Close Call

The sun is slowly fading behind the Ozark mountains casting various colors across the clear evening sky. The weather forecaster had predicted storms, but by the looks of it, that threat has passed.

The three detectives see a distraught couple talking to an officer on the lawn when they pull up to the scene. The yard is tapped off, and the forensic team is busy gathering evidence.

"Kirk eyes the house, turns towards his coworkers, and says, "It's another two-story Victorian just like I thought."

"What are you talking about, Kirk?" the sergeant questions.

"The robber only seems to hit two-story Victorians in the older, more established neighborhoods, and all his victims seem to come from old money. Except for the Jensons, of course, but we're not sure it was the same guy." Scratching his head, he continues. "What I can't figure out is why our robber chooses this particular subset of individuals."

"Whoever is doing this could've been born into money, something caused him to lose his inheritance, and now he's getting revenge."

"That's a possibility. Jerr, I want you to see what our forensics team has to say. Kirk, start talking to the neighbors, see what they can tell you. I'll talk to the victims."

Rachel sees the officers scribbling down some information when she gets closer.

"Sergeant, this is Mr. and Mrs. Lawson. They're the owners of the house." He hands her his notes.

Rachel scans through it. She glances up at the victims and asks, "You left at six-thirty for your nightly run?"

"Yes. When my wife and I returned, the house was unlocked, the alarm disabled, and stuff was missing from the safe."

"Do you run every evening?"

"Yes, well, almost every evening. We go to the gym if the weather is bad."

"Do you leave around six-thirty every night?"

"Yes, why?"

"The consistent routine makes you an easy target."

"I always make sure the doors are locked, and the alarm is set before we go."

She starts to argue the point but decides it's probably useless. "Who else has the key to your home?"

Aggravated, the man shifts his weight. "No one."

"Do you keep a spare somewhere?"

"No, of course not. Why are you blaming us?"

"I'm not, Mr. Lawson; I'm just trying to figure out how the robber is pulling it off."

"I assure you, detective, we don't give out the code or a spare key to anyone."

"Not even a family member?"

With a scowl on his face, he clenches his fits and firmly states: "Our family wouldn't do such a vile thing."

"I'm not suggesting they would, but perhaps these items ended up in the wrong hands."

"My wife and I are the only ones who know the code or have a key."

"Do you have domestic help, a housekeeper, nanny, or dog walker?"

"My wife is quite capable of handling the household chores on her own." He throws his arm around her shoulders and pulls her in close. "Right, honey?"

She winces. "Of course, dear," she timidly replies.

Rachel flips the notebook to a clean page. "So, take me through your nightly routine."

Mr. Lawson rolls his eyes. "I don't see how this will help you catch the robber."

"If we can find a pattern between you and the others, we can narrow down the suspect list."

He glances at his watch. "Alright, but it's going to have to be quick, I have an important business meeting in less than an hour, and I still need to eat and shower."

"You get back from your run, and then?"

"I take a shower while Barbra makes my supper. I eat, and then I go to the study to finish up the business for the day. I'm there until eight, and then I go to bed."

"Where do you work?"

"Lawson Corporation, of course."

She turns towards the wife cowering beside him."What do you do, Mrs. Lawson?"

She fearfully glances at her husband, he nods. Straightening her clothes, she says, "I take care of our home."

Rachel tears a piece of paper from the notebook. "I need you to make a list of everywhere you go, where you shop, the gym, spas, anywhere you frequently visit."

"I can tell you exactly where my wife goes, detective. She goes to the grocery store on Monday, the dry cleaners on Wednesday, and she has a hair appointment on Friday afternoon."

"Have you done anything different within the past couple of weeks?"

"I..."

Her husband interrupts. "She always sticks to the same routine, don't you, honey?" He squeezes her shoulders again.

Her face grimaces. "Of course, dear."

"We need the names of the business and the times you visit."

"Why is all of this necessary?"

Hearing raised voices, Jerry steps up beside her.

Rachel looks over and nods. "As I told you before, we're trying to find a connection between you and the others."

"I'll give you what you need, but I believe it's all a big waste of time." The victim scans the crew and adds. "I suppose you do need all the help you can get with

these dim-wits working for you." Turning towards his wife, he continues. "Go make my supper while I finish up here. And Barb lay off the carbs. Your ass is getting as big as the house." He smacks her behind.

"You're flabbier than she is," Rachel mumbles under her breath.

With a scowl on his face, Mr. Lawson asks, "Did you say something, detective?"

"I was just thinking out loud." She looks over to find Barbra stifling a grin.

Mr. Lawson gives his wife a look. She dashes inside. He turns towards the officers and says, "A well-polished routine is the key to success. I wouldn't have gotten where I am today if it wasn't for that and time management skills." He glances at Rachel's appearance. "It looks like you could use a course or two, detective."

"It's sergeant, and I manage my life just fine."

"I'm sure you think so, but one's delusions fool many. He hands Rachel the paper. "Here's the list you wanted."

"Thank you for your cooperation." Snatching the paper out of his hand, she heads towards the car.

"She needs a strong man to put her in her place," He grumbles, walking towards the house.

Jerry recalls how Rachel has taken down perps twice her size. "I'd like to see you try." Chuckling, he heads towards his boss. "What do you think?"

"I think he's a control freak who probably beats his wife regularly."

"I'll run his name; see what I can find."

"Kirk and I will interview the others, see if any of them visit these businesses in the past few weeks."

***

Night creatures sing in the distance. Coyotes howl an eerie toon nearby. A strong wind sweeps across the desolate land. The dog's fangs rip Tommy's back as he struggles to his feet. Pain surges through every fiber of his being as he stumbles towards the porch.

Discovering a shovel propped against the house, he scoops it up and swings it around. The object smacks the beast in the head.

The dog yipes. His sleek, muscular body falls to the ground.

Tommy races up the stairs. Slamming the screen door, he braces his weight against it.

The dog lunges for him. The weathered screen sags from the burly mutt's weight. Scrambling to his feet, the canine tries again.

That won't hold him for long. He looks to find the front door is a distance away. He eyes the vicious dog and then the barrier again. I either try or die. Locking the screen, he races towards it. He starts to reach for the knob when he sees the wooden barrier is slightly ajar. He glances towards the dog again. I'd rather take a chance with the owners than with him.

He steps inside to find the house is nothing more than a collection of rusted junk. "I went through all of that for this?" He glances at the beast again. Hopefully, I can find something to make it worth my while.

Finishing the downstairs, he works his way up the stairs. Like the lower level, it's a large assortment of worthless memorabilia. I guess they put everything they had into the house. He's about to give up when he sees a rope dangling from the ceiling. What have I got to lose? Grabbing the string, he jerks the ladder down.

Using his phone as a flashlight, he eases up the rickety stairs. There's nothing up here but cobwebs and dust. He starts to head back down when something catches his eye.