TWELVE

Blake’s voice boomed over the phone. “Let me talk to Hemphill.”

Janie carried her cell into the beehive of activity, which now resembled NASA’s control center more than her dining room. Hemphill hunched over a map calling out coordinates to the girl at the laptop. Janie tapped him on the shoulder and shoved the cell phone under his nose. “It’s Blake.”

He rose up with a sigh. “Hey, man of leisure. How’s your quiet evening going?”

Janie could hear Blake’s voice through the receiver. It didn’t sound happy. Hemphill nodded. “Yes, Chief Gates has been fully briefed. Hang on.” He walked into the kitchen.

Janie resisted the urge to follow. She gazed around the dining room, trying to formulate a reason to also go into the kitchen. Betsy Ann and George sat on the sofa in the living room. She wandered over to them. “Why are you all still here?”

George shrugged. “Can’t leave. Supposed to stay put.”

“Right. Well, let’s start pouring more coffee.” She headed for the kitchen with Betsy Ann in tow. Seeing them enter the room, Hemphill stepped outside onto the back stoop, phone still pressed to his ear.

“Rats.” She put several scoops into the basket. “I hoped to listen in. He’s talking with Blake.”

“Oh, I see.” Betsy Ann brought the sugar canister, sweetener box, and another nondairy creamer from the pantry. “Ethel called. She’s spitting tacks because she isn’t here. Wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to sneak over.”

“She better not try.”

Raised voices and commotion blasted from the dining room. The young policewoman dashed into the kitchen. “Where’s Detective Hemphill?”

Janie pointed to the back door.

The girl rushed over, flung it open, and called out. “Sir. They’ve got him.”

Hemphill bolted inside, the cell phone held to his chest. “Alive?”

“Yes, sir. The perpetrator fired, and one of the Grayson officers returned, hitting him in the leg. Perp’s in custody and being transported to Mercy Memorial Hospital.”

Hemphill raised the phone to his ear. “Blake, you get that? Yeah. Gotta go. Talk later.”

Hemphill gave Janie a high five. “Great job.” He punched in another number. “Sir, it’s Connor...oh, you know already?” He shrugged as he listened to the response. His voice volume rose. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

Janie and Betsy Ann gave each other puzzled expressions. The coffeepot gurgled.

Hemphill clicked off and turned back to the female officer. “Call in all hands to report to the Recreation Center parking lot for debriefing and roll call in fifteen. Officers from outlying towns, too. Chief Gates’s orders.”

“Ten-four, sir.”

Janie’s eyes narrowed. Chief Gates, huh? She’d heard Blake speak of him, and not too fondly. But then again, everyone had adored Chief Peterson and hated to see him retire two years ago. Jack and she knew a policeman named Gates back in the day when Jack worked the beat in Austin. She hadn’t been too fond of him either. Maybe they were related.

Hemphill gave Janie her phone. “Thanks.” He exited into the dining room circling his hand in the air. “Let’s wrap it up, people.”

Janie glanced at the full pot of coffee. She looked at Betsy Ann. “Oh, well. At least the cookies disappeared fast.”

~*~

Finally, about two in the morning, Janie drifted off to sleep with Mrs. Fluffy snuggling as close as a Siamese twin. At seven forty, her phone rang. She yawned and reached for it on her bed stand. “Hello?”

“He’s dead.”

She rubbed her eyes. “Who, Ethel?”

“The guy they caught. Strung up in the cell by the bandages they used to wrap his ankle. It’s on the morning news now.”

The cobwebs blew from her brain. “What? He hanged himself? Wait. I thought he was shot in the leg.”

“Evidently he tripped and sprained his foot on the way to jail. According to the news reports.”

“Thanks, Ethel. I’ll call you back.”

She grabbed Mrs. Fluffy. “Tripped, huh? Let’s go find out more, kitty.” Janie waddled to the living room and turned on the TV. The local anchor in Austin reported.

“The suspect has been identified as Jacob Wellington, age twenty-two. His partner, Les Holden, who was shot dead at the scene of the robbery, was his uncle. Holden had served time for burglary but, according to police, has not been arrested for any crime since 2012, except for the one three months ago, for which he was released on a technicality. Family members state Jacob made good grades, was on the football team in high school, and then attended community college in Round Rock while working at Pierre’s Pizza. They are appalled he would be involved in a burglary with his uncle, whom they consider a family outcast or black sheep.”

Janie perched on the edge of her recliner and clicked the volume control. A distraught woman wringing a tissue appeared on the screen in front of a house. Her red-rimmed eyed husband stood next to her, his arm wrapped tightly around her. “Jake was a straight A student. He just got promoted to assistant manager at the pizza parlor.” Her voice quivered. “Last week he asked Mary Sue to marry him. They were planning an October wedding.”

Her grief overcame her and her husband drew her to him. “My son would not be involved in this mess. What’s more, he wouldn’t have, have—” He gulped back his emotions. “—taken his own life. We demand a full investigation. I hold the Alamoville police responsible for his death.”

Reporters began shouting questions and shoving microphones in their faces. The father pushed away and motioned for them to leave. He turned and led his wife back inside their home.

The news anchor offered a bit more information about the manhunt last night, things Janie already knew. She clicked off the TV. Something inside her gut fluttered. The pieces were not fitting together. Sure, all parents think the best of their kids, but those two seemed genuinely shocked.

How could she find out what really happened?

Even more so, did this mean Blake was not going on vacation after all? Not if she could help it. Answers had to be discovered, and fast. She called Betsy Ann. “Did you hear? Uh, huh. Time to dust off your reporter’s cap. I need your assistance.”