“Yeah, I’m Lester Cummings, what’s going on?”
“I rang your doorbell a couple of times, what took you?”
“I was in the bathroom, is that a crime? Thought it was the neighbor kids playing a joke or something.”
“Neighbors said you were down here doing some shooting yesterday. Can I ask why?” she asked, watching his eyes carefully.
“I come down here a couple of times a week and shoot a bit, got a 9mm my daddy left me that I enjoy shooting cans with,” he said, pointing at the refuse of perforated cans lying on the ground nearby.
“I see. Well, we’re just doing some interviews trying to get some leads on the recent rash of break-ins near the base and thought we’d see if anybody over this way could help out. We think our man is a farmer, or country raised, and rides a motorcycle,” again, looking at his eyes as she spoke. “You don’t happen to have a bike do you?”
“Wish I did. Been saving up to buy a four-wheeler, almost everybody round here's got one, looks like they’d be fun. But, naw, never had much use for a motorcycle,” he lied.
“Do you mind if I look around a little bit. My dog here is acting a little jumpy and I’d like to see why,” she pressed her luck.
Lester put his hand on his hip and turned, blocking the view of the other hand, in case he had to quickly draw the 9mm and fire. “Go ahead, this is where I do my shooting and fishing, hence the shed. Everything else is up in the barn, although not much there anymore since I sold the farm, just the lawnmower and a few tools.”
“Thanks, appreciate it. Do you know anybody around that does ride a dirt bike? A yellow one?”
“Can’t say that I do, but I’ll keep my eyes open for ya’ll,” he again lied.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll just let Otis do some snooping, and I’d appreciate it if you’d return to your home and I’ll talk to you there in a moment.”
“Oh sure, no problem.” He turned and walked back to the house, sat on the back porch and waited.
A short time later the officer and dog returned up the path and approached Lester.
“Officer, I’ve got an appointment in town and need to be on my way. Is there anything else I can do for you before you have to leave?” The pressure of the gun made him feel powerful and able to dominate the situation.
“I’d like to take a look in the house, and barn as well, if that’s okay with you.”
“Actually, it’s not. I do have to run and I just don’t have time to show you around everywhere, perhaps you could make an appointment and we could do it in the next day or two.”
She knew he was up to something and had been lying from the minute she met him, but was unsure of what to make of his behavior. “So let me get this straight. You are denying me access to your house and barn, is that correct?”
“Don’t you have to have a warrant or something? I mean this is private property and you can’t just go around searching people’s homes without some kind of an affidavit. Isn’t that right?” he said, once again moving his hand to his waistline.
“You are right there, but if you give me verbal permission we can avoid the hassle of a warrant, so if you’ll just consent to that I’ll take a look in the barn.” She took a couple of steps towards the barn.
Lester jumped from his position on the porch and cut her off. Otis lurched at him, growling and barking. Natalie restrained him but did put her hand on her service weapon.
“Whoa, whoa take it easy. I think I’m within my rights to ask you to leave if you don’t have a warrant. I’ve been cooperative and let’s leave it at that. If you want to come back later with a warrant, I’d be happy to let you look in every nook and cranny there is, but not without that warrant. This is my private stuff and you are violating my privacy, so I’m going to ask you to leave one more time.”
“Deputy Guest respond, over,” her portable unit squawked.
She took her hand off the weapon and keyed the mic, “Guest here, over.”
“Natalie, Sheriff Lupo wants you to respond to a call from an old guy that you spoke with earlier in the day. Says he’s got some information you may need, something about some questions you asked him earlier. Could hardly make him out when he called, but there’s a message on your voicemail, can listen to it when you’re back at your unit. You got that?”
“Roger, will see what it is and let you know.”
“Alright, Mr. Cummings, we’ll be leaving for now, but I don’t doubt we’ll be back to take a closer look with a warrant.”
“I’ll anxiously await your return,” he said sarcastically, and watched the two walk down the dirt driveway, taking a left, heading back to the service road, his hand caressing the cold grip of the Beretta.
Lester waited a few minutes before he leisurely walked to the end of his drive, stepped out beyond the mailbox to get a better look down the range road, and confirmed that the curious deputy was gone. Her random visit sent a jolt of reality through the thief, his mind active as he ran to the barn. Evidence? What evidence did he have that she may have seen? He was careful the other day to fill his pockets with the spent brass from the.38, should have only been 9mm at the range. He knew he had the paperwork on the Beretta, so there was nothing they could do with those shell casings. He wondered if she’d taken the time to call in the plate on his van, again legally owned, but he didn’t know if it had been reported as a suspicious vehicle. There was one thing he did know, however, the motorcycle had to go. He had plenty of cash to replace it with a newer, bigger one, but there was a degree of sentimentality to the old bike that almost brought him to tears as he wheeled it out from the barn, pushed it up a plank, and into the back of the van.
Tomorrow morning would not come soon enough. It was time to get somebody else in the crosshairs and wrap up this little adventure, and then take the money and run.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
The parlor, now quiet following a rousing bit of discussion about the recent crime wave, still, except for Felix, who especially enjoyed the discussion, knew who and what he did. A large portrait above the ornate fireplace caught his attention as he thumbed through his Day-Timer looking for Ms. Beverly Davis’ phone number. Being Sunday, he had hoped to spend some quality time with the librarian, before having to put in his obligatory visit to the realtor. He found the slim and stacked, more appealing than the round and short, but a true soldier; he would do his duty and earn his pay, then rub it in the face of that weasel, Iggy.
He dialed the number from the phone in the parlor; it rang only once before she picked up. The over-the-top approach usually worked well with single women, especially of the widowed variety, and he started there, explaining that he was an entrepreneur representing a small land developer that had heard through the real estate grapevine, that she had a property that they’d like to look at. He could tell through the line that she was more than excited about the prospects of showing the land in question. Ms. Davis explained that the parcel had all but been sold a few days ago, the seller was motivated and the price was right. She hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know. The business woman took his name, Felix Unger, which drew a silent snicker, as it always did from the over 50 crowd, and some particulars about the client, what they were looking for, what they wanted to develop and on and on. Felix tried to stay engaged and interested, but work was work, even for a wise guy.
They made an appointment for later that afternoon, she normally didn’t work or do showings on Sunday, but for the charming Felix, she was willing to make an exception. He would swing by and meet her at the office and they could drive together to the lot south of Moody Air Force Base. He wrote the time into his Day-Timer. Jeremy had stressed how important keeping accurate notes would be when the shit hit the fan. With the work of the morning done, he stretched out on the couch, crossed his legs at the ankles, his arms over his chest, and was asleep before the thought of prostituting himself for a few million dollars floated out of his mind.
Across town Otis was lying on his back, his tail still going, as Angelo rubbed the dog’s belly with his cowboy boot. Deputy Guest had just finished filling her boss in on her encounter with Lester Cummings, anticipating that they would call in the posse, mount up, and ride out to arrest the varmint. The Sheriff was interested, but had seen too many investigations to know that the first subject, regardless of how perfectly they fit the profile, was often the wrong guy. He wanted to proceed with caution and not scare the suspect off. Lester Cummings could very well be
