Cooper dragged behind, rehearsing his part in the imagined conversation he might have with his parents. Mom sat on the couch and turned around as soon as he stepped into the family room.
“It sounds awful.” She patted her leg and motioned Mattie to climb on her lap. Fudge padded over and curled up at Mom’s feet.
Dad grabbed the wooden rocker, pulling it close and off to one side of the TV. Gordy sat on one arm of the couch, but Cooper swung a kitchen chair into the room behind everyone else. He didn’t want his face to give anything away during the news report. He wished Gordy had done the same thing.
Positioning the chair backwards, Cooper straddled the seat and rested his arms across the back of it. The story showing up on the news wasn’t something he figured on. With all the things going on in the Chicago area, why would they pick this story?
His stomach clenched the moment a live feed from Frank ‘n Stein’s flashed on the screen. A reporter stood in the foreground holding a microphone.
“I’m standing in front of Frank ‘n Stein’s Diner in Rolling Meadows, the scene of a brutal robbery shortly after closing last night,” the reporter said.
The camera zoomed in on the front of Frank’s. Yellow POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape stretched across the front of the building announcing to the world that something evil had happened there.
“Frank Mustacci,” a smiling picture of the man flashed on the screen, “was found beaten last night in his restaurant shortly after closing.”
“No!” Cooper’s Mom hugged Mattie.
Cooper felt Frank was looking right at him. Wondering why Cooper didn’t hop over the counter and help him. How could I have let them hurt him like that?
Gordy looked back over his shoulder and caught Cooper’s eye. Cooper could read his cousin’s face as clearly as if he’d actually spoken the words. What are we going to do now?
The camera returned to a head and shoulder view of the reporter. “There is speculation that this robbery may be gang related, although authorities are not commenting on that,” the reporter said. “A boy approximately twelve to fourteen years old was witnessed fleeing the crime scene on a bike.”
Cooper’s mother gasped. “He could be your age.”
He is my age—to the exact second.
Dad reached for the remote and turned up the volume.
The camera zoomed back to show a stocky man wearing a green Frank ‘n Stein’s polo shirt standing next to the reporter.
“I’m joined here by Joseph Stein, Frank’s partner and co-owner of Frank ‘n Stein’s.”
Mr. Stein gave a slight nod.
Cooper had seen him plenty of times working the order counter at the diner. Now he looked quiet and sad, nothing like his usual outgoing self.
“Mr. Stein,” the reporter turned from looking at the camera to directly face the man. “Does it surprise you that a teenager may have been involved in this?”
“Frank is a really, really nice guy. What shocks me is that anybody could have done this to him—especially a kid. Frank loved when kids hung around.” Stein bit his lip like he was trying to keep from breaking down. “Honestly, unless it was some kind of gang initiation or something, I don’t think a kid had anything to do with this.”
Cooper wanted to scream, “Mr. Stein is right. There were three of them, and none of them were kids!”
“My understanding is the boy seen fleeing the crime scene is a possible witness,” Stein explained, “not a suspect.”
“Do you have surveillance cameras?” the reporter asked.
“Absolutely. All the cameras feed into a single unit, which was destroyed by whoever did this. There’s an auxiliary hard drive that stores all the data, but the person who did this was smart enough to take it with him,” Stein said.
“Do you think this was done by professionals?”
“The police told me they have good prints and some other evidence left behind by whoever did this.” Mr. Stein shifted his weight. “That doesn’t sound too professional to me.”
“What type of evidence?” The reporter moved the mic closer.
Cooper’s stomach twisted. He could answer that question.
Mr. Stein put his hands up in front of his chest. “I’m not sure I should be saying anything more. I don’t want to do anything that may mess up the investigation.”
“Of course,” the reporter agreed, but Cooper sensed a bit of disappointment in her voice. “Have authorities given you any indication how long they expect the investigation to continue?”
Mr. Stein shook his head. “Specifically, no. But they seemed confident they’d have a suspect in custody within just a few days.”
Cooper tried to think. The cops have prints. That made sense. They could have picked up his prints on the door, the knife—all over. But that won’t do them any good unless they have something to match them with. Or unless the police intended to start taking fingerprints at school. He made a mental note to take a closer look at the permission slip. But Elvis and the clown wore gloves, so none of the prints were going to lead to the real robbers.
“And we’ll open for business as usual tomorrow,” Stein said. “It’s the way Frank would want it. We’ll be taking donations for Frank’s medical bills—so please …” His bottom lip quivered and he lowered his head.
The reporter put on a sympathetic face. “Thank you for taking the time for the interview. I know this must be a hard time for you.”
Mr. Stein bowed slightly, and backed away. The camera quickly cropped to a tight head and shoulder shot of the reporter.
The reporter had a gleam in her eyes. Either she really loved being in front of the camera delivering terrible news, or she had some juicy tidbit she’d been dying to reveal to her television audience.
“There is strong evidence to suggest the mystery witness attends this suburban junior high school. This tape was filmed earlier this afternoon.”
Mom sucked in her breath. “Carson! That’s Plum Grove.”
Cooper’s dad didn’t take his eyes off the screen. Leaning forward, he turned the volume up even more. Cooper’s stomach swirled. He’d have a lot more explaining to do than he’d bargained on.
The newscast cut to a video of Plum Grove at the end of the school day. Students were flowing out of the doors and cops were everywhere. “We interviewed Rolling Meadows Police Detective Hammer earlier today about the incident.”
The screen showed a clip of the same reporter standing in front of Plum Grove School as the last of the buses pulled away from the curb. Hammer stood next to her wearing the sunglasses with the mirrored lenses.
“Detective Hammer, are there any similarities to the 1993 slayings at Brown’s Chicken in nearby Palatine?”
That was it. The infamous Brown’s Chicken robbery. Seven people murdered in the walk-in freezer. No wonder they were giving this air time. Even though it happened years before Cooper was born, the massacre at Brown’s was told and retold like a local ghost story. Cooper tried to refocus on the news report.
“… other than that, no similarities at all,” Hammer said.
“There was a lot of police activity here at Plum Grove Junior High today,” the reporter said. “Do you believe one of the students is involved?”
“I believe one of the students witnessed the crime.”
“But that witness hasn’t come forward?”
“Not yet.” Hammer gave a half-smile. “But he will. Or I’ll come to him.”
Cooper shuddered. Even if you have to try that key in every house in town.
“Will the fact that Frank Mustacci’s brother-in-law is the Mayor of Rolling Meadows have a bearing on the efforts put into this investigation?”
Cooper held his breath. Frank was related to the Mayor? How had he never heard that? Of course it would put pressure on the police to solve the crime—or pin it on someone.
“Absolutely not,” Hammer said. “We give 100% to every criminal investigation. This one will be no different.”
“Detective, the Brown’s Chicken robbery and murders baffled investigators for ten years and may never have been solved if an angry girlfriend hadn’t spoken to authorities.” The reporter paused. “Do you feel the Frank ‘n Stein’s investigation will run into similar problems?” She held the microphone in front of Hammer for his response.
“The Brown’s Chicken investigation had its own unique challenges and the trail got cold.”
“So you feel confident you’ll get your man—or teenager as the case may be.”
“Oh yeah. We’ll get him.” The cameraman zoomed up slowly on Hammer’s face. “This trail isn’t cooling down for us. It’s getting warmer.”
Cooper could feel the heat. Licking dry lips, he tried to swallow.
“Thank you, Detective Hammer,” the reporter said. The camera moved in tight on the reporter’s face. “Frank Mustacci remains in a coma at Northwest Community Hospital.”
The reporter signed off, and Dad muted the TV. Turning slowly, he looked directly at Cooper—or through him.
“You knew all about this, didn’t you Cooper?”