Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order (18 page)

Robin Hood tugged the bandana from her face as she left the bathroom. Though she was tempted to run, she knew doing so would only garner unnecessary attention. As she made her way across the lane, cutting a path through the mob, she tugged the clip from the back of her head and shook her hair loose. She spotted a storm sewer drain ahead.
Perfect.
When she reached it, she dropped the bandana and clip and discreetly kicked them through the opening. Finally, just in case either woman had gotten a glimpse of her clothing, she shrugged out of the lightweight black sweater she'd worn over her pink satin blouse and wadded it up, carrying it in the crook of her arm like a football.

She was out the exit gate in less than a minute, rushing for her car as fast as she dared so as not to attract attention. A glance over her shoulder told her there was no one on her tail.

Good.

She bleeped the door locks as she approached and slipped inside, yanking the door closed. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she felt absolutely exhilarated.
I did it. I did it!
Taken from the rich to give to the poor. She couldn't wait to find out how much the take was tonight.

After scanning the surroundings to make sure nobody was watching, she dropped her tote onto the floorboard on the passenger side and unzipped it, reaching in to open the purses and retrieve the wallets.

Score!

The first wallet had $145 in it, the other $82. Though she was tempted to pocket the $145 for herself, she knew if the payoff was as paltry for her sisters this time as it had been the last, they'd likely bail on her. Instead, she skimmed off a quick eighty dollars, leaving $147 to split three ways. She figured she'd be generous this time, round their shares up $50. With their minimum-wage jobs, those two would have to work nearly a whole day to earn that much once you accounted for taxes and Social Security and what-not. She also pocketed the Starbucks gift card imprinted with the words
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
!

Robin Hood smiled to herself. “Happy birthday
to me
.”

As an added bonus, the purses themselves were nice, designer bags, ones she would be happy to add to her collection.

She pulled the rings out of the front pocket of her jeans where she'd stashed them. One set was relatively plain, with a solid gold wedding band and matching engagement ring with a large, round-cut diamond. The other set was more ornate, with a platinum setting and a sparkling marquise diamond flanked by a half-dozen baguettes. She slipped the marquise ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Maybe she'd keep this one for herself. Just until her own Prince Charming came through, of course.

Ten minutes later, Heather stepped up and climbed into the passenger seat. Crystal followed a couple of minutes behind Heather. But instead of hobbling up on crutches, she walked up normally, the crutches nowhere in sight.

Uh-oh.

Robin Hood was on her the instant she opened the door. “Where are the crutches?”

Crystal plunked herself into the backseat and pulled the door closed. “You said we wouldn't need them after tonight.”

“I know what I said.” Before they'd headed into the stock show grounds earlier, she'd suggested they find another ploy after tonight's heist. Robin Hood didn't know whether the woman whose purse she'd snatched last week had told the cops she'd seen a woman on crutches in the bathroom. She wasn't sure the women tonight would, either. The victims were unlikely to make the connection on their own, but a cop who asked the right questions might elicit the information. Just in case, it couldn't hurt to mix things up. Still, she'd expected her sister to at least carry through until she returned to the car. “Where are they?”

Crystal waved a dismissive hand. “I ditched them in a trash can. They were digging into my pits.”

Robin Hood couldn't believe her sister was dumb enough to leave the crutches behind. They were evidence, damn it! And they were covered with her sister's fingerprints. Fingerprints that could lead the police not only to her sister but to Robin Hood as well if anyone was smart enough to put the clues together. “What if someone saw you?”

Crystal scowled. “You don't have to talk down to me. I'm not stupid. I looked around first to make sure nobody was watching. Besides, you said nobody would realize we were together.”

Robin Hood's own words coming back to bite her in the ass.

“You're right,” she said, forcing levity into her voice. “I'm just being paranoid.” Really, what were the odds of anyone realizing her sisters had been in on the theft? Slim to none. The police were too busy to spend much time on a minor theft. They'd take a report from the victims and that would be it.

Right?

 

TWENTY-TWO

PISSED OFF

Megan

Two thirtyish women with stylish haircuts stormed toward me, their expressions so full of fury it wouldn't have surprised me to see flames shoot out of their nostrils.

“Our purses were stolen!” cried the first one to reach me, a tall woman with reddish-brown hair and a purplish bruise developing on her brow bone.

“And our rings!” added her darker-haired friend. “Our wedding rings and engagement rings!”

“Where did this happen?”

“The women's restroom,” said the redhead. “Right over there!” She pointed to a door thirty yards away. “We were shoved up against the wall and held at gunpoint!”

Looked like the purse thief was not only back in business, but that she'd taken things up a notch.

I asked the women their names. The redhead was Lisa. The one with the dark curls was Dominique.

“Can you give me a description of the thief?” I asked, readying my shoulder-mounted radio to send a
BOLO
, or be-on-the-lookout, alert.

“No,” said Dominique, wrapping her arms around herself in an instinctive act of self-comfort. “They put dark pillowcases over our heads.”

“Wait.
They?
There was more than one person?”

“Yes,” said Lisa. “There were two of them.”

The thief hadn't just taken things up a notch, she'd also recruited a helper—assuming, of course, that tonight's thief was the same one who'd snatched the purse last week. Though both crimes had taken place in a ladies' restroom, the difference in MO could mean that the incidents were unrelated and new criminals were at work here. Still, it seemed odd that so many female thieves would be working the rodeo when there were relatively few female robbers to begin with.

“I got a glimpse of the woman who attacked me,” said Lisa. “She has short blond hair.”

“How old?”

“Hard to say. Somewhere between eighteen and mid-twenties, I guess. I only got a quick look before she covered my head and all I could really see was her eyes. She was wearing a bandana over her nose and mouth like the train robbers in those old western shows.”

“What about her build?”

“Medium all around, I think. Like I said, I only got a quick look.”

“What was she wearing?” I asked.

She seemed even less sure about the thief's attire. “Jeans? And a dark-colored top. Black, maybe. Or navy blue?”

“Did you actually see their guns?” I asked, knowing in many cases criminals faked a weapon rather than be caught with one.

Lisa shook her head.

Dominique said, “No, but she stuck it right into my ribs. Right here.”

She lifted her shirt to show me a red, circular spot on her side. The circumference of the bruise appeared a little on the small side for a gun barrel, but I couldn't definitively rule it out. Lisa lifted her shirt and showed me her spot, too. Again, it looked small for a gun, but I couldn't be certain.

I raised a finger to silence the women and pushed the button on my shoulder mic, turning my head to speak into it. “I have a report of a robbery. The suspects are two females in their twenties. One has short blond hair, jeans, and a dark shirt. They may be armed. Everyone keep an eye out.” I pulled my notepad and pen from the breast pocket of my shirt and turned my attention back to the women. “Did you follow the thieves?”

“We tried,” Dominique said, “but when we came out of the bathroom a woman got in the way and slowed us down.”

“Got in the way? What do you mean?”

“We couldn't get around her until she hobbled aside,” she explained. “She was on crutches.”

Crutches?

A red flag popped up in my mind and began waving. “The woman on crutches. Was she alone?”

The two exchanged glances.

“I don't know,” Lisa said. “I was so upset I really didn't pay that much attention. I was just trying to follow the thief.”

“What did the woman on crutches look like?”

Dominique scrunched her shoulders. “Brown hair, average size.” She looked to her friend. “I don't remember anything that stood out about her other than the crutches. Do you, Lisa?”

Lisa shook her head.

Dammit.
I'd been keeping an eye out for a woman on crutches, just in case. Yet she'd somehow slipped by me. I probably shouldn't fault myself. After all, the stock show crowd was large and constantly in motion. The grounds were large, too. I couldn't be everywhere. But still, the thought that these thieves could commit a second theft right under my nose had me feeling as if I hadn't done my job.

Lisa put a hand to her tender brow. “Damn, this is starting to hurt!”

I got back on my radio. “Can someone bring a bag of ice to the ladies' room near the dance hall? I've got an injured victim here.”

One of my fellow officers responded. “I'm on it.”

“You want to see a medic?” I shined my penlight in Lisa's eyes, making sure her pupils responded.

“No. I think I'll be okay once I get some ice on it.”

“All right, then.” I waved a hand. “Follow me.”

As we made our way to the restroom, Brigit lifted her nose in the air and twitched her nostrils as if searching for scented clues. Problem was, even if she smelled the thief, she wasn't trained like a search and rescue dog to pursue a specific person by scent. When she went after a fleeing subject, she simply knew to aim for the person who was running. When we searched in a building, woods, or neighborhood where someone might be hiding, she knew to scent for areas of the ground or structure that had been recently disturbed.

I stopped in front of the ladies' room door, noting a piece of transparent tape and the remnants of a white sheet of paper stuck to the door. “Was there a sign on the door when you went inside?”

“Not that I noticed,” Lisa replied.

“Me, neither,” said Dominique.

Hmm
 …

This was a different bathroom from where the purse snatching had taken place last weekend. While the theft the week before occurred in the building where the rodeo was held, this one was in the building that housed the dance hall. The strains of country music drifted from the open doors down the corridor.

We stepped inside. My eyes scanned the floor, searching for any of the coins that had been dropped. I found three pennies under the sink, two dimes near the floor drain, and a nickel against the wall. I placed a paper towel next to each of them, and used my keys to nudge them onto the towel lest I disturb any fingerprints the thieves might have left. When I'd collected all the coins, I folded up the towel and stuck it in my pocket.

Whipping my baton from my belt I extended it with a snap. Sticking it down into the trash can, I rummaged around, looking to see if the purses had been dropped inside.
Nope. No sign of them.
Lisa and Dominique followed me and Brigit as I stepped back out of the bathroom and performed a quick peek into another trash can nearby.
Nope. Nothing
. Just a bunch of food wrappers and soda cups.

I unzipped my jacket and pulled my notepad, pen, and a couple of business cards from the breast pocket of my shirt. I handed the cards to the ladies, and readied my pad and pen. “You first,” I said, pointing my pen at Lisa. “Describe your purse and tell me what all was in it.”

“It was a Louis Vuitton,” she said. “The black Melrose Avenue model. I just bought it two weeks ago.” She rattled off the contents. Miscellaneous cosmetics. A comb. A black leather wallet with her checkbook, debit card, and several credit cards inside. “And a Starbucks gift card. One that says ‘Happy Birthday' on it. The office took up a collection and gave it to me three days ago. I hadn't even had a chance to use it yet.”

“Any drugs in your purse?”

She looked taken aback. “Drugs?”

“Prescriptions,” I clarified. “Painkillers? Xanax? Ritalin? Anything like that?”

“No.”

When Lisa finished, I turned to Dominique.

“My purse was a Giani Bernini. Black on the bottom with a strip of dark brown around the top.” She listed the contents of her purse, which were similar to Lisa's. Miscellaneous cosmetics. A small hairbrush. A brown leather wallet with her debit card and credit cards inside. No checkbook. “I leave that at home. I hardly ever use it these days.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Any medications or drugs in your purse?”

“Just aspirin,” she said.

I pushed my baton closed and returned it to my belt. “Did the girl on crutches have a cast on her leg? Maybe a brace?”

“I don't remember seeing one,” Dominique said. “Her one leg just hung limplike.”

Same as the girl last week, who hadn't had a cast, either.

My eyes scanned the vicinity, searching for security cameras but finding none. “When she left the area, did you see which way she went?”

The two women looked at each other again.

“Left?” Lisa pointed tentatively toward the exit.

“I think you're right,” Dominique said.