More Than Great Riches (11 page)

Leland, it’s Lucille. You better get over here fast. The alarms at Henry’s garage are
making an awful racket. I’ll bet they can hear them down in Plymouth.

I’m on my way. Who’s on duty—Mike and Will? Tell them I’ll handle it. And you’d better
give Henry a call.

Leif put his head in the door of the music room. Tracy, I have to go. If I don’t get back
in time, see that the boys get home.

Tracy waved an acknowledgment and Leif made a dash for his car. The minute he stepped out
the door of the church, he heard the shrieks and clamor of the alarm. Henry had devised
his own alarm system. It didn’t send a quiet signal to some remote security company. It
announced to the whole town of Allerton and points beyond, that someone was breaking into
Henry’s garage.

The garage was just a few blocks from the church. By the time he pulled up in front of the
building, Leif decided that ear plugs should be standard equipment in his SUV.

Henry arrived at the same time. Henry, Leif shouted to make himself heard over the din,
can you shut that thing off?

Henry signaled an OK. Despite his hefty three hundred pounds, he sprinted to the office,
unlocked the door, and disappeared inside. In an instant there was a blessed silence.

Immediately Leif began an inspection of the building. Although there were no signs of
tampering on the garage bay doors, there were suspicious gouges in the wood frame of the
office door and the striker plate had been bent back.

Henry leaned over Leif’s shoulder as he examined the marks. Looks like he tried to use a
chisel or a screwdriver, he commented.

What have you got in the safe, Henry? The crown jewels?

I don’t even have much cash, Henry assured him. I made a deposit at the bank yesterday.

He must have been after your tools, Leif decided.

There’s nothing else there to steal, Henry put in. I suppose maybe a car, if he wanted to
smash it straight through the wall. He couldn’t open those bay doors unless he brought a
bolt cutter. Besides, the only cars in the garage right now are my old pickup truck and
Tracy’s Galaxie. Not exactly high priority for car thieves.

Leif examined the door again. There’s not too much damage to the wood, but you’ll need to
replace that striker plate.

Henry nodded. I’ve been in business here for thirty years. First time something like this
happened. I’m glad he didn’t get my tools.

Reset your alarm, Leif reminded him. I have a feeling this guy is going to come back. He
stood for a moment, studying the scene. Henry, I don’t like the smell of this. There’s
something fishy going on here.

Leif tilted his chair back and stared at the office ceiling. It had been several days
since the attempted break-in at Henry’s, but something about it kept gnawing at the
fringes of his mind. Absent-mindedly he massaged his bad knee as he tried to diagnose the
source of his unease.

A thief should know that Henry didn’t keep a lot of cash on hand. People paid for car
repairs with a check or credit card, not petty cash. If a crook was looking for a place to
steal tools, Henry’s garage was not the best choice. It was built like a fortress. Robbing
the hardware store would be as simple as a rock through a plate glass window.

As for stealing Henry’s pickup truck or Tracy’s Ford—there were easier places to grab a
car. There was nothing else of value in the garage unless Henry had some special equipment
that he had overlooked.

His musings were interrupted by a commotion outside his office door. He jumped to his
feet, afraid that Lucille was climbing on a chair again to change a light bulb. Yanking
the door open, he found Will forcing a seedy looking man into a chair as Lucille prepared
to book him.

What’s up, Will?

I didn’t do nothing wrong, the man shouted.

Old man Miller found this guy sleeping in his shed, Will reported. Doesn’t think he stole
anything.

Leif studied the vagrant with suspicion. He had seen this man before. A picture came into
his mind of the stranger who came to Tracy’s door offering to pay fifteen thousand dollars
for her old Ford. He caught only a brief glimpse of the man that day, but the image was
clearly imprinted in his brain. Tracing the license plate on the guy’s junk Chevy had led
to a dead end. The plate had been stolen from another car in Wareham.

But this was definitely the same man—painfully thin, scraggly hair. He was even wearing
the same nauseous green sweatshirt.

I believe I’ve met this gentleman before, Will. Before you book him, I’d like to have a
little talk with him. Leif turned to the culprit. What’s your name?

John Sylvester.

Any aliases?

No, sir. I ain’t no crook.

You’d better be telling me the truth, Leif warned. Lucille, run that name through the
system.

Of course, Leland.

I’ll take care of this, Will. Mr. Sylvester, if you’ll please step into my office.

Impeded by the handcuffs behind his back, the prisoner managed to unfold to his full
height. He slouched into Leif’s small office and dropped heavily into a chair.

Leif was more interested in the man’s visit to Tracy than in the trespassing charge, but
he started with the immediate problem. So what were you doing in Mr. Miller’s shed?

The man’s voice was thin and reedy, almost a whine. I been trying to pick up some work.
Make enough money for bus fare home. That place looked as though they could use a
handyman, but there weren’t nobody home. I waited a while, but no one showed. When it
started to rain, I ducked in the shed. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Sylvester’s voice
trailed off. He looked expectantly at Leif, obviously hopeful that his sad tale of woe
would earn him a little sympathy.

Where’s home?

Portland, Maine. Never shoulda left.

Leif pretended to be mulling over a decision, although he knew exactly where he was going
with this. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. Well, I might be able to forget the
trespassing in exchange for some information.

Sylvester frowned. Information? I don’t know nothing.

We’ll see. Leif smothered a smile. A week ago you knocked on a lady’s door offering a
ridiculous amount of money to buy her car. Tell me what that was that all about.

Sylvester came to attention. That ain’t illegal.

No, that’s true, but those were stolen tags on your car.

That weren’t my car, he protested. I swear. A guy loaned it to me. I didn’t know the tags
was stolen.

And where were you planning to get fifteen thousand dollars to pay the young lady for her
car?

Sylvester shifted uneasily in his chair. Leif knew the handcuffs were making him
uncomfortable, but he suspected they weren’t the source of Sylvester’s uneasiness. The
vagrant eyed him cautiously. You’re gonna forget the trespassing if I tell you about that?

I said I might do that.

Sylvester seemed to be holding a debate with himself. To tell or not to tell. He heaved a
deep sigh. I wasn’t really gonna buy the car. This guy in Wareham said he’d pay me a
hundred bucks if I’d find out where the lady’s car was. I figured the easiest way to find
out was to just go and ask the lady.

Leif hesitated. This story wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. Why did this guy want to
know about the car?

The vagrant shrugged. Don’t ask me. All I cared about was making a hundred bucks.

Do you know the man’s name?

He shook his head. No idea. The church serves a free lunch on Saturday. I was sitting
there, eating my lunch, minding my own business, and this guy just walked in and picked me
out of the crowd.

What did he look like?

I don’t know. Just a guy. About thirty or so. Tall, dark hair.

Had you ever seen him before?

Nope. Never laid eyes on him.

And that’s all the description you can give me? Leif snapped.

Well, he was dressed nice. Real classy looking. Had a little beard, you know what I mean,
like he forgot to shave.

Did he give you the money up front?

No, he gave me twenty-five. Said he’d give me the rest when I had the information for him.
He gave me two days to find out—said he’d meet me behind the church on Monday evening.
Sylvester frowned in disgust. I had to spend twenty bucks to get the loan of the car.

So, did this guy come back and meet you?

Yup. He showed up and paid me the seventy-five bucks. But he told me I better keep my
mouth shut about the whole deal or he’d hunt me down. He looked like he meant what he said.

Leif was silent, pondering the story. There had to be a reason the mystery man didn’t call
on Tracy himself. He paid good money to a total stranger when all he needed to do was
knock on Tracy’s door. And then Leif felt a familiar tingle at the back of his neck. He
had a hunch.

He stepped to the door. Will was still outside, waiting for further orders. Leif opened
his wallet and handed him a fifty. Will, I want you to take this gentleman to Brockton and
put him on the bus to Portland. There should be enough money there to buy him a meal.

Lucille’s mouth fell open and Will stared at him in astonishment. What about the
trespassing charge?

Mr. Sylvester was kind enough to assist me with another case. We’re going to overlook the
trespass.

Yes, sir. Will shrugged as though there was no point in arguing with someone who was
clearly insane. Reluctantly he removed Sylvester’s handcuffs and escorted him out to the
patrol car.

The last thing Leif heard was the hobo’s plaintive voice, My back pack’s still in that
shed.

Leif gave Lucille a wink and returned to his desk. Ideas bounced around in his head like
ping pong balls. The mystery man had to be Rick Timmons. Knowing Tracy would recognize
him, he sent a stranger to get the information—a stranger who didn’t know him, who
couldn’t be connected to him. But why was Timmons interested in Tracy’s car? There must be
something special about that old Galaxie.

Leif’s suspicions began to take shape. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out the Timmons
file. Detective Diaz had faxed the list of jewelry stolen from Ronda Starr’s home. He
scanned the list of items. There were detailed descriptions of each piece—a twenty carat
solitaire, a gold choker, an antique brooch set with rubies and emeralds. There were eight
pieces in all. Leif trusted his instincts and they told him that Timmons had stashed a
small fortune in jewelry in Tracy’s car.

The very idea sounded like something out of Mad Magazine. But more often than not his
crazy hunches were on target. He paused, jolted by another thought. A bigger question
loomed—if that jewelry was in Tracy’s car, did she know it? He didn’t want to believe
that.

Lucille, he called. I need to talk to Henry.

I’ll get him, Leland.

Leif shoved the file back into the drawer, his mind racing at warp speed. To prove his
hunch he needed to be careful. If he made an illegal search, he jeopardized the case. He
had to talk to Tracy before he touched her car.

Henry’s on the line, Lucille called.

Leif snatched up the phone. Henry, have you called Tracy to tell her that her car is ready?

Not yet. I just finished some final adjustments. I’m just getting ready to call her.

OK. This is important. Tell her I’m on my way out there to get her. I want to be with her
when she comes to pick up that car.

 
****

Tracy held the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she tried to persuade Thor to
chew on his rag doll instead of the coffee table. She had discovered that puppies were
hazardous to clothing, furniture, and anything else that didn’t move fast enough. To
protect Pansy Panda, she moved her stuffed childhood friend from the place of honor on her
pillow to the top shelf of her bookcase.

Hi, Mom, she said as her mother answered her call. How’s Aunt Grace doing?

Her mother tended to see the gloomy side of life. Well, the doctor says she’s doing fine,
but I don’t know. She doesn’t seem to have much pep.

Mom, she just had a triple bypass. She needs a lot of rest.

I know, I know, her mother fretted, but she doesn’t have much of an appetite, and Grace
has always been such a good eater.

Tracy tried to bolster her mother’s spirits. Just give her some time. Everyone here at
church is praying for her and for Jeff.

At the mention of Jeff’s name, Faith grew weepy. Oh, my poor boy.

Mom, don’t give up. Tracy wanted to instill in her mother the feeling of peace she had
about Jeff—that wonderful sense of God’s presence telling her that all would be well.
There’s some good news. The doctor is really encouraged about the way the skin grafts are
adhering.

Her mother’s answer was interrupted by a knock at the door. Hold on a minute, Mom.
Someone’s at the door. Tracy put the phone down. Remembering to leave the chain in place,
she opened the door a crack. Joy bubbled up. There stood Leif. But the bubble burst when
she saw his grim expression.

She removed the chain and opened the door. His frown gave her prickles of anxiety. Hi,
Leif. What’s up?

Thor danced up to the door, trying to win his attention, but Leif didn’t seem to be aware
of the puppy. His penetrating gaze searched her face. Didn’t Henry call you?

She shook her head. I guess he couldn’t reach me. I’ve been on the phone. She decided not
to mention that Keith Bradford had called. He had located the charred remains of Jeff’s
car. She knew Leif shared her aversion to Keith.

Your car is ready. I told Henry I’d bring you in to pick it up.

That’s great! At last, Tracy cheered. But Leif was scowling as though he were bringing her
bad news.

She waved him into the house. Come in a minute while I finish this call. As he followed
her into the living room, she picked up the phone again. Mom, I’m sorry, I’ve got company.
Keep praying and keep your chin up. I’ll call you back tonight.

Don’t forget, her mother chided.

I’ll call, Tracy promised. She hung up the phone and turned to Leif. Just let me take care
of Thor. He loves playing with the toilet paper roll. I’ll put him in the kitchen. He
can’t get into too much trouble there.

When Tracy returned, Leif was pacing the living room floor. He was usually as excitable as
a rock, but today he seemed to be on edge. I’m ready, she ventured.

He held up a hand in a signal to stop. Before we go, I need to ask you a few questions.

Tracy felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. Leif was acting so strangely.

Sit down for a minute. This was a cop talking, not a friend.

Hesitantly she sank down onto the sofa.
Something is very wrong.

On the night you went to Ronda Starr’s party, where was your car?

Tracy felt her mouth drop open. She had managed to push the jewelry theft to a distant
corner of her brain. And what did her car have to do with anything? It was in the parking
lot behind my apartment in Brooklyn.

And Rick Timmons lived nearby?

Now they were back to Rick Timmons. She struggled to follow Leif’s train of thought. I
don’t know exactly where Rick lives, but I’m sure it was somewhere nearby in the
neighborhood.

Did you always park in the same place? This wasn’t a conversation, it was a quiz.

Yes, it’s my assigned space. I pay to park there.

Is the parking lot fenced? Is there a security guard?

She felt as though she were back in that dingy interrogation room with Detective Diaz.
There’s a fence and a twenty-four hour attendant at the gate. The attendants can see
anyone that comes through the pedestrian entrance and any car that comes in or out through
the gate. And there are several security cameras around the lot.

So the attendant would know if a stranger entered the lot.

Well, not necessarily. It’s not always one of the regulars on duty.

So a stranger could enter the lot?

The questions were endless. A stranger could get in, but the attendant can see what’s
going on. Monitors show him what the security cameras are focusing on. Besides, no one
could take a car out of the lot. We each have our own remote to open the gate.

Leif paused, but there was more. When you came home from Miss Starr’s party that night,
did you check on your car?

Tracy shrugged. There was nothing to check. I saw it there in the parking lot. I just went
to bed. Leif, why are you asking me these questions?

I’ll explain later, he said tersely. After that night, when was the first time you used
your car?

Tracy thought back. The next morning, Sunday, I had to go to the police station, but they
sent a patrol car to pick me up. Then on Monday I got the call from Maggie about Jeff’s
accident. I threw some clothes in a suitcase, jumped in the car, and left town. About
eleven o’clock, I think.