AUNT MADGE'S IMPECCABLE grapevine had informed her Mrs. Hardy would not renew Joe's lease. She didn't know Joe well, but told me she thought he needed a couple of days to get used to having an arm in a sling before he had to look for a new place. Sometimes she surprises even me.
Because I was beginning to think that Joe Regan really was involved in something shady, I didn't like this surprise. I debated confiding my concerns to Aunt Madge.
She’s a smart woman. She must have considered everything that happened. But her mind isn't as suspicious as mine.
I was sitting at the table in Aunt Madge's kitchen, across from Joe. "I swear to God, Jolie, it can't have anything to do with me. I'm not some kind of…some kind of crook who hides money or something with people I barely know."
I tried to keep my temper reigned in. This was helped because the fingers that stuck out of Joe's cast were swollen and he looked like death on a cracker. He had touched up his roots so his hair was all auburn again. How do you do that in a hospital? Shoe polish?
"I don’t think you hid money or something with me, if that’s what you mean. But someone seems to think you did."
Joe thought for a moment. "I had a pretty rough life in Kansas right before I came east. It was the recession, remember? I bunked with friends or friends of friends. For all I know, one of them could be someone who stole money and someone thinks I ended up with it." He gently massaged his swollen fingers.
"I've never thought of you as some kind of robber on the run. It's just the only thing different in my life is seeing you right after you got shot."
"That was a pretty bad day for me, too."
"Think. Was there anyone in Kansas who might believe you had something of theirs? Something worth not just finding you at Java Jolt but breaking into my house, too?"
Joe shook his head, slowly. "I bunked where I could the last six months I was in Kansas. A couple of the guys I didn’t know well. Kind of rough backgrounds, one was proud of a couple of prison tattoos. Met them in the unemployment line."
"So, maybe someone’s really looking for them, or maybe…"
Joe’s smile was grim. "Your imagination’s gotten you in trouble before. It...hey. Do you know when that robbery was that the police are talking about?"
"You don't?" I asked.
"I wasn't there."
I told him the dates that were in the Kansas paper, and his face lit up.
He grinned. "I was already gone! See, I told you I didn't know those people."
How can he prove that? "You should tell Sergeant Morehouse that, if you haven't already."
"I will. I was so woozy in the hospital I never asked him about the exact dates." He sat up straighter, looking excited. "You found some kind of jewelry in your place when you moved in. When Scoobie was helping you paint or something. Maybe somebody's looking for it. That's who searched your house!"
"It's still in police evidence and I'm still trying to find who owned it."
"I bet it was that," he insisted.
"I really want to believe you."
He stared at my impassive expression for a second. "You don't think it was me who broke in, do you?"
"Not unless you have a third arm."
"Plus, Harry didn't bring me down to Ocean Alley until this morning." He grinned for just a second. "I can't believe your aunt."
I studied his earnest face, and sighed. "We all appreciate what you do for Harvest for All. But there is something you need to know, and you might not want…"
Aunt Madge walked into the kitchen. "Jolie, let the poor man rest."
"Oh, sure, you’re right." Thank goodness she didn’t hear me say he might not want Aunt Madge to hear. I stood. "I’ll catch the poor man later." It wasn’t as if I had the death threat to show him.
WHEN I GOT to my house police tape across the top step on the porch stopped me. Scoobie didn't go there before work, he had brought his scrubs to the Cozy Corner. Still, police tape had not occurred to me.
I dialed the main police station number, hoping to get Dana. I lucked out.
She listened to the request to enter my house, and said she needed to check on something. When she returned to the phone, she said, "We're done in there, and Scoobie set the alarm last night. Just pull the tape down. Call if anything looks out of place."
"Besides the stuffing from the rocking chair pillows?"
"At least it wasn't your couch cushions." She hung up without saying goodbye.
She's getting more like Morehouse.
The tape was easy to pull down, and I remembered the alarm code before it gave its warning buzz. That was the easy part. Whoever had searched was messy, but not completely destructive. He, or she, had pulled the lamp table away from the wall to look behind it, but though the lamp shade was crooked the picture frames were still standing.
Couch cushions were tossed around, but they had zippers in the back. The searcher had opened them and found nothing. I picked the cushions off the floor, redid the zippers, and put them back on the couch.
I don't have a lot of possessions. When the condo my ex-husband and I owned in Lakewood was sold to pay back some of the money he embezzled from his employer, we left most furniture in it. Scoobie's books are in neatly stacked tubs on one wall in the guest bedroom, and they had not been disturbed. I hoped no one came back to search them. I wonder how much a baby cam monitor costs?
By later today I wanted to have the house cleaned up and be able to explain to Scoobie that there was no reason to tell the police about the death note, as I had mentally dubbed it. Its removal made it kind of useless information. More important, I didn’t want Mrs. Hardy to find out that I lied about needing another photo. Plus, I would have lied while doing appraisal work. Bad for Harry’s business. Maybe I could get Scoobie to agree it was pointless to pass on the note’s existence or my theory that Talbot Peters took it.
I peered under our bed, and Pebbles eyed me, not moving. "Come on out. You know it's me." She didn't move, so I stood and examined my closet. It didn't look as if anyone had even parted the hangers of clothes.
Two of the kitchen drawers sat on the floor, their contents dumped on the small kitchen table. I replaced them both in their slots and began putting utensils and silverware back in them. Morehouse really needs to tell me the name of the guy whose fingerprints were on the Java Jolt door.
The rocker cushions went into a black trash bag and I scrubbed a small amount of fingerprint dust from the kitchen counter and around the front doorknob. My guess would be that the police decided the intruder wore gloves and stopped checking for more prints.
A soft patter announced Pebbles, and she walked to the fridge and stood next to it, expectations clear.
"You want some fresh veggies?"
No response, so I crumbled a few pieces of cauliflower, put it in her food bowl, and refilled her water bowl. "No one took you, I see." She ignored me. "I'll bring Jazz back this afternoon." Pebbles looked at me and went back to munching. I have no idea if a skunk learns any words. She certainly hasn't responded to Scoobie's instructions to roll over, but I don't think he's serious about it.
My phone chirped and I glanced at caller ID. "Good morning, Sergeant."
"Anything missin'?"
"Doesn't seem to be. You know who it was?"
"No prints. You can stop by and get your computer."
"Wouldn't it be nice if you told me whose prints were at the coffee shop the day Joe got shot?"
"How in the hell do you know about that?"
Nuts. I improvised. "Joe, but he didn’t remember the name."
"You don't have a need to know."
"Okay. Were the prints anywhere else?"
"Where any prints were is not your…"
"I mean were they on business doors besides Java Jolt? You know, as if a robber was checking a bunch of stores."
Morehouse didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he went with his usual. "I told you to keep your nose out of this." He hung up.
I glanced at the phone before sticking it in my pocket. "You wouldn't say that if your house got broken into."
WHEN IN DOUBT, I go to the library. I had never tried on my own to find out about the person whose fingerprints were on the Java Jolt door the day Joe was shot. My guess was the bank robber from Kansas.
I could have done Google searches at home but, again, didn't want Scoobie to know what I was doing. If he asks if I've searched for information on an old bank robbery, I'll tell him the truth. Not that I expected him to ask.
I also was more certain than ever that I hadn't gotten the truth from Joe Regan. Someone thought he had hidden something in my house. He had something hidden somewhere, or I wouldn't be about to shop for rocker cushions.
Why me? Maybe because you visited him in the hospital. Twice. Did someone follow me? Not likely, though I hadn’t paid any attention to traffic behind me. It could be as simple as I’d been in Java Jolt the morning Joe was shot, and I was near him on the sidewalk immediately after he was hurt. Nuts.
For forty-five minutes I searched for Kansas bank robberies for the time period four to five years ago. There were some, and there were follow-up articles on a couple of trials and several sentencing hearings.
Nothing looked right. It appeared most crimes were solved or had suspects, though a couple didn't. I reminded myself that the guy who'd been at Java Jolt had gotten out of prison, so he'd obviously been arrested. Whoever he was.
I was about to give up when I did one last search with every relevant word I could think of. I used no quotation marks around a phrase, so words did not have to appear together to come up in the search. I keyed in, Kansas, bank robbery, four five years ago, three-year sentence, and parole. It was mumbo jumbo, but the first item in the results was "Belken Surfaces in New Jersey."
Why hadn’t I thought of current articles? I peered at the computer and read.
Barry Belken, who robbed the Four Squares Credit Union in Kansas City, Missouri, nearly five years ago, has resurfaced in New Jersey. Belken was released on parole four months ago, but after checking in with his parole officer twice he failed to appear for more visits.
When New Jersey police investigated an apparent burglary, Belken's fingerprints were found on the exterior door of a coffee shop in Ocean Alley. There was no sign of him. The coffee shop is operated by Joe Regan, a former Kansas resident who told police that he never knew Belken. Regan was never considered a suspect in the Four Squares robbery, and has no criminal history.
At the time of his arrest, only hours after Four Squares was robbed, Belken had no money in his possession and would not confess to the crime. He always maintained that, despite security camera photos, his arrest was a case of mistaken identity. He never named the man police believe had intended to drive the getaway car. When police, summoned by a silent alarm, neared the credit union, a black SUV, later determined to be stolen, pulled away from the curb in front of Four Squares. Belken left on foot, from the bank's alley entrance.
Kansas City Police speculate that Belken either wants to hide with someone he knew prior to the robbery, or is looking for the cash he stole. He may be in the company of a former girlfriend, Benji Radin. Radin has a record of petty theft, but no arrests since Belken went to prison. She has not been seen since Belken violated his parole, and police believe he may be forcing her to remain with him.
Not long after Belken apparently broke into the coffee shop, owner Joe Regan was seriously wounded in an attack in broad daylight in Ocean Alley. Regan, who is recovering, could not identify his attacker.
Kansas City Police have issued a warrant for Belken's arrest and distributed that information to state and local law enforcement as well as the FBI.
So, the robbery had been in Missouri, that’s why I had trouble finding it. "Damn." I looked around to see if my comment had disturbed anyone. Morehouse told a newspaper in Kansas about the prints, but he wouldn’t tell me whose they were. Jerk.
Armed with his name, I searched for Barry Belken and almost immediately found a couple of articles on the robbery from about five years ago. A link to a video, had apparently been taken down. Unfortunately, the articles provided little additional information.
The only photo was of a man with a thin face, straggly hair, a short goatee, and handlebar mustache. It was not a good look. Especially since his green eyes were glaring at the camera.
How can I use this information? That would take some figuring. Scoobie would be annoyed that I was digging into a robbery Joe might or might not be connected to. George said he wouldn't keep information from Scoobie. I knew there could be some temporary wiggle room there, but ultimately George would want to stay on his best friend's good side.
I love Scoobie. But why does he have to be so uninterested in unanswered questions?