If you go on the Internet, you’ll find all sorts of stories about how police ignore bike theft and how it takes them forever to do anything. That’s not what happened this time.
Maybe the police really did consider it a crime wave. Maybe they were already aware of the purple house and had been investigating it. Maybe Emily’s information about the van and the police knowing that Riley’s bike was in the garage and that he had proof of ownership were the last tiny bits of real evidence they needed. Or maybe we just lucked out.
But all in all, things happened pretty quickly. Mind you, the two days we did have to wait practically killed Riley.
“I should have been there. Super Riley to the rescue! Why didn’t you take me with you?” he asked.
“I would have taken you if I’d known what was going to happen,” I said. “And I tried to get your bike. I really did.”
“But what about Emily? What if the crooks in the purple house find out that she’s the one who turned them in? She lives right next door!” said Riley.
Dad had helped me with that part. He seemed to think “little Emily Grimshaw” needed protecting as much as Emily herself did. Not even the police knew about Emily.
“And what if they move the bikes out before the police move in? Emily says that’s what they do. She’s watched them do it!” said Riley.
Emily’s bedroom was on the second floor, looking over the back alley. As for not moving the bikes out, that was something I couldn’t answer. The only thing I knew for sure was that neither Riley nor I was going to get anywhere near the purple house to find out what was happening. The police had warned Dad to keep us away. Dad, Riley’s parents and his older brother were watching us like hawks.
Then, late on Saturday afternoon, my doorbell started ringing like crazy. It was Riley. He hurried through the door and, as usual these days, brought The Flame right inside with him.
“There was a flash on the early news. Stolen bikes. Full report at six,” he said. “The Flame and I flew like the wind so we could all watch together. Turn on the TV. Quick.”
I called up to Dad and switched on the TV.
“A surprising result today when city police executed a search warrant at a house on Fifty-Eighth Street.”
“That’s the house!” I said.
“Several people were taken into custody. Two of them were already known to police as part of an ongoing investigation.”
One of them was the man with the craggy face who had come out on the back porch. The other was someone Riley and I both recognized.
“The guy from the gas station!” said Riley.
Yup, it was AJ, the one person I’d actually trusted. And this time I really did have one of those flash-like memory sequences that the TV cameras show. AJ directing my attention out the window to the alley. And when I turned back, the door of the storeroom now pulled tightly shut. For his part, Riley simply started shouting at the TV set.
“You said you’d watch out for bike thieves! Liar!”
“At the rear of the property, police found over forty bicycles that are believed to be stolen. Unofficial sources say bikes were being transported out of the city and sold in smaller communities.”
The camera switched to a clip of bikes being loaded into a city truck. Riley gave a great whoop.
“There it is!” he shouted. “There’s my bike. That’s it!”
He was practically bouncing off the roof.
“Easy, Riley,” said Dad. “It will be awhile before you get it back. They’ll need it for evidence.”
Riley didn’t care.
“My bike!” he kept saying. “My bike’s on TV!”
Again the news clip shifted focus.
“A dog on the premises was taken by the SPCA.”
Sometimes when you see a dog in these circumstances, it’s wearing a muzzle and looks unhappy and maybe even mean. That wasn’t the way it was this time. The dog was way too skinny, but it had friendliness written all over it. The man in the SPCA uniform was holding it gently on a regular leash. A police officer, the one we knew from the station, was petting it. The dog’s tail was wagging like crazy.
“Keep watching, Levi,” said Riley. “Maybe you’ll see your bike too!”
I didn’t think so. But I hadn’t lost hope. Not yet.