The Thrill of the Chase (Mystery & Adventure) (35 page)

I thought back to Mendoza's nonchalant mention of his cousin – still assuming that unnamed individual to be Miles – and figured that, had Mendoza planned ill or simply disliked his cousin, he wouldn't have brought Miles up in the first place – even casually.

And they seemed pretty happy together in that picture.
Of course, it could have been taken years ago, but it had looked very recent in comparison with other photographs. I was still assuming a lot, but it was the most logical bet I had, so I decided that the best thing to do would be forging on.

Okay. So Mendoza
isn't
trying to bring his cousin down. He's just flailing and doesn't know what to do, so he does the first thing that comes to mind?

Maybe if it had been Miles who had hired the con artists. He didn't seem like the type to think things through before acting, and besides – Mendoza wasn't to the point of desperation yet, even assuming he wasn't still making minimal profit from the Shootin' Shack.

I smiled in mock humor.
But judging from that car he "rented" out, maybe he
is
in as deep as Miles. But what about Miles?
I mulled the thought around in my head, liking the direction my reasoning was going, but not the implications. Could
Miles
have been involved in the crime? But if he was, why rob his own home?

Unless it wasn't a real robbery.

At that suggestion, my mind exploded with possibilities – so many that I sank back onto the bed, trying to weed out the good from the bad and both of those from the ridiculous. And now that I knew that Mendoza had staged the robbery of his own car, the possibility of Miles faking a robbery of his own home didn't seem so unrealistic.

But, for what cause? What could they both get out of it?

I drew my brows together, trying to think as Miles might have: a fake robbery to cover up his involvement with Mendoza and the thugs in order to obtain… what? I thought back to my first and only encounter with Rick Miles. He had
seemed
sincere, but I knew better than to put my faith in that alone.

Just because he's not a Broadway performer doesn't mean he can't act. I wonder if Sandy knew anything about all this? Obviously she had to have been concerned with the money situation. I'll have to take a ride over to 264 tomorrow to ask. Miles clearly wasn't making enough at his business to support them – he probably couldn't afford to keep sending money to his son either.

"So he turns desperate," I said, rising to my feet with much popping from my knees. "He and his cousin decide to start a secret crime circle – one that could benefit them both. The robberies at their own homes were to eliminate suspicion – draw police attention away from them so they would be free to act. And maybe that's why they hit Daniels when they did – once we were all tied up trying to find the criminals that had robbed the both of
them
it was safe to start the real operation."

Of course, that would only make sense if I was still assuming that Thawyer and Harris were lying about the circumstances of the Daniels murder. Thawyer had said that they'd received no instructions to hit 4 Whitefield – in fact, they'd been told to lie low and wait. As previously stated, I had no reason to believe the thieves, but also no reason
not
to. After all, Mendoza had kept them in the dark about his intentions, and everything else they'd told me fit so far.

"This explains the 'multiple teams of thieves'," I said aloud, talking now to my curtains. Obviously there had never been several groups of thieves – just several lies. "The robbery at Mendoza's never took place because there was only
one
group doing the dirty work. Besides, neither Mendoza
nor
Miles had enough money to hire any more criminals. So Mendoza fed me that bullshit to frame the thieves – so that it looked like
they
were responsible for everything and to simultaneously throw us off the trail."

But even though it made perfect sense to me, I really had no proof for any of it. Miles' involvement was purely speculation on my part. I only had the evidence I needed to show
Mendoza's
connection to the boys we'd apprehended. I couldn't prove that Miles had had any contact with Mendoza in the last two weeks. In fact, I couldn't even prove they were cousins or in any way affiliated – unless I subjected them to a blood test, and that would require reasonable suspicion as well. All things considered, the only thing I
could
prove was that at some point in recent history, they had had a barbeque together in the Mileses' backyard.

Those must have been some damn good burgers for them to blow up that picture and put it on their wall.
I wrapped my arms around my chest, hugging the bathrobe close to my bare flesh. I found myself frowning as I suddenly recognized the other chinks in my theory.
I'm still not sure about the Daniels family. Assuming Miles and Mendoza were behind that murder, how did either of them know Jeff or Ruby? And there's also the possibility that that whole thing was intended as a sham. Except for the fact that Ruby Daniels is dead. Did things simply get out of hand?

I tucked my hands into the pockets of my robe and stared hard at the floor.
So let's assume, for the moment, that Thawyer
was
telling the truth. Mendoza and Miles didn't actually have anything to do with the murder. Harris and Thawyer both mentioned insufficient payment. So they acted without permission and did what they do best. But wouldn't that mean Mendoza and Miles didn't actually get any bam for their buck?

And it was at that moment, at 2:56 on the morning of Wednesday, December the 8th, that I suddenly came upon a possibility, something that struck me as ludicrous yet brilliant at the same time. Suddenly, in a manner classically attributed to Dick Tracy and Sherlock Holmes lore, everything fell into place: seamless, complete, and – in some twisted way – beautiful.

Maybe they
had
gotten their money – right under all our noses.

"It's
perfect
," I breathed, winded by the stunning conclusion. "They didn't have any direct involvement with the thieves so the hiring couldn't be traced to them easily, and nothing was really stolen at all…"

So really it had been the thieves and – of course – the cops who had been fooled.

But not me.

Jaw set, I strode down the dark hallway and grabbed up the telephone from its hook on the wall. I punched in the number for the Swedesboro Police Station and asked the sleepy woman who answered for Kevin Slyder. She told me that he had obviously gone home for the evening, but when I told her who I was, she gave me the Chief's home phone number. I wasted no time in hanging up and dialing this other number. I was immensely grateful that he actually woke up and answered the phone rather than letting the answering machine field the call.

Probably has to, being Chief of Police,
I thought.

"H'lo?" he mumbled groggily.

"Chief!" I exclaimed, doing my best to blast him awake. "It's Stikup. Listen, I –"

"Stikup?" he interrupted, sounding – more than usual – like there was some obstruction in his throat, keeping him from speaking in anything but a growl. "It's three in the morning. What the hell do you want?"

Steeling myself for whatever his answer might be, I threw out the last remaining question to the riddle I'd been working on for a little more than a week. "Chief, is it possible to get money from home insurance if your house is robbed? A
lot
of money?"

A pause.

Then: "
What
? The hell you asking
me
for –?"

"Dammitt, this is
important
," I growled in agitation, almost jumping up and down with excitement. Maybe I would have if my knee hadn't been aching. "Can you or can't you?"

"I suppose if you got the right company and signed on the right dotted lines," he said slowly. "Mind you, it would only be a temporary loan and the interest would be fantastic –"

"Chief, I need warrants for arrest – two of 'em. Send a squad to 264 Franklin to pick up Rick Miles, and one to 13 Jackson to pick up Robert Mendoza." I said all this very rapidly, and was dressing as quickly as I could. The phone cord was nearly snapping, as I had dragged it all the way back into the bedroom with me.

"
Miles
?" He sounded completely confused now – and skeptical. "And the hunting shop owner –?"

"Chief, if I'm wrong about this, I will personally hand you my badge, chauffer you anywhere you want, and give up coffee forever," I said, frantically searching for my clothes. "Look: Mendoza and Miles are cousins – I can prove it. It's no secret they've both got money problems, either. So, they conspired to get themselves out of debt, and came up with a plan to hire thieves to rob Miles' house – only, it
wasn't a real robbery
. It was only to draw the money they needed from insurance. I can only assume that they planned on double–crossing the thieves they'd hired in order to close the case and pin everything on them. That's why Thawyer and Harris couldn't really tell us anything: they didn't
know
anything!"

I fell silent, allowing him extra time to process all that information. After all, it was late – well, early – and I'd just thrown an immensely complex, completely hypothetical theory at him. Finally however, I could remain quiet no longer. I'd found my shoes and pants, and was working on locating a pair of boxers.

"Listen," I said impatiently, "I need you to hurry – there's the possibility that they know that
I
know, and they might skip town –"

"Are you
sure
about this Stikup?" He sounded more alert now, angry yet excited. "You have to be goddamn
sure
, 'cause Dempsey's going to need more than just your opinion –"

I paused with one foot in my pant leg, attempting to put them on backwards. "Do I
sound
like I'm sure? Trust me on this one, Chief – I'll explain in detail later."

He sighed, what sounded like a rush of static over the phone. "Alright, I'll put the call through –"

"Okaygottagobye."

I simply let go of the phone, allowing it to snap back across the room and smack into the hallway wall. I thought that I might have heard Slyder shouting something about not doing anything stupid, but I kept on dressing haphazardly just the same.

Time was of the essence.

Cousins, in league to commit crimes on themselves. They had taken a desperate gamble – certainly brilliant, but also incredibly dangerous. They'd thought the thing through meticulously, covering up the obvious details, taking care to completely distance themselves from the criminals and the acts they committed. But in the end, the minute details that no one would ever consider had sold them out.

I was buttoning my shirt, still thinking fast.
They really tried to save as much money as possible though – using Robbie's car and guns from his shop but making everything look normal. I was so
stupid
to assume there were
two
gangs when we'd only heard about
one
. So, factoring in the 26 thousand they did put out for the thieves, Miles and Mendoza must have been expecting a hell of a lot from homeowner's.

I suddenly realized that there was a sour tang lingering on my tongue, and it took me a moment to decipher exactly what it was: bitter regret and humiliation. I'd
befriended
Mendoza. I'd let down my guard completely. In fact, I'd forgotten what was perhaps the most fundamental rule of the sleuth, and that was to trust nobody. In lowering my defenses, I had potentially risked the case and the lives of those around me – not to mention putting my own safety in jeopardy. I had compromised
myself
, and that was why I felt the way I did: hurt that a man whom I had come to call "friend" had been sleeping with the enemy all along.

And that was when the sharp pain tore through my gut, beginning as a hollow ache, growing within seconds to pure agony. It winded me, nearly doubled me over. It was like being shot, a sensation like something was in me that didn't belong –

It was the feeling of absolute dread and horror.

I dashed a hand across my sweating forehead in absolute disbelief. "
God
. I even introduced him to my
mother
! And I told him all about
Jilly
–"

Jilly.

The dream – a premonition?

My heart pounded into fifth without a clutch, leaving me winded. I staggered against the bed, feeling helpless anxiety surging up in my chest.

Mendoza knows that
I
know!

I leaned heavily on the back of the desk chair for support, breathing heavily. My gaze drifted upwards, and I found myself staring hard at the photograph of Robert Mendoza, which was smiling wolfishly down at me from the bulletin board despite the thumbtack I'd driven through his eye.

And Miles – Goddamn it, I
called
Miles and
told
him –

Jilly

Fear overrode my reason and crushed my common sense, much as I trampled the bathrobe – which now lay in a puddle on the floor – in my haste to get to the telephone in the hall. I slapped the receiver back onto the cradle and then put it to my ear, punching in Jill's number with a trembling hand at the same time. I already knew what I was going to say –