Don't Forget Me (24 page)

Nando approached the back windows of Margaret Hastings’ shop cautiously. If it was laid out like all the other shops on Main, the back would be a storeroom, closed off from the main part. He slid his flashlight from his belt, cupping the front in his hand as he leaned toward the back windows but waiting to turn it on until he was sure he needed to. Behind the screens, he could see vague shapes of furniture and boxes. Storage, as he’d suspected.

He crouched in the darkened yard, letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light, waiting to see if the flash would come again.

Probably just a reflection. A headlight in the street, catching one of Margaret’s mobiles with the glass angels or the Christmas tree ornaments with the glass angels or the wind chimes with the glass angels. Margaret loved glass angels, and they were everywhere around the freakin’ store.

He moved carefully along the side of the building in the narrow space between Margaret’s store and Beaman’s antiques. If their boy was looking for something valuable to smash, Beaman’s would be a much better bet, but Beaman was a lot more likely to invest in an alarm system than Margaret was.

The movement in the store was so subtle he almost missed it. A mini-flashlight of some kind pointed downward so that the light couldn’t be seen from the street. He watched the shadow move across the floor, trying to gauge size—if it was kids, he’d head straight for them. If it was a man, he’d have to be more careful.

He moved back the way he’d come, trying to see how the intruder had gotten in. An unlocked door would be handy, but he could use an open window if he had to, since calling Margaret to come down and unlock her shop didn’t seem like much of an option.

He paused at the back door that led into the storeroom, turning the knob. It moved in his hand, proving that either the intruder was good with a lock pick or Margaret was incredibly careless about security. Either one could be true, given Margaret’s level of competence. The woman was dating Ham, after all.

He slid his flashlight back into the loop on his belt, unsnapping his holster, then slipped through the door into the darkened shop. Now that he was inside, he could hear the faint sounds of the intruder at work, the thump of objects hitting the floor, the slight shuffling sound of his feet as he moved around the store. Nando stepped carefully down the short hall leading to the interior, patting his holster once just to reassure himself that the gun was there and ready. He could see shapes now, dark against slightly less dark, silhouetted against the glow from the streetlights down the block.

He measured his steps more carefully as he approached the entrance to the main room. The noises the intruder made seemed to mean he had no idea anyone was in the shop with him, and Nando wanted to keep it that way.

Slipping around the corner into the back of the shop, he started to step forward again when his feet suddenly jerked out from under him. It took him a moment to realize his boots were tangled in a piece of cloth hanging from a rocking chair at the side. A rocking chair that toppled over sideways as he jerked his feet away, trying to kick the cloth loose.

In the room ahead of him, the intruder froze and then moved quickly toward the front door. Nando threw the cloth away from his boots and pushed himself to his feet. “Stop where you are! Konigsburg Police,” he yelled, without a hope in hell that the intruder would pay any attention to him.

The man threw the front door open and burst out onto the street. Nando managed to jerk his service revolver from his holster as he dashed after him, trying to avoid the jungle of dangling angels on all sides. He ran out the entrance, only to see the intruder sprinting down the street toward the Lucky Lady. A man. Maybe six feet tall but hard to tell in the dim light reflected in front of him. No weapons that he could see.

“Hold it,” he yelled again, holding the gun loosely at his side as he raced after him.

Ahead of him the door to the Lucky Lady opened and light poured into the street, along with several vaguely familiar female shapes. The running man dodged around and behind them, keeping the women between himself and Nando as he ran.

“Out of the way,” Nando yelled frantically. “Get back inside. Now!”

The women froze, staring at him open-mouthed. Docia, Deirdre, Allie, Jess, Clem—Jesus, hadn’t anyone stayed home tonight? “Move,” he yelled. “Please!”

Docia grabbed hold of the women closest to her, pulling them back out of his way as he sped up again. He could hear the sound of the man’s footsteps echoing down Spicewood. He probably didn’t have a prayer of catching him now, given that he’d had to detour around what seemed to be a every woman in Konigsburg, but he had to try.

He turned up the street, pounding along the sidewalk, but by the time he reached the next corner he knew it was no use. He jerked his cell phone off his belt, punching in the number savagely. “Rollie, we’ve had another one. Margaret Hastings’ place. And the perp is still on the loose. I need backup. Now.”

Toleffson wasn’t pleased, but then neither was Nando. They’d searched every yard and vacant lot for a square mile around the place where the intruder had disappeared, but none of them had much hope that they’d find him. Instead they found a lot of semi-awake, semi-hysterical Konigsburg citizens, many of whom were waving their favorite weapons. Toleffson managed to get everyone calmed down, while Nando circled back to Angels Unaware again.

The damage at Margaret Hastings’ store wasn’t as extensive as it had been at Docia’s or Allie’s. Apparently, the intruder had just gotten started when Nando found him. Margaret was, however, very unhappy about the woven throw that Nando had managed to trample and the upended rocking chair, even though the chair had been for display rather than something she was trying to sell.

“It’s a genuine tapestry,” she told him, her blonde curls trembling in indignation. “From China.”

It looked like junk to him, but he wasn’t feeling exactly charitable about it. By that point, he didn’t give a shit what Margaret Hastings was upset about. He was too busy being upset with himself for letting the bastard get away.

He didn’t need to be told this was another black mark against him with the city council. First it was the whole poop policeman thing. Now, more seriously, he was the cop who’d let the thief get away—the cop who’d blown their best chance to get the bastard. Ham would ride it for all it was worth, and the city council might well agree with him.

When they all met back at the station house, Ham’s solution was simple. “You should’ve shot him.”

Nando blew out a breath, willing himself not to kick Ham’s ass. “When should I have shot him, Ham? When I was running after him? When he was dodging around the crowd of women outside the Lucky Lady? When would you have shot him?”

“I’d’ve taken the bastard out soon as I walked into the store,” Ham grumbled. “Should have yelled
police
and then blasted him.”

Toleffson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Suppose Avrogado had started firing and it turned out to be Margaret rearranging her stock? What does he say then—Oops? Have you ever bothered to read the Use Of Force Guidelines, Ham? They might be real useful to you in a situation like this.”

Nando sighed. “I was trying to get a clear shot at him when the women came out of the Lucky Lady. After that it wasn’t possible.”

“Damn fool women,” Ham muttered. “Should’ve been home where they belonged.”

Toleffson gave him a cold, silent stare, his eyes narrowed. Nando wondered just how long it would take Ham to remember that those particular women included the chief’s wife and sisters-in-law.

After a few seconds, Ham flushed the usual dull pink and started examining the pile of papers on the desk in front of him.

Toleffson turned back to Nando. “Did you manage to get a look at him at least?”

He sighed again. “Not in the light, no. He was tall, around six feet. Not too heavy, maybe one fifty or so.”

“Did he run like a young man?”

Nando paused, thinking. “Hard to say. He was fast over the short distance, but since I didn’t get a chance to run him down, I couldn’t say what his stamina was. He wasn’t a teenager, but I can’t give you much on his age beyond that.”

“What was he wearing?” Delaney asked, jotting notes on his legal pad. Ham gave him a poisonous look; Nando didn’t think he’d ever seen Ham jot down anything in his entire police career.

“Dark shirt and pants—looked like jeans. Baseball cap. He had it pulled down low, and he ducked his face away from the light.”

Toleffson stared off in the distance. “That’s interesting.”

“What was?” Delaney’s pen paused over his pad. The others sat up a little straighter.

“Sounds like he didn’t want anyone to see his face. Maybe he thought someone would recognize him. Seems like a casual thief would have just kept running and not worried about being recognized until later on.”

“So we’ve got an adult male whom somebody might recognize.” Nando rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe the women saw him more clearly. They were closer to him than I was when he ran by.”

Toleffson pinched his nose again. “We need to question them. See what they remember.”

Nobody groaned, but everybody looked like they wanted to. Eye witnesses could be a royal pain in the posterior since none of them ever seemed to see exactly the same thing.

“I took statements last night,” Rollie said. “They were all pretty shook up, though. And they’d had a lot to drink. Nobody could describe him.”

“They’ve had some time to think about it now,” Toleffson mused. “And they’ve had time to sober up. They might have remembered something they didn’t think about when it happened. Who was out there in front of the store?”

Rollie pulled out his notes. “Docia Toleffson, Allie Maldonado, Jess Toleffson, Janie Toleffson, Morgan Toleffson, and Deirdre Brandenburg.” He flipped a page. “And Kit Maldonado. The others were in the doorway, but they said they weren’t close enough to see what was going on.”

Toleffson nodded. “Right. I’ll go over it with my wife and Janie and Jess since they all live in the neighborhood. Nando, you talk to Docia and Allie and Deirdre. And Kit. Linklatter, you and Delaney go over Margaret Hastings’ place again. See if we missed anything. Do it soon—she’ll want to open up today.”

Ham tucked his pen back in his pocket as he got to his feet. He gave Nando a look that was close to a smirk before heading out the door. Nando’s jaw clenched tight. No chance the town wouldn’t know he’d screwed up. The news would probably be all over the Coffee Corral by noon.

Toleffson turned toward the two part-timers. “Rollie, you and Dawson do a door-to-door on the houses around where he took off. See if anybody noticed anything since the last time we asked.”

Rollie groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Can I get some shut-eye for a couple hours first? I been on duty since six last night.”

Toleffson’s jaw tensed, but he shrugged. “Okay. Take a couple of hours, and then come back. Dawson, you do as much as you can on your own.”

Nando felt like pointing out that he’d been on duty now for close to ten hours himself and was dead on his feet, but he decided to let it go. He was already in enough shit for letting the son of a bitch get away. He pushed himself to his feet as the others headed out to the parking lot.

“You all right?” Toleffson asked.

He shrugged. “Sure. Just tired.”

The chief narrowed his eyes. “You played it right. The only thing you should have done that you didn’t was call Rollie so he could back you up before you went into the shop.”

“Yeah.” Nando blew out a breath. “In retrospect, I sure as hell should have done that.”

“Shooting at him on Main Street wouldn’t have been a good idea,” Toleffson said slowly. “Even if the women hadn’t been there, there’s too many people around and too much risk of damage. It wasn’t an option.”

“I know.”

But as he headed for his car, Nando had a sinking feeling the rest of Konigsburg wouldn’t see it that way. They’d want to know why he hadn’t drilled the bastard and asked questions while his body cooled in the dirt.

Brody worked to rein in his anger. Angry people made mistakes, and he couldn’t afford any. Not when he was so close to his goal.

He tossed a package of microwave popcorn into the machine and punched the buttons with more force than necessary. A beer would be good, but he’d stick to soda. Beer would only increase his fury, and he needed to keep a clear head.

He hadn’t expected the Konigsburg cops to be that much on the ball. They never had in the past, as he had good reason to know. He’d been careless, and he’d almost gotten caught because of it.

In the future, he’d take nothing for granted. He’d need to find out exactly how many opponents he had—how many men were on night duty, and how they were assigned. And he’d have to come up with ways to avoid them, which might involve learning something about their personal habits. It was annoying, a waste of his time, but clearly something that had to be done.

Not that it would slow him down. His plan was still in force, and still workable. He had no intention of turning back now. He’d decided to speed up his timetable, though, heading for the final, most important stop.

And if the Konigsburg police got in the way, he’d deal with them. He always had before.