The security office had become the strategy room. Dad still sat in his squeaky chair. And since Ken had decided he’d better opt out if he was going to maintain any illusion of being off the case, Detective Reynolds was leaning against the wall next to a couple of uniformed officers. Not sure how I rated an invite, but I wasn’t about to leave.
Dad queued up the video to point out the two men. They’d managed to avoid being caught by the camera that had been focused on the comic booth. Apparently they’d spotted it and managed to change the aim so that it only caught images of the ceiling. So while we couldn’t actually see them vandalizing the booth, other cameras had caught them as they pulled open a back door to the center. They were no longer dressed in a Batman tee or bolo tie, opting instead for plain dark clothes. But they were definitely the same two Dad had pointed out to me at the show, suspected of mafia ties.
“So, what? We got them on breaking and entering?” Reynolds asked, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Or do we even have that? Why isn’t that door locked?”
“I wondered the same thing,” Dad said. “I know it was locked when I left. I locked and double-checked everything personally. So I ran the tape back.” Dad rewound the tape and told us to pay attention. Most of the time it just showed a closed door, but eventually it caught what looked like a man bursting through the door and sprinting backward toward the parking lot. Dad stopped the tape and ran it forward at normal speed. A very familiar figure of a man entered the frame, using a key to unlock the door.
“Who’s that?” Reynolds squinted at the screen as Dad paused the picture.
“Lionel Kelley?” I said, guessing based on the man’s slim build and posture, which was impeccable.
“Kelley?” Reynolds said. “That twerp? What’s he doing with a key? And why’s he letting them in?”
“Now,” Dad said, “don’t jump to conclusions. Until very recently, Kelley was head of security here.”
“And he should’ve relinquished his keys. And he definitely should not be opening doors for known felons,” Reynolds said.
“All true,” Dad said. “But I don’t think he opened the door for those guys. I have a feeling they were hanging around for a while, saw him go in, and took advantage of the open door. Yes, Kelley should’ve turned in his keys, but I suspect his plans were a little less nefarious. In fact, I can prove it.”
“You have him on other cameras?” I asked.
“Yes, and never near the comic books.”
“Well, let’s see it,” Reynolds said.
Dad looked uncomfortable. “I don’t suppose you’d take my word for it?”
“Roll film,” Reynolds said, folding his arms in front of his chest.
Dad faced the monitor with a resigned sigh and called up footage that showed Kelley walking around the conference floor.
“Didn’t he know he’d be caught on camera?” I asked.
“I think he was counting on nobody watching the footage,” Dad said. “Which is what happens 99.9 percent of the time when there’s not a problem. It’s also why I don’t think he let in those two men. He wouldn’t want anybody to watch this.”
Kelley made his way over to our toy booth and lifted the table cover. I squinted at the grainy screen. “What’s he . . . ?” And then I remembered what Cathy had said about Parker leaving money on the table. The serious, stalwart ex-security guard and former officer pulled out his wallet, carefully counted out cash, and put the amount on the table. He then picked up a My Little Pony headband and stroked his fingers through its rainbow mane as if he were petting a prized stallion. He placed the headband on his head, adjusted the plush ears, and shook his head to toss the mane around, like a sultry, long-haired model in a shampoo commercial. And then he picked up the matching rainbow tail.
“Oh, for the love of . . .” Reynolds started.
“He’s a closet brony!” I said, laughing in spite of myself. I wasn’t the only one laughing. The uniformed cops gave up trying to hide it.
“What’s a brony?” Reynolds asked.
“It’s a combination of bro and pony,” I said. “Adult men who like My Little Ponies.” I shook my head. “And I shouldn’t laugh. Nothing wrong with being a brony. There are far worse hobbies. It just took me by surprise, is all. Most bronies are good people.”
“That’s for real?”
“They have an annual convention,” Dad said. “Brings in over ten thousand, last I heard, from all over the world.”
“Ten thousand men . . . dressed like that?” Reynolds pointed at the frozen screen.
“Some don’t cosplay at all,” I said, “and some dress up as other pop-culture characters. And before you ask, no, it has nothing to do with sexual preference. There are both gay and straight bronies. They just like the show. There are women too. Some call themselves bronies. Others call themselves Pegasisters. And there are more bronies in the area than care to admit to it. We do a fair trade in ponies.”
Eventually the smiles and smirks stopped, and the mood grew somber again. We watched as Dad jumped from camera to camera as Kelley hit the toy vendors, picking up an armful of My Little Pony paraphernalia, always leaving cash behind and the tablecloths replaced neatly over the merchandise.
“Do we see him leave?” Reynolds asked.
“Yes,” Dad said. “He takes his bounty into the employee lounge, opens a locker, and stuffs all his . . . purchases into a duffel bag, plus more he’d apparently kept there. He then opens another locker and urinates in my uniform shoes.”
I looked down to see Dad wearing his sneakers. “Ew.”
Dad shrugged it off. “If that was the worst thing anyone’s tried to do to me, I’d say I’ve lived a charmed life. But then he takes his stuff and leaves, locking the door behind him.”
“He didn’t want to be seen with the My Little Pony stuff,” I said, “so he came back at night when he didn’t think anyone would be here.”
“And the other two just took advantage of that fact, yes,” Dad said. “They were very clever to avoid most of the cameras. It’s only after Kelley leaves that this happens.” Dad called up a bit of footage. At first, there was a clear shot of the comic booth, and then the camera tipped up so that it was focused elsewhere.
“So they were on the catwalks?” I asked.
“Must have climbed up there somehow,” Dad said. “We could check for prints.”
“We got them coming in where they’re not supposed to be,” Reynolds said. “Trespassing, at least.”
“But we also have this,” Dad said. “They got cocky and missed a camera. Here’s an angle they weren’t counting on.” Dad rolled more tape.
The two men were skulking toward the door. One had something in his hand. Dad paused the video, and we all squinted at the screen.
“It’s a comic book,” I said.
“That’s criminal trespassing.” Reynolds smiled.
“It’s still a far cry from murder,” Dad said.
“Yeah, but while we got them, we might be able to get a search warrant to look for the missing comic books,” Reynolds said. “Maybe we’ll luck out and find something else. But we wouldn’t be able to hold them long on those charges.”
“But if you don’t take them in now,” Dad countered, “how do you know they don’t ride off into the sunset right after the show ends?”
“They’re still here?” Reynolds asked.
Dad nodded, called up the security cameras in real time, and a few moments later pointed out the two suspects.
Reynolds gestured to his men. “Go get ’em.” He saluted my dad. “Let me know if you catch anything else. On the video, I mean. I’ll be back for those tapes later.”
“Will do.”
As they filed out to make their arrest, I stood behind Dad’s chair to watch. Before the cops approached the men, Ken opened the door and joined us. “What happened?” he asked.
Dad pointed to where the arrest was taking place. But another face on a different monitor drew my attention. Jack Wallace was back at the show. He wore a heavy sweater yet carried a bulky coat draped oddly over one arm. And he looked nervous, not that I could see his facial expression in the camera, but his movements were stiff and jerky.
“Got them!” Ken said, obvious pride in his voice.
“I only hope you can hold them,” Dad said. “They’re going to lawyer up pretty quick.”
“Liz?” Ken asked.
I waved him off. I was still following Jack as he navigated the crowded maze of aisles.
“What are you looking at?” Dad asked.
Ken spotted him first. “What’s he doing here? Looking for you?”
I shook my head. He was headed straight toward the comic booth. He stopped short. Where the comic booth had been, large fabric dividers had been set up.
“I did that,” Dad said, anticipating my question. “So the police could process the area without being disturbed by the show, and vice versa.”
“Is anyone there now?” I asked.
“I think they finished up a while ago,” Dad said. “It didn’t make sense to remove the barriers if the booth wasn’t going to reopen.”
Jack stood in front of the curtains for a while, looking—or pretending to look—at the nearest train layout. He nodded to a passing shopper, then ducked behind the drapes.
“Let’s go,” Dad said. Ken and I followed him, taking a shortcut through a side hallway not open to the public. When we emerged, Jack was just coming out of the draped off area, his jacket now hanging limply at his side.
“Jack!”
He looked up. If guilt had been written on his face, it would’ve been in all caps and in indelible ink, followed by a blushing emoji.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
But Dad and Ken forged ahead and pushed aside the draping.
“Liz,” Ken said.
I looked away from where Jack was now hanging his head. There in the booth, sitting on top of the previously ransacked table, was a stack of graded comics, still in their plastic cases.
“I can explain,” Jack said. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“I don’t know what it looks like,” I said. “But a lot of people went through a whole lot of trouble to find those comics, including possibly killing a man.” I put my hands over my mouth. “What have you done?”
Jack sent me a pained look. “I just found them.”
“Let me call Reynolds,” Ken said.
“Maybe we should go to the office and talk about it,” Dad said.
“How much trouble am I in?” Jack asked, keeping his focus on Dad.
“It depends,” Dad said, trying to hold off Ken who had already pulled out his phone. “Where did you find them?”
Jack’s gaze swept the room, looking first at Ken, then Dad, and finally at me. Then he pinched his eyes shut. “In Terry’s room.”