Diane Davidson - Sticks & Scones

My mind swam. “He never mentioned bad-smelling meat. I would have remembered that.”

“A while back, Wolff stole a truckload of what he thought was prime-grade steaks. Turned out it was beef rectums.” Lambert chuckled. “The rectums were unsalable to restaurants, naturally. So he abandoned the truck. Smelled up six city blocks before Denver P.O. figured out what it was. Witnesses gave a physical description of Wolff, whom law enforcement already knew about.”

“So then Wolff got a couple of partners, one of whom was Andy Balachek?”

Lambert cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not going to go chasing after them, are you?”

My reputation for poking around in unsolved crimes again reared its busybody head. I reddened. “Of course not.” Lambert’s look was skeptical. No doubt the captain knew all about my sleuthing.

“All right,” Lambert continued after a moment. “The three-million-dollar stamp heist. The Stamp Fox is an unusual place. It’s high-class and very specialized. This country doesn’t have many fancy stamp stores, not the way they do in London or Zurich. George Renard, the owner, tried to get publicity for his store by getting articles in the local papers about Tucson’s big philatelic show. Renard wanted the world to know the value of the stamps he’d be exhibiting, and wouldn’t his boutique be a cool place to shop?” Lambert rubbed his large forehead, sighing over the store owner’s stupidity. “Problem was, the article also said Renard was flying to Tucson and shipping the collection. So your smart thief will watch the store. How many days to the stamp show? What courier does the store use? How often does the courier come? That’s how he figures out that when a FedEx truck shows up three days before the show opens, he can hit it and cash in.”

“How many valuable stamps were taken?”

“Three of them were from Mauritius. Each of those was valued at half a million pounds, which is about eight hundred thousand dollars per stamp, at today’s exchange rates. Know anything about old stamps from Mauritius? Do you even know where Mauritius is? I had to look it up.”

My laugh sounded hollow, somehow. Every amateur stamp-collector quickly learns the location of small countries that produce important stamps. “Mauritius is an island country off the coast of Africa. East of Madagascar. Their old stamps are extremely rare,” I said. “First issue was in … ah … 1850, or thereabouts? Has a picture of Queen Victoria?”

“Very good. 1847.” Lambert sounded impressed.

I thought for a minute. “But … aren’t those stamps going to be hard to fence?”

“Maybe in this country, where using pawnshops would be stupid. But if you’ve got contacts in the Far East, according to Renard, you can fence anything. Before you know it, the stolen stamps, now with huge price tags, show up in European shows. Watch it, though, Goldy. We haven’t published any pictures of the stolen stamps, or even a list of the inventory. Got it? That’s a key to our investigation. No one must know.”

“Right, okay, thanks for telling me.” The keys to a case were secret, and closely guarded by the authorities. Without willing it, I mentally placed The Stamp Fox in Furman East Shopping Center. The luxury strip mall was a mile from Lauderdale Luxury Imports. It was also, as I recalled, not far from The Huntsman, the euphemistically named gun shop for which the Jerk’s new girlfriend, Viv Martini, worked as a sales rep. The Huntsman was a freestanding store, since mall developers didn’t favor firearm retailers.

I felt dazed. “Where does shooting Tom come in?”

He shook his head. “We figure the thieves haven’t fenced the stamps yet. But we also believe Balachek was getting antsy. The FedEx driver was killed in the robbery, and Balachek could face murder or complicity charges. Plus, he had stolen his father’s truck last year, sold it for gambling money he lost, and then never paid him back. Now his dad’s in coronary care. Andy wanted his share of the robbery money so he could make things right with his dad before he died. At least, that’s what he told Tom. At first, Andy strung Tom along as to the location of the stamps. Andy told Tom when Wolff would be at Furman County Storage and Tom arrested Wolff there. It was a great collar. But our team found no stamps on Ray Wolff. Our theory is that Andy knew the location of the stamps, but wanted to trade that knowledge for a better plea deal. It’s very tentative, but we’re figuring Wolff’s gang killed Andy to keep his mouth shut. And maybe they’re after Tom because they figure Andy did tell him where the loot was.” He gave me an apologetic look. “It’s all really speculative,” he repeated.

“And the other people in the gang?”

“We just have Wolff and Balachek as suspects at this point. But witnesses to the hijacking are very clear about seeing three people. Balachek refused to tell Tom the name of the other hijacker, or if there were more people involved. That kid was scared.”

I nodded numbly. I was thankful the captain had shared his theory with me. He’d also given me more information than

cops usually gave civilians. But he knew Tom talked to me about his cases. He also knew that I’d proved helpful - if a tad meddlesome - in the past. I didn’t feel particularly helpful now, though. All I could think of was Tom slumping against a boulder as his blood ran down the granite.

I asked, “The other hijacker, could it be a woman?” Cops have a way of hearing questions. The captain’s tone became guarded. “We don’t know the exact number of people involved in the heist, or their gender. Why?”

I shrugged. Why? I don’t love her. Had she pointed a loaded gun at our window in the wee hours, then shot Tom this morning, as he walked toward me? Was she, like the Jerk, the jealous type? Is there any way my husband would have become emotionally involved with a member of a theft ring?

Lambert shrugged, as if he’d made a decision. “Until recently, Ray Wolff had a girlfriend. Possibly she hooked up with Andy Balachek, too.” The captain added carefully, “But … I would have thought you’d know about her. Tom ever mention Viv Martini?”

I choked. “Viv Martini? She’s involved with these crooks?” Why had Tom not told me this? “Viv is my ex-husband’s girlfriend.”

“Yeah, so we heard. The woman gets around. Our most recent information was that Martini was involved with Ray Wolff. Last month, we thought we spotted her at a Denver hotel, either alone or with Andy Balachek.

Then we heard she was interested in John Richard Korman.”

She gets around? That seemed an understatement. To my way of thinking, the Furman County Jail sounded postively incestuous. I remembered Arch’s words: Dad stole the girlfriend of one of the convicts. The guy was pretty pissed off and yelled at Dad that he’d get back at him. But Dad and Viv are doing okay. Viv told me she’s happier with someone finishing a prison stint than with someone who’s just getting started on one. She likes it that Dad has money. He told her he was buying her something nice, a Mercedes or maybe a trip to Rio.

I felt as if I were inside the washing machine with all the Jerk’s dirty laundry, past and future. Let’s see: The Jerk stole the hijacker’s girlfriend. This past Friday, the Department of Corrections released the Jerk. Very early today, Monday morning, someone blasted out our front window. Two hours ago, Tom, who arrested the hijacker, was shot, right next to where the corpse of the hijacker’s murdered young partner, the man Tom had been seeking in Atlantic City, had been dumped.

Even a paranoid has real enemies.

The captain’s pager beeped. “I’ve gotta go make this call from my car,” Lambert informed me, and left.