Beginner's Luck

'Where's your partner?' she asked.

Frowning, Stevens shook his head. He didn't answer right away. As they walked toward her car, he finally answered, 'Do you know what probably happened? Rick must've caught him. I can't imagine anyone getting away from Rick---he was a star sprinter in college. He must have caught the suspect and taken him in.'

'To the police station?' Joyce asked.

'That's probably just what he did.' Shaking his head as if amused by his partner, he said, 'Rick's a real hot dog. He probably hauled the guy in, all by himself. Then he wouldn't have to share the collar with me.'

'Doesn't that make you mad?' Joyce asked.

Stevens shrugged, then smiled in a carefree way. 'I'm an easygoing guy. It takes a lot to make me mad.'

They stopped beside Joyce's car. She was glad to see that none of its windows were broken. The lock buttons all appeared to be in the down position. She sighed with relief. 'It doesn't look like he got in.'

'We'd better make sure,' Stevens said. Joyce took the key case from her purse.

'Let me,' he told her. She gave the leather case to him. Choosing the right key, he slid it into the door, turned it, and pulled the handle.

Joyce hissed through her teeth.

'What?' he asked, looking over his shoulder.

'Nothing,' she said. 'I'm just a little nervous.'

'If he did get in, you probably just loused up his fingerprints,' she thought. But she didn't say it because she didn't want to embarrass him.

Stevens ducked low and slid a hand under the drivers seat. He straightened up slowly, shook his head, and turned to Joyce. 'Nothing there,' he said. 'I'm afraid he got the camera and binoculars. He probably got in using a coat hanger to flip up the lock button. But don't worry. I'd bet a month's pay that Rick has the guy safely behind bars by now.'

'I sure hope so,' Joyce said.

'My van's just over there.' He nodded toward a row of cars parked across the lane. 'I'll take you over to the station. If we're in luck, your dad's equipment will be there and you can fill out a complaint against the suspect.'

'If the suspect is there,' Joyce said, feeling discouraged.

'Don't worry, he will be.'

Joyce followed him as he stepped between a nice, shiny car and a beat-up green van. The van had a broken tail light, a Nevada license plate, and a crumpled side panel.

Stevens opened the van's passenger door.

Joyce stopped. 'This is yours?'

He gave her a sheepish smile. 'Kind of a mess, isn't it? We use it for undercover work.'

'If this is your van,' she asked, 'how did Rick take the thief to the station?'

'In his car. We meet here sometimes because this mall is a lot closer to Rick's apartment than the station.' Stevens's smile turned bright. 'What's going on inside that pretty little head of yours?'

Joyce took a deep breath. She was getting very nervous. She didn't want to seem rude, but something about all this wasn't quite right. Rubbing her sweaty hands on her skirt, she said, 'Would you mind showing me some identification?'

'I don't mind at all,' he said. But it was plain from the look in his eyes that he felt insulted by Joyce's request. As he reached toward a back pocket of his trousers, his hand swept his jacket open and Joyce saw his gun. It was holstered at his left hip, its handle forward for a cross-draw. It had the flat grips of a semiautomatic, and she spotted the base of its ammo magazine before his jacket fell back to cover it.

Swinging his hand toward Joyce, he opened his wallet. She caught a glimpse of a gold star before he flipped the wallet shut. 'OK?' he asked.

'Fine,' Joyce said. She managed a shaky smile. 'For a minute there, I was starting to wonder.'

'Well, I can't blame you for being careful. You've probably been warned, all your life, about talking to strangers.'

'Policemen don't count as strangers,' Joyce said. She climbed into the van and sat down on the torn passenger seat.

Stevens shut the door for her. He walked around to the other side, opened his door, and got in behind the steering wheel. He turned the ignition key, and the engine started right away.

'This sure messes up my day,' she said as they pulled away. 'I was planning to hit about a dozen more bookstores.'

'Oh?' he said, steering slowly down the lane of the parking lot.

'Yes,' Joyce told him. 'I have a mystery story in a magazine that just came out.'

'You're a writer?' he asked.

'That's right. I've sold two stories, so far. Are you sure you haven't heard of me? Joyce Walther?'

'I don't read much,' he admitted.

'Well, I helped the department a few months ago. They even gave me a special award. I helped catch a couple of guys.' Stevens glanced at Joyce and raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, sure I remember. Joyce Walther. You were the talk of the department.''

She nodded. 'One guy held my mom and me hostage while his partner forced my dad to take him to the coin shop. He was after Dad's rare coins, you know.'

'Sure, I remember now.'

'I'm kind of an amateur detective. I'm really fascinated by police work.'

Stevens gave her a stern look. 'You should leave police work to the professionals. It can get dangerous, you know.'

'I can take care of myself,' Joyce told him. She hoped she was right.

In silence, she stared out the dirty windshield. She squinted against the sunlight as the van eased out of the lot and began moving up the street.

'If I can't take care of myself,' she thought, 'I'm in big trouble. Because the man behind the wheel of this van is not a police officer.'

She had first started to wonder about him when he opened her car door. He hadn't made any attempt to preserve any fingerprints that the suspect might have left on the handle. It could have been carelessness, though. From her vast reading of true crime books, she knew that police officers sometimes botch up evidence.

The battered green van, however, with its broken tail light and Nevada license plate, had set off an alarm in her mind.

At that point, she had wanted to see his identification and get a look at his handgun. She knew that regulation issue for the department was a .38-caliber revolver.

This guy was carrying a semiautomatic. But plainclothes officers might be allowed to carry the weapon of their choice. She just wasn't sure about that.

She was sure about his badge. It looked like a Los Angeles County Sheriff's Office star, not the shield of the Santa Monica Police Department. Stevens had claimed to be with the police department. His quick flash of the wrong badge had changed Joyce's suspicions into a dark certainty.

For a final test, she had led him into the story of her capturing the thieves. 'Sure,' he'd said, 'now I remember.' If he truly remembered the case, however, he would have known that the two men had not been after rare coins. Her father owned a jewelry store, not a coin shop. The evidence was all against him.

He wasn't a cop. More than likely, he'd been inside his van when Joyce drove into her parking place. And he'd seen her climb out. That's how he matched her up with her car. He hadn't seen any prowler. He didn't have a partner. 'In fact,' Joyce thought with some relief, 'the camera and binoculars are probably still under the seat.' She