“This is so good I can’t believe it myself,” he said. “You ready for this? When he tossed the shoes over the fence, the soil on the other side was just moist enough from the humidity that it left an impression where the shoes landed.” He stopped talking and looked around the room for effect. “The bag full of stuff left a pretty big dent where it landed but the shoes, one landed on the sole, so it was no help, but the other landed heel down.” He looked over his shoulder to the back of the room. “Becky, you got that picture we took out at the house this morning, the one from the orchard?”
A stout woman stepped forward taking some papers and pictures from a file folder she held. She quickly rifled through the material and extracted an 8x10 glossy photograph and handed it to Ricky. Without saying a word he flicked the photograph into the air, it spun, rotating a couple of times before it drifted to a stop in the middle of the large conference table. There, staring back at them was the undeniable impression of the Nike logo, taken from the soft mud, just over the fence of the latest victim’s home.
The Stalker’s drive from the chapel to his house had been almost as frantic as the run from the orchard. Sheriff units had responded much quicker than he had anticipated, causing him to drive thirty miles out of his way, in a very indirect path to his home. He was happy with the haul and was anxious to see what was hidden in the lockbox, but other than that the ‘outing’ was a total pooch screw. He was angry with his employers for pushing him beyond what he had agreed to do, each job was to be well laid out, planned and methodical, with very little risk. He’d just about got caught last night and was sure there was ample evidence left in the wake of his speedy exit. He wouldn’t be doing another one of those again without talking to ‘the man’ first, the cost of doing business just got more expensive.
‘Rob’ gathered up his things, the shoes, socks, anything that would have left fiber evidence and walked down the trail that led from his house to the fishing shed where the 50 gallon drum was that he used to burn garbage and evidence. Tossing the items in, he doused them with gas and ignited it with the strike of a match. He stood looking into the flames for a moment knowing that he’d have to give it a stir in a few hours and ignite it again with another liberal sprinkling of accelerant. Nothing could be left to chance. Confident that the materials would burn on their own for a time, his attention was drawn back to the strongbox and the unknown contents.
On the way back to the house he stopped by the barn and grabbed a small sledgehammer, perfect for delicate work like he had in mind. There was not another house within earshot so he didn’t worry about the noise when he brought the hammer down on the box for the first time. Crash! The box bounced off the cement slab he was using as a backstop, landing on the grass. “Damn!” He lined up the lock again and repeated the strike directly on the face with the same result, but a bigger bounce. It was much more durable than he had first thought, a third and fourth slam of the sledge did nothing but distort the box’s shape but did not reveal the contents. Frustrated he left the sledge on the ground near the damaged container and headed to the barn. A moment later he returned, pulling a small, portable acetylene torch.
He was careful not to heat up the metal box to the point that paper items inside would ignite but he used the torch in conjunction with the sledge to persuade the assembly to give up its contents. The heavily damaged lockbox finally popped open with one last swing of the hammer.
“Damn, lookie here! What we got?” he said, looking at the items as they gleamed back at him. It was obvious to him that the wife kept the good stuff under wraps and hidden away but the old man had some nice things too. Two Rolex cases sat at the bottom of the chest but only one contained a watch. He continued his search undiscouraged. Lying underneath the watchcases and the gems was a rectangular package, folded and wrapped like a Christmas present, but in newspaper. Rob’s hand shook in anticipation. He gently laid the other items aside and pulled the bundle from the bottom of the box. He had hoped a gold brick but much too flexible. Taking the tape from the bottom of the parcel, he uncovered a pile of US $100 bills almost too thick to hold in one hand. The thief, in all his years of taking what was not his, had never encountered such an awesome prize. Returning the items to the box he went inside and began counting, 700, 725, 750, and placed the last, crisp bill on the table. He sat back in one of the chairs, ran his fingers through his dark hair, while staring at the eight small stacks of hundreds that he had organized on the table.
“Who in the hell, keeps $75,000 in cash in their desk drawer?”
The first thing that came to mind was the mob. Maybe a drug dealer, but after much self-debate he decided he’d found somebody’s stash, money the private citizen did not want to declare to Uncle Sam for tax purposes. Most likely he wouldn’t report it to the police either. That would create all kinds of questions from the IRS, the jewelry would be replaced by the insurance so he didn’t feel the least bit bad about that, he never did. The money, however, gave him a boost in self-confidence and made him think that perhaps the risk had paid off. Anyway, wouldn’t be long before he’d be cashed out and on his way.
“Should have spent one of these hundreds having the box properly installed, jackass!” he said, mocking the absent victim. “I’m making a call but they ain’t gonna hear about this cash,” he laughed to himself, as he retrieved the untraceable phone from his jacket, dialed and waited.
“Lester, what’s up my friend?” Felix was in an especially good mood after the reports of the morning. “Your work last night was brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, could not have done it better myself.”
“Yeah, I know, that’s why you hired me, remember?” Lester responded. “I thought we weren’t supposed to use our real names in our correspondence, even on the phone?”
“Pshaw, that Jeremy, he’s wound so tight he farts diamonds. There's not going be anybody listening to this conversation. These phones are solid don’t worry about it. Have you given any thought to where you’ll hit next? One more this week will put us over the top, my man.”
“Why was this guy talking like we’re best friends? I probably wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t a friend of a friend of an acquaintance but we ain’t friends,” he thought, but did not say. “I’ve got a couple ideas for tomorrow but I’m laying low today. Too much police activity to be out, especially if somebody ID’d my van in the area.”
“I see from the reports that you were able to search the place for valuables. Come up with anything?” Felix asked, expecting a cut if there was anything of significance.
“Naw, not really, a couple necklaces and a watch but I think it’s a Chinese knock off,” Lester said, keeping the money, gun and valuable jewelry to himself.
“Too bad, would have been more worth the risk, I guess. I’m meeting with the other guys tomorrow to see where we go from here, but you’re doing great. I’ll report that to them,” the low level wise guy indicated.
“Okay, but I feel like I should be brought up to speed on where this is all headed, I get the fact that you want the people in that area to panic and have it affect the real estate market but there has to be a bigger picture. I just feel that I should be brought in, you know have a bigger piece of the pie,” he said, trying to feel his way through the conversation. “Like who is this Jeremy guy, what has he got to do with anything? That’s the first I’ve heard you even mention his name.”
“Jeremy who? You didn’t hear me say anything about any Jeremy. I’ve said enough, just keep doing your job and don’t get greedy,” Felix indicated, getting a bit annoyed with the thief.
“Okay, okay, hold your horses, I get the picture, but let me tell you this all stops right now if I don’t see another 5 G’s in that envelope dropped in my mailbox tomorrow. You understand? And don’t YOU get greedy. I’m the one assuming all the risk! I’m the one creating the panic! Without me you got nothing! You hear me? You got that, Felix?” Lester exaggerated his inflections into the small cell phone mouthpiece and promptly clipped it closed. “If that money isn’t there tomorrow I’m done, I’m done,” he said, tossing the phone on the table, knocking bills everywhere.
Mrs. Ella Wild was exhausted. The Wednesday evening self-defense class the night before had been more than she or her husband had counted on. There were too many people to work with in one session, so they ended up having most of the newcomers wait until the first class was over, then taught it all over again to everyone that had patiently waited, which was significant. The majority of those present were women and most of those spurred on by the recent activities of the predator. Pink and her husband, Dave, understood the insecurities and fears of those they taught so they were happy to help, but it had taken its toll. Ella ached in every joint and the pain medication taken with breakfast had not fully kicked in yet. Standing before her students she struggled to stay focused and hoped the class would be able to carry the discussion so she didn’t have to.
She had not had time to review and mark the assignment given out a few days before but she was impressed with the dozen she had evaluated. “I take it many of you are quite interested in the recent events north of the city?” she said, more as a question than a statement. “I’m intrigued. Why is that? Why would you be so interested in the
