It took Arnie an hour to walk back to the new drop off point in downtown Austin to pick up the rest of his earnings. All the way, he reassured himself he’d done the right thing even though it meant four men were now dead. Two burglars out of the way, one eliminated by Joe and one by him, so the taxpayers didn’t have to pay for them to have a fair trial and then a long appeal process.
Thinking of Joe pierced his heart. He’d been a friend, but he’d have cracked anyway. Weak cops always did. Too many years on the force, marital pressures, and too many stops at the bar on the way home did that to a man. The old Joe he knew died a long time ago.
The fourth vic? Only a worthless wart on the face of society now out of his misery. What Arnie did to him was no different than what the Humane Society did to stray animals. The man probably sat at the feet of Jesus now anyway. Jesus always hung out with that type according to the Bible, if Arnie recalled his Sunday school lessons right.
Besides, Hornsby deserved justice for what he went through. Once Arnie and Joe heard what happened, they agreed the burglars who shot their buddy had to die. No one downs a cop and walks on a technicality. Yep, Arnie would have done it for free out of loyalty to another blue. Still, having both his and Joe’s cut of the money didn’t hurt. No one would be the wiser.
The inept force in that Podunk town never caught Holden, so Arnie and Joe had vowed to help out instead. Setting him up to rob those seniors had been a cinch. The threes and sixes angle would have that force scratching their heads for a long time. Cleaner this way, with Arnie and Joe being from out of town. No one would trace it back to Alamoville, and if they did, dollars to doughnuts they’d sweep it under the rug. Especially since the investigation had dropped in Hornsby’s lap. Maybe there was a God after all?
The fact the scumbags were caught in the act robbing the third condo proved to be almost a gift from heaven as well. Nah. He no longer believed in that sort of thing. The order of the universe ensured justice would eventually rule. Karma confirmed Arnie fulfilled his role. Nothing supernatural about it.
“Blue helps blue—no matter what,” he mumbled to himself as he crouched behind a dry cleaner and folded five one-hundred dollar bills to stitch them in the seams of his trousers. That’s the code they swore to each other at the academy where they all met. Had Joe fully embraced that, he wouldn’t have ended up in a river two hundred miles from home. Strike that. At the bottom of a gully in a crash. Arnie chuckled.
If anyone connected him to Joe and Hornsby, his plans would be over. Over twenty years had passed since they graduated and all ended up in different cities after the first five years together on the beat, so that would not be likely. Most of the seasoned cops he knew back then on the Houston force had long since retired. The newer ones never heard of them.
Arnie deposited the rest of the cash in his and his wife’s joint bank account via an ATM. The divorce papers she’d receive in the mail tomorrow guaranteed her full access to it, his Ross IRA and their savings, despite his attorney’s objections. “That way she won’t come after me for more,” he'd told the lawyer.
Then he flipped the bank card back and forth until it easily tore into two, and repeated the action two more times. He shoved the pieces into the trash can three blocks away under several leftover fast food bags and beer cans.
Remaining homeless would allow him to keep his ear to the ground to cipher out any news about his handiwork as he blended in with the other invisibles. If any light flickered in his direction, he’d slither further underground. Hop on the bus to L.A. after all.
TWENTY-FIVE
Blake walked down the corridor where less than a week ago he lay recovering. The sounds and smells made his skin crawl. He found Aaron Jenkins’s room and tapped on the door. A pair of red-rimmed eyes, enhanced by smudged mascara, met his. She shot him a soft smile and rose to greet him, her hand extended in greeting. “Chief Johnson. Didn’t you just leave this place?”
He returned Mary Jenkins’s smile, shook her hand, and walked over to the man lying in the bed surrounded by beeping machines, wires, and tubes. “Hey, Jenkins. Welcome back to the land of the living.”
The officer made an effort to raise up on his elbow. Blake put out his hand to stop him. “No. Lay back and rest. Do you feel like talking to one more person?”
Aaron’s wife stroked her husband’s pale brow. “Can’t it wait?”
Blake sighed. “Well, I’ve been assigned to head up the investigation for internal affairs...”
She whipped toward him, her eyebrows arched. “He did nothing wrong.”
He took a few steps backward. Never mess with a hormonal, pregnant woman. “I know, Mary. We have to follow protocol here. When a weapon is discharged and a perp intercepts the bullet’s path, we have to go through the hoops. We agree Aaron didn’t fire. Nonetheless, he witnessed what went down. I’ve read the report from Mike Martin and Phil Edwards, but I need to hear it from him.”
Mary looked at her husband who gave her a slight nod. “OK. I’ll go get a cup of coffee.” She pointed to them both. “No more than ten minutes, you two. I mean it.”
The two men watched her exit then winked at each other. Blake sat down. “You have a good woman there, Aaron.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jenkins’s weak reply worried Blake, but he needed to know before he left town. He reached for the Styrofoam pitcher and poured the officer some cool water. He set it on the tray along with his cell phone, the tape recorder app running. “Got to record this. I am Blake Johnson at Mercy Memorial Hospital room of Officer First Class Aaron Jenkins. It is twenty-two ten on Wednesday…” he added the date, took a deep breath, and continued, “Aaron, tell me what happened the night you were shot in the line of duty. Take your time.”
Aaron took a few sips. “I came around the front of the condo responding to Mike’s call for backup.” He looked down at his hands. “I was at the Get ‘em and Go, so I was close by.”
Blake scooted closer. “We all stop off for a cold soda or coffee, officer. That’s why they offer it to us for free. Out of thanks. It also keeps their theft down to have us hanging out there. No harm.”
Aaron let off a sigh as if a boulder had lifted from his chest. “Yes, sir. Thanks. Anyway,” he coughed and started again, “I parked the cruiser, lights off, two doors down and walked. I saw Phil come around the corner as the perps exited the front door.”
“How many?”
“Two I think. Yes, two.”
He re-positioned his head on the pillow. After a few shallow breaths, he continued. “Phil raised his weapon, identified himself, and told them to stop. I saw the taller one raise his weapon and fire.”
“Could you see what type of weapon?”
“Pistol, sir. Automatic, I think. I was still moving toward them on the left, my weapon raised as well. I stayed quiet so as not to spook the suspect, but Phil nodded that he saw my approach.”
“Go on.”
“Phil returned fire and the perp went down. His gun swung to the side as he fell and, well, he got me instead.”
“The perp shot you?”
“Yes.”
“So, you’re telling me there were three shots fired? One by Phil and two by the perp?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. “
“You say there were two coming out of the house?”
“Well, I saw one on the stoop. He’s the one who fired his weapon. The other guy dashed off once his friend went down and ran toward the alley. Stockier, wearing a dark hoodie.”
“Not tall and younger? I’m thinking early twenties?”
“Not as I recall.”
“You’re sure he headed for the alley and not the street.”
Aaron gave him a firm nod.
Blake got out his notebook, and wrote in it, allowing the wounded officer time to catch his breath. “So let me get this straight. You witnessed one burglary suspect get shot and then hit the ground. The second
one, described as stockier in a dark hoodie, fled the scene toward the alley.”
Aaron closed his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
Blake took the crime photo of Wellington from his breast pocket. “I understand it was nighttime, but would you say this is the man you saw flee? I’m showing Officer Jenkins the crime photo of one Jacob Wellington.”
Aaron took the photo and studied it. “Hard to be sure, but my first instinct says no. Too skinny and tall. As I said, Holden was taller than the other one, not shorter.” He handed it back. “Something else just occurred to me.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure the two came out of the house together. I think one may have been the lookout outside. They were fairly far apart, sir.”
“Hmmm. I’ll make a note of that. Thanks, Aaron. Anything to add?”
“Yeah. Phil did everything by the book. Honest. It was just dumb luck the perp twisted as he fell and his aim became skewed. Otherwise, Phil would be lying here, not me. I don’t think Weldon noticed my approach.”
“Thanks, Aaron.” Blake clicked off the tape recording application.
“Sir? He’s dead, right?”
“The perp? Yeah.”
“I hear the second one hanged himself?”
Blake placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “The man in the photo I showed you hanged in his cell.”
Aaron’s eyebrows came together. “But, he’s not...”
Blake stood up. “Exactly. So now I have to find out how he’s involved in all this. Also, who your second burglar is.” He shook the cop’s hand. “That’s my job. Yours is to rest easy, son. Thanks for your time.”
He walked out just as Mary headed back in, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. “Mary. He’s gonna be fine.”
“I know. Thanks.”
Blake walked down the hall and opened the door to the stairwell. He bolted down the two flights and out to the parking lot. He punched a number in his cell phone. The party on the other end answered after four rings.
“Hey, Detective Johnson. You all packed?”
“Mostly. Mike, you are aware I’m with I.A. on this investigation, right? Do you mind meeting me at the station? I would like to get your spin on the events.”
“Sure, but I gave my report to the chief.”
“Yep. I read it. I still want to hear it from you, OK?”
Mike hesitated. “I can be back there in ten.”
“Back? You already clocked out?”
“Yes, sir. Fifteen minutes ago. Was stopping off at the store. Wife needs milk for the kids’ breakfast cereal in the morning.”
Blake chuckled. They faced danger every day, and yet they were still husbands and fathers just like every other guy. “Let me meet you at your house then.”
“Roger. 1542 Willow Drive.”
“Know exactly where that is. See you in a few.”
He clicked off and turned right onto Main. He pulled into the drive-thru and ordered a vanilla latte. Time he discovered what his mother-in-law and wife saw in them. He sat in the car and sipped it, scanning the report one more time in order to give Mike time to get home and spend a few minutes with his wife before he barged in. He swallowed and shuddered. Nastily sweet stuff. Yuck. He set the caffeine drink in the cup holder, got out, and walked up the front walk, narrowly missing some action figures and a toy fire truck. Mike met him before he got to the porch and shook his hand. “Let’s sit out here. Wife is already in her bathrobe.”
“It’s late. I know. Won’t take long.”
“Yes, sir. Ask away.”
Ten minutes later the two shook hands, and Blake returned to his car. With his hand on the door handle, Blake stared out into the night, his brain churning. Mike Martin only reported hearing two shots, stating the perp fired, hit Aaron, and then Edwards fired in return. Phil Edwards’s statement agreed with that. Yet Jenkins’s conflicted. Which one was mistaken?
He got back into his car and looked at his dashboard. Ten thirty-two. Janie should still be up. He dialed her number.
“Blake? Are we supposed to be speaking?”
He snickered. “You are my mother-in-law.” He got a new whiff of the caffeine concoction in his console and grimaced. “Tell me. What do you see in these vanilla lattes? They taste like stale candy.”
“You’re calling me after ten o’clock at night to ask me that?”
“No. I have another question, and yes, it is part of the investigation. How many shots did you hear?”
“Two, possibly three. If three, the last two were close together. Almost the same bang. It also could have been an echo.”
“Thanks.”
“Does that help?”
“It might.”
“What time are you all heading out tomorrow? If it’s still on, that is.”
Man, she could be a busybody at times. He let out a long sigh. “About noonish. I am handing this over to Hornsby in the morning. Gates already approved it.”
“So he’ll be in charge of both investigations? Is that Kosher?”
“The burglary is Connor’s baby. Yeah, Hornsby is overseeing it I guess, but he isn’t directly involved. In fact, I suggested Connor report directly to Chief Gates while I’m gone.”
“It’s not what Connor Hemphill told me today. He said Hornsby yanked the burglary from him so he and Phil could investigate the mystery man in the river.”
“Oh, well. His choice.”
Janie laughed. “You are serious about going on vacation. I’m proud of you, Blake.”
He chuckled. “We’ll call you when we get to the beach.”
“Good enough. ’Night, Blake. Oh, and pack lots of sunscreen. Your receding hairline will need it.”
She hung up before he could respond. Wise woman.
He tossed the latte into the trash can Mike had already put out on the curb and turned over the engine.
TWENTY-SIX
Blake waited for Hornsby to unlock the door to their shared office. Hornsby turned to him and nodded to the folder under his arm. “I gather that’s for me?”
Blake entered and slapped it on top of the desk. “Yep. Let me read you in before I head out to hear the shrink’s results.”
Hornsby rolled his eyes. “I feel your pain. I still have four sessions with her. I liked it better when putting on the blue uniform meant you were emotionally immune to trauma. All this touchy-feely stuff gets to me.”
“Right. Anyway, we have a problem, Houston.”
Hornsby dropped his coffee and cursed. “Sorry, missed the desk.” He rubbed his arm. “Sometimes a pain shoots up from the wound. Doc says it’s the nerves rewiring. What about Houston?”
Blake reached down to help mop up the spill, a wad of tissues in his hand. “No biggie. It’s a quote from a movie. Anyway, there are discrepancies in the witness reports, and the cop reports about what went down on June 6.”
“So, not unheard of.”
Blake sat down at his desk, which butted up to his partner’s. He stared at the wooden top, which he rarely ever saw. It looked weird without papers spread all over it. “Mike Martin, Phil Edwards, and Aaron Jenkins disagree on the number of shots fired. Aaron insists the perp fired first. Mike returned fire, and the perp fired again. That’s the one that hit Aaron. Phil says the perp downed Aaron so he capped him. Mike swears as he came around from the alley he only heard two shots.”
“Hmmm. You have that documented.”
“Yep, on tape. Flash drive’s inside the folder.”
“Well, both men state Phil returned fire, not initiated it, so...?”
“Yeah, he’s cleared as far as I’m concerned. And the civilian witnesses who heard the shots can’t confirm the number.”
Hornsby eased back in his chair. “These investigations rarely are cut and dry, my friend, as I’m sure you’re aware. No protest group is screaming for Phil’s head, so who cares?”
“There’s more. Wellington is not the second burglar who escaped the scene. Aaron as well as Janie’s, Betsy Ann’s,
and George’s testimonies confirm that. The man they saw is older, shorter, and stockier.”
His partner’s jaw twitched. “Let me get this straight. It was nighttime, the lighting from the street lamps was not that bright, and yet they are all certain?”
Blake stared at him. Did Mitch appear paler for some reason? Could be the pain was more than he let on. “That’s correct. You OK, friend?”
“Yeah. Just need some coffee down my gullet rather than down my desk. I’ll take it from here. You go get blessed by her highness the shrink wrap and head out of here so you can sink your toes in the sand.” He grabbed the folder and waved Blake away.
Blake stood and walked to the door. As he turned back, he observed Hornsby’s jaw work again. A nervous twitch he’d never seen before. A pang of guilt hit him. Had his partner come back too soon so he, Mel, and the kids could get away? He scrunched his eyebrows. “You sure you’ve got this?”
Hornsby raised his gaze from the paperwork. “I’m fine, honest. Get out of here.”
Blake shrugged. Behind him other voices sounded as the policemen filed into the detective den. The day had begun. “I’ll let you start the morning briefing. Send you a postcard.”
“You do that, beach bum.”
~*~
Janie picked up the pace on their morning power walk, which Betsy Ann and Ethel knew meant she pondered over something. Ethel quickened her step. “OK, Janie. Give. What’s got you stirred up like a tempest?”
“If Wellington is not the man George, Betsy Ann, and I witnessed, then why was he in the woods and why did the Grayson police officers shoot and arrest him?”
“Well, emotions ran high. And the one who died was his uncle.” She slapped her thigh. “I bet he was to wait for them in the getaway white van. He then panicked when all the sirens sounded. He knew things had gone down wrong so he ran.”
Betsy Ann stopped as well. “So, that means there’s a third guy out there? An older, shorter, and heavier one? That’s a comforting thought.” She shuddered.
“Exactly.” Janie wiped her brow. “Whew. Let’s finish up. The temperature is already soaring.”
Threes, Sixes & Thieves Page 13
