Bustamente nodded as he appeared to be processing the information. “Okay. Here's what I've come up with. The main thief is someone who grew up poor, didn't like it, and thinks the world owes her something. She has expensive tastes, delusions of grandeur, and a sense of entitlement.”
“How'd you reach these conclusions?”
He jerked his head to indicate the store. “That woman in there? Crystal? She lives in a trailer and works as a retail sales clerk. Most of her acquaintances, including the thief, are likely to be from similar backgrounds. The fact that the thief bought those gossip rags and fashion magazines at Kroger says she's fixated on celebrities and the wealthy and their lifestyles. She wants to live like they do. That's what these robberies have been all about.”
Wow.
Detective Jackson was right. Bustamente was sharp.
Would
I
ever be that clever?
Â
Brigit
The dog put her nose to the small opening at the top of the window and sniffed. She could smell leather. And lots of it.
Mmmmm
 â¦
Brigit would've loved to go into the store and go to town on that leather, but Megan didn't take her inside. What a party pooper.
Disappointed, Brigit nestled back against the enclosure. As she sat there, a slight breeze carried other scents her way.
The acrid smell of gasoline.
The faint smell of a burning cigarette.
The same floral cologne I smelled at the stock show.
Whoever had been wearing it that night was here now, at the store. Brigit wished that whoever it was would bring a leather boot out to the car for her to enjoy. It was the least she deserved after all those nights patrolling through rowdy crowds at the stock show, wasn't it?
Â
Amber Lynn Hood
Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!
Amber Lynn still had the dead guy's wallet, and camera, and iPad, and jewelry in the trunk of her car. If she were caught with his things she could go to prison for the rest of her life. She might even get the death penalty!
Oh, God!
Did they still zap people in the electric chair? Or were they killed by firing squads? No, all of those methods were outdated. Now they used lethal injections, putting people down just like they did stray dogs from the streets.
Amber Lynn didn't want to die like a stray dog.
She didn't want to die at all!
She left her Lean Cuisine rotating in the microwave and all but ran to her cubicle. She grabbed her purse and headed to the exit. She didn't bother checking in with her supervisor in person, instead opting to call her boss from her cell phone as she rushed through the parking lot.
“I had to leave,” Amber Lynn said, faking a cough. “I suddenly started feeling really bad.”
That part is true.
“I think I've got the flu.”
That part isn't.
“Don't you worry,” her supervisor said. “I'll get one of the other girls to cover for you. You just go on home and stay in bed until you feel better.”
“Thanks.”
Go on home and stay in bed.
Amber Lynn had no intention whatsoever of doing either of those things. At least not until she'd gotten rid of Sam's things.
She dashed to her car, barely noticing the cold temperature despite the fact that she'd left her coat in her cube and wore only a thin blouse and skirt. She climbed into her car, her tires screeching as she pulled out of the lot. She checked her gas gauge. Thanks to the cash she'd pilfered from Sam, she had a nearly full tank. She could drive far away from Fort Worth and back without having to stop anywhere.
She headed north on Interstate 35 and drove and drove and drove, her panic continuing to build, until she passed over the state line into Oklahoma. She pulled into the parking lot of the first convenience store she saw, driving around back to the Dumpsters where she wouldn't be spotted disposing of Sam's things. She braked to a stop, but left the engine running in case she needed to make a quick getaway.
After a quick glance around to make sure nobody could see her, she gathered Sam's camera and iPad from the backseat, and retrieved his wallet from the glove compartment. She shook so badly that she immediately dropped his wallet. The credit cards and other contents spilled out over her floorboards. Sam's driver's license sat on top, his face looking up at her from the photo, his expression seeming to say
Why, Robin? Why did you kill me?
Now
he remembers her alias!
“Oh, God!” She felt as if she were going to be sick.
She scooped up all of the items, including the wallet itself, and crammed them into the camera bag. She leaped from the car and ran up to the Dumpster, hurling the bag and iPad over the top.
“Hey! No dumping allowed!”
She turned to see a man storming out the back door of the store.
SHIT!
He continued toward her, his face contorted in anger. “That garbage bin is for store use only!”
“I'm sorry!” she cried. “It was just a couple of small things. That's all!”
“I don't care!” the man spat. “People keep leaving mattresses and washing machines and all kinds of shit out here that I have to deal with.” He stepped up onto a wooden crate next to the Dumpster, reached in, and pulled out the camera bag. Stomping over to Amber Lynn, he forced the bag back into her arms. “Take this back. Throw it in your own damn garbage.”
“Okay! Okay!” Amber Lynn cried, on the verge of hysteria. She climbed back into her car and set the camera bag on the passenger seat. She shifted the car into drive and took off once again with screeching tires.
“Hey!” the man called after her, holding up Sam's tablet. “Do you realize you just threw away an iPad?”
Â
Megan
When I wasn't working the stock show that week, I played spy in one of the unmarked squad cars that Bustamente had arranged for me. I followed Crystal to work in the mornings, followed her home to her trailer in the evenings, and watched from the parking lot of a small country church to see if she went anywhere at night.
She didn't.
This woman really needed to get a life. All she seemed to do was work and go home to watch TV on the couch. She needed some motivation. A purpose. A swift kick in the rear.
The crime scene techs had been able to lift prints from the cattle prod the thief had used on Sloane, which was good news. The bad news was that the prints didn't match anyone in the criminal fingerprint databases. Looked like Bustamente was right. The primary thief was a first-time offender.
I'd heard through the grapevine that the forensics team had also lifted a partial print from a champagne bottle found under the bed in the dead man's room at the Stockyards Hotel. That print likewise had no match.
Score: Bad guys 2. Law enforcement 0.
Seth called me on Thursday. “We need to talk.”
“No kidding.”
“When can I see you?”
Again, we had trouble finding a time that worked for both of us. I was scheduled to work the later shifts at the stock show through closing night on Saturday, and would be spending my mornings keeping an eye on Crystal. Seth was on round-the-clock duty starting midday on Friday until midday on Saturday.
“Sunday, then,” he said. “I'll come to your place first thing in the morning.”
“Give me till ten,” I said, more to assert myself than for any valid reason. It wasn't like Brigit would let me sleep in. “I'm performing at the closing ceremonies of the rodeo Saturday night and I won't get home until late.”
He let out an irritated huff. “All right. Ten o'clock.”
A few minutes after four on Friday, as Brigit and I were patrolling the livestock barns, Detective Bustamente called my cell.
“Big news,” he said.
“What is it?”
“The print on the cattle prod didn't match anyone in the system,” he said, “and the print on that champagne bottle from the Stockyards Hotel didn't match anyone in the system, either.”
“Right.” I knew all of this, already. This wasn't
big
news. This was
yesterday's
news.
“Here's the thing,” he said.
“The prints matched each other.”
It took me a moment to process this data. “The same woman who robbed the people at the stock show is the one who robbed the guy at the hotel? And smothered him with the pillow?”
“The robberies appear to have been committed by the same person, yes,” Bustamente said. “But the medical examiner just released her report on Sam Gunderson. Turns out he died of alcohol poisoning. We suspect he started drinking before he headed over to the White Elephant. He had a few drinks there, too, then the champagne when he returned to his room.”
“Oh.” I wasn't sure how I felt about this bit of news. On one hand, it was nice to know there was one less killer among us than we'd suspected. On the other hand, a person drinking himself to death seemed like such a waste of a perfectly good life.
“Keep the information about the alcohol poisoning to yourself,” he said. “That's not public information. As far as everyone else knows, Sam Gunderson's death is still a potential murder investigation.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because we're going to use his death to flush out our thief. We can't wait any longer. We've got to force the issue. Meet me at the outlet store ASAP.”
I checked in with the on-site supervisor, who deferred to Bustamente and allowed me to leave the rodeo grounds.
Fifteen minutes later, I met up with the detective in the parking lot of the boot shop. We headed inside. I'd decided to bring Brigit with me this time in case Crystal tried to flee, though I kept my partner on a very short leash.
I followed Bustamente down a row. Crystal stood near the end, straightening a display of boots. Twice I had to use my hand to push Brigit's muzzle away from boots. She looked up at me with angry eyes and gave a boot a long lick with her tongue as if to let me know I wasn't the boss of her. Sometimes my partner was a real pain in the butt. Still, she was more mature than Derek had been.
Crystal looked up as we approached, but didn't seem to recognize us from our previous interaction. Of course I looked much different in uniform than I did in civilian clothes, and she probably saw hundreds of customers or more each week.
“Hi,” she said tentatively. “Can I help you find some boots?”
“Nope.” Bustamente flashed his badge. “We're here to talk to you.”
Crystal's eyes grew wide. “What ⦠um ⦠what's this about?”
She had the same insincere tone of incredulity I'd heard dozens of times, usually coming out of the mouths of people I'd caught speeding.
Speeder:
Why did you pull me over, Officer?
Me:
Really, dipshit? You were doing eighty miles per hour in a thirty-mile zone. If you weren't aware of that you're even more stupid than you look. Trust me, that's saying a lot.
Okay, so I'd never put it quite that way. But that's how it sounded in my head.
Bustamente took a step closer to Crystal and leaned in as if to share a secret. “Miss Hood, we believe you may have witnessed a crime.”
Witnessed?
Crystal had gone much further than being a mere witness. I realized then that Bustamente was using that disarming technique Detective Jackson had mentioned. It was the same tactic Columbo had used in those TV reruns I watched as a kid. It had been quite effective, too. Play dumb and the criminals don't fear you, let down their guard, slip up.
“A crime?” Crystal said. “What crime? Where?”
“At the stock show?” the detective prodded. “A thief snatched some purses in the ladies' room. She took wallets from a couple of men, too.”
Crystal's eyes blinked rapidly in bewilderment. She clearly didn't know how to respond to Detective Bustamente. I could practically read her thoughts.
How much does this guy really know? Should I rat on myself and hope the cops will show me some mercy? Or should I remain silent, exercise my rights?
Her eyes flicked down to Brigit.
No sense trying to run. That oversized dog would catch me. Dammit!
A thirtyish man in a starched shirt and chinos stopped at the end of the aisle, spotted us, and headed our way. “I'm the store manager. Everything okay here?”
Bustamente raised a palm. “Everything's fine, sir. We just need to speak to Miss Hood about a crime she might have seen taking place. Mind if we take her out front so we can talk privately? See what she knows?”
“Be my guest,” the man said. “I hope Crystal can help you out.”
Bustamente tossed him a thick-lipped grin. “Oh, I'm sure she'll be a big help.”
Seconds later, the four of us were standing next to the building in the cold and dwindling daylight. Brigit snuffled along the bottom of the building as we talked.
Bustamente cut right to the chase. “Miss Hood, we believe you might have seen the person responsible for the thefts at the stock show. Two of the women whose purses were snatched remembered you from the bathroom. They noticed your boots. They said you were on crutches?”
Crystal shook her head vehemently. “I don't know what you're talking about!”
Nonplussed, Bustamente raised his hands. “Look, Miss Hood. You're not in trouble here. We know you had nothing to do with these thefts.”
Yeah, right.
“We're just trying to find out if you might have gotten a good look at the thief.”