don’t care. I just have three years and I can leave. I took what I absolutely needed to make sure the rent was paid and stuff. I never hurt anyone. And Duke needs me. He doesn’t have anyone, either. He’s not a young puppy that everyone wants. He’s an old mutt.” Now the tears were coming, and she couldn’t stop them.

  “Honey, listen to me. I promised I will help you.”

  Knight came back in. “Randall Franklin. He owns a gym in midtown—the same gym that Cynthia Block has a membership to.”

  “Were they in on it together?” Holman asked.

  “She had to have let him in the house,” Knight said. “She already admitted that she was home that morning.”

  “Why would she want to kill her neighbor?” Holman thought about it.

  “Maybe she didn’t know,” Knight said.

  “Still, why? What’s the motive?”

  Jamie found the conversation fascinating, and a bit scary. “But you think Duke can identify him.”

  “Duke—and you. How about a ride along?”

  “You’re not arresting me?”

  “Not now, but you’ll have to come clean, then the D.A. will need to make the final decision. But like I said, the D.A. and I go way back. He’s tough, but fair—especially with teenagers.”

  She didn’t know what was going to happen, but if she could help put Emily Carr’s killer in prison, she would do it.

  V

  Thanks to Riley Knight, they located Randall Franklin at his gym. He hadn’t fled—maybe Block hadn’t warned him after all.