Early Birds

  ‘An apt term, my brother. Dana had one of her famous brain flashes last night and I think you should give her a listen. Dana.’

  By now, Marianne had detached herself from a group across the noisy, bustling squad room and came over to join Donald who punched up the speaker phone and said, ‘McG just arrived to hear your thoughts, Dana. God knows we need some thoughts on this one.’

  ‘Hi, Marianne. Josh and I latched onto the theatricality of these two events. You might want to check your slush pile of other unsolved burglaries or robberies to see if any others might look like rehearsed events. I know I may be reaching on this but what if these folks don’t mind being seen up close or photographed because they’re in professional disguises with the emphasis on ‘professional’? What if the dialog is from a carefully rehearsed script and a professionally produced setup?’

  Marianne and Donald looked at each other and smiled. Marianne said, ‘By Jovial, Donald, I think she’s got it. That would explain the polished drama of the faux auto accident with no, repeat NO, glass, blood or tire tracks.’

  Donald shook his head. ‘Jesus Christ, they put on a play for Junior.’

  ‘Yes, and this bank job could also have been ‘produced’ like a TV episode. Think about the effort and thought that went into the suitcase bomb. That was a work of genius. If you can get here in a couple of minutes, we’ll go in to brief the team together.’

  ‘The team?’ asked Josh.

  ‘As with any bank job’, advised Flint, ‘the FBI automatically takes lead position and this is no exception. We have two Special Agents with us down the hall. I have to tell you they’ve given Lead Agent duties to a newby just out of the academy, Maxwell Sheppard. He’s an arrogant little prick but his supervisor, Henry Hudson, seems a good guy eager to stay in the background to let Sheppard have his moment in the sun.’

  Within 12 minutes, Josh and Dana were in the squad room. Donald said, ‘Let’s go talk with them.’

  When Josh, Dana, Flint and McGruder entered the conference room, the agents, SPPD Chief and Assistant Chief were hovering around and discussing diagrams of the bank and surrounding area.

  ‘Excuse me, Chief, but we have some thoughts we think you should hear. These are friends of mine, Josh Malley and his wife, Dana Ward. They have some thoughts on the case and’….

  Special Agent in Charge Maxwell Sheppard looked at the new group with an expression of horror. ‘Detective! This is NOT appropriate, not appropriate at all. Please take these civilians from the room immediately! This is a confidential conference of senior officials and NOT open to the public.’

  ‘Agent Sheppard, we beg your patience while I explain the situation.’

  Sheppard turned to the Chief of Police and said, ‘What part of ‘closed meeting’ do they not understand, Chief. Can’t you control your people?’

  Supervising Agent Hudson looked embarrassed and Chief Williams looked at Sheppard with barely concealed disgust but said, ‘I’ll hear them out in my office. Excuse us.’

  Agent Henry Hudson said, ‘Mind if I trail along?’

  In Williams’ office, all stood around the chief’s desk behind which he, also, stood. ‘Let’s start over, Flint. Who are these people and what do you – or they – have for us?’

  ‘Josh Malley is an old acquaintance of mine from deep, dark military days, Chief. I just met his wife, Dana Ward, when he touched bases with me and we had dinner. They live in Maine and are here in town on business; Josh for work with defense contractors and Dana for a presentation at Eckerd College. As it turns out, they have quite an interesting history of crime solving, including several in concert with the Bureau.’

  Josh interrupted, ‘Agent Hudson, you might inquire with the new Deputy Director, Marion Orlevski, at Hoover. She knows us well and has a file on our joint operations.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Malley. I’ll do that. Please continue.’

  Flint continued. ‘Anyhow, Chief, Dana and Josh have some thoughts my partner and I found most intriguing and we wanted to share them with you and the agents without delay.’

  Williams turned to Josh and Dana. ‘We’d be foolish to dismiss any theories that might have validity. Please share.’

  Dana told of her concept that there might be a theatrical underpinning to these recent and baffling crimes. She suggested that they might be actual plays enacted with rehearsed scripts and sets and dramatic flourishes and not just half baked targets of opportunity. She suggested a review of unsolved cases that might also have dramatic earmarks and a survey of theater-related local groups.

  When she had finished, the room was quiet. Williams finally said, ‘That’s the most creative thinking I’ve seen in awhile. Worth some attention, Agent Hudson?’

  ‘We’re only assigned to the bank job, of course, but, if I were you, I’d certainly be looking at other crimes with the similar signature.’ He turned to Flint and McGruder. ‘Do you all have any other volunteer resources of this caliber in your bag of tricks, detectives? Chief, you have the records and resources for the followup Mrs. Ward suggested…or is it Mrs. Malley? Anyhow, I’d like to pass the lead position on this back to you, if you don’t mind. This may be their first and only bank job.’

  ‘Happy to work with the Bureau in whatever way is most effective. If we find that there are other bank jobs that look like the work of these characters – and I use the term advisedly – we’ll gladly pass the lead back. I leave it to you to break the news to your junior agent.’

  ‘Leave that to me. Now, I’m eager to get Deputy Director Orlevski on the phone to learn what we have here in our intrepid visiting crime solvers.’

  Josh and Dana were asked to let the police discuss their division of labor for the unsolved crimes. They hung around Flint and McGruder’s desks. Agent Hudson went back down the hall to the conference room to speak to Sheppard and to call Washington.

  When the detectives returned to their desks, Flint said, ‘I hope you didn’t mind me putting you on the spot like that. I could have throttled that putz, Sheppard.’

  ‘No problemo. Let us know if we can get together sometime soon. We’re hanging around for a few more days then Dana has to get back to school. Depending on how my report to the state went down, I may have to hang around a while longer. We’ll get on our way as we know you have work to do.’

  ‘Yes, and now with direction, thanks to you two. We’ll try to find a way to get together before Dana leaves.’

  As they were all exchanging hugs and handshakes, Agent Sheppard walked through the room and looked at them as if they were fresh, steaming cow pies.

  * * * * * * *

  The Early Birds have no immediate concerns about being apprehended but there is still work to be done.

  The McCoy brothers gave the getaway truck a new color right in the garage of the rent house. They had to wear respirators and, since the garage had no ventilation system, had to be satisfied with a rough surface from all the overspray. When it was dry, they would put magnetic signs on the doors identifying it as belonging to a home builder, complete with a filched contractor license number. There were a ton of tradesmen’s trucks in the community guaranteeing that it would blend right in. Some evening at their leisure it would be driven back to the shop and put back into inventory with the rest of the getaway car collection.

  * * * * * * *

  Rita Mae Owens is an ordinary looking middle aged slattern. No sense of style and therefore blends in perfectly with the flow of retirees. Being slightly dumpy helps. She’s average height, average build (read, overweight) with mousey brown hair. For most capers she wears a wig if she has an ‘on stage’ presence.

  She’s a former waitress from Pine Bluffs, Arkansas, and by her own estimation, ‘one smart hillbilly’. Rita Mae raised four children of her own and two of her second husband’s from a previous marriage. Her first husband was a small time crook who died in a bar fight. Rita Mae worked her waitress shifts then went to t
he local bowling alley and bowled for money against the late night truckers who passed through town. She seldom lost and this extra money kept her family afloat until Floyd Grandin, one of those late night truckers, came along and gave her some relief at the price of taking care of his two sons. She’s independent and irreverent but now Floyd has passed on and she has emphysema and slow growth breast cancer. As her reserves diminished, she reluctantly accepted Lillian’s support but insisted in ‘pulling her own weight’.

  Rita Mae is fearless and devious. Who could ask for anything more? At five foot even, she can charm or she can bully. She’s a tough broad with a big heart. Among her acquired skills is a facility for art especially with signs and replicating license plates.

  Rita Mae replaced the license plate with one that was authentic in all regards except that it was fake. It was a special ‘Save the Manatees’ plate, slightly rusted but with a bright yellow current tax sticker. At least it looked real and current. It would take a jewelers loupe to tell one of her plates from the real thing.

  Sheldon Grandin is one of Rita Mae’s step sons. He’s a strong, skinny young athletic man fit from the weight room. He is moderately imprinted with military bravado tattoos which they must hide or ‘paint out’ when he is to be ‘on camera’. He wears his hair ‘high and tight’ and is frequently ‘wigged’ or skull capped. Rita Mae raised him and he, more than the other five kids she raised, is devoted to her. Sheldon was an Army Ranger and knows weapons and the importance of commitment to action in an operation. Even General Fruehauf gives Sheldon respect. From his stepmother he knows fearlessness and the results that can be achieved by confrontation. He is a generation behind the rest of the team but has earned their acceptance. He’s in it to help his mom and to enjoy the action. He’s the ‘muscle’.

  Sheldon had found a sturdy wooden box, reinforced it and stenciled ‘Printed Material’ on the side. It was sent by UPS (with tracking) to a bank in the Cayman Islands that was as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. It contained $500,000 exact. The remaining $89,743 in old bills were parceled out to various local banks – including Barnaby’s – in various under-$10,000 increments in the name of Letticia’s charitable foundation.

  * * * * * * *

  McG left word on Dana’s cell phone. ‘Give me a call if you get a chance. Your suggestion of combing the unsolved crimes file is yielding results. We have two likely events and the Bureau boys may have dug up one of their own. Thought you’d want to know. Toodles.’

  The incidents that McG referred to happened several years back; one four years ago and one two years. The one four years ago was at a commercial, not church, bingo game in Largo.

  The hall was a civic auditorium available for rental and the bingo game had a perpetual Tuesday night well-attended game. The folding tables were set up with folding chairs separated not too close allowing addicted players to spread out multiple boards to play simultaneously. The cheap PA system crackled a bit and had an annoying hollow sound that the players had conditioned themselves to ignore. People brought snacks and pop in their purses to avoid paying exorbitant prices at the fly-blown refreshment stand. The players were mostly retired, female or both.

  At the end of the game, a woman that the caller knew as a steady, regular player came forth. The caller recognized her easily as she always wore the same outfit; a pile of sweaters no matter what the heat outside and a long dress with socks and sandals. Her hair was mousey brown with gray streaks. She almost had that homeless aura about her. They had never spoken but he had noted her for her constancy.

  ‘Mr. Hatton, I need to talk with you a moment.’

  She knew his name as he always announced it at the beginning of every evening. She was the last person in the room so he decided to see what she wanted.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?’ He condescended to her from his elevated podium.

  ‘I am in need of money, sir,’ she stated quietly and plainly.

  ‘I’m sorry you were not a winner tonight, Miss’…?

  ‘You don’t understand yet, sir. I want all your money.’

  Suddenly she had his full attention. His eyes narrowed and he leaned towards her thinking he had misheard her. ‘Um, would you repeat that, please.’

  With that, the lady opened her raincoat to reveal a suicide bomber’s explosives vest. ‘I have nothing to lose, sir, but perhaps you do. Unless you want to end your game nights for good, I suggest you wrap up tonight’s receipts and put them in this carryall. I’ll appreciate it and you’ll have a bright tomorrow.’

  He looked at her eyes to see if this was some sort of joke and found a steady, dead serious look. He looked at the explosive vest and it looked just as he imagined one would look. A real one. He swallowed hard.

  ‘The receipts are in the back room. Come with me, Miss’…?

  ‘Mr. Hatton, you must believe me that I will not hesitate to press this button if you try to upset this transaction. As I said, I have nothing to lose. Please take this seriously for both our sakes.’

  There was an assistant in the back room who was filling a bank deposit bag with the newly counted money from the heavily attended game. She looked up without concern until she saw the look on Hatton’s face. ‘Miss Honeystone, you must finish filling the bag and hand it over to this lady or we may get hurt. Please do it hastily. I’m suffering an anxiety attack. Do it quickly, please.’

  Miss Honeystone took one look at the vest visible beneath the open raincoat and the determined look on the lady’s face and bent quickly to her task. When the deposit bag was zipped shut, she backed away from the counting table and stood mute, holding her breath.

  The woman walked without hurry but with a little limp and retrieved the heavy bag which she put into her carryall. She said, ‘Unlatch the rear door now, if you please, and I’ll be on my way.’

  Hatton, sweating profusely, strode quickly to the rear door and unlocked the multiple locks and stood back.

  The lady said, ‘Thank you,’ and slipped out the door which slammed firmly behind her.

  There were no windows looking out the back of the building so while Honeystone was dialing 911, Hatton decided to take a quick look outside to see if he could see the direction she was headed. He thought it would assist the police. The door, however, would not open. It was secured somehow from the outside.

  The police were there within minutes and Hatton met them in the front room, the auditorium now empty. He gave a detailed description of the woman. The police quickly relayed this information by radio. She couldn’t have gotten far. Within a few minutes, the radio crackled with an excited voice. ‘There she is! She just got on a city bus headed south on Ocean. Quick, stop the bus!’

  A squad car cut in front of the bus before it had gone a half block and police with guns drawn jumped onto the bus and thundered down the aisle to the fright and consternation of the driver and riders. They spotted their quarry and put a gun to her head demanding that she put her hands on the rail of the seat in front of her. The woman was terrified and, with eyes wide and trembling, hesitated. The police swarmed over her and dragged her from the seat and from the bus and had her face down on the sidewalk in seconds. Her glasses were askew and her face was scratched from the concrete pavement. Her hands were wrenched behind her and she was cuffed. She began to wail.

  The people on the bus were staring out as the police roughly turned her over and ripped open her raincoat to find nothing but two sweaters. Her purse was brought out and dumped to find a bus schedule, used Kleenex and $6.22. The passengers were ordered off and the bus was searched from top to bottom finding nothing but some groceries and a bowling ball. The bingo manager, Hatton, was brought to the site and asked if this was the woman to which he said, ‘Yes, yes. She’s the one. I’ll never forget that face. I’ve seen her many times at my games and she always dresses like that. I know her well.’

  By now, the poor distraught woman passed ou
t and had to receive EMS treatment before she could be taken down to the police station and booked. She spent a miserable night in a cold, scary cell.

  By the next morning, however, when the poor lady’s adult son and lawyer appeared and her lifestyle was reviewed and confirmed, it became obvious that this was some form of mistaken identity, Mr. Hatton’s eye witness account notwithstanding. She was a widow with grown children. She is not destitute, despite the way she prefers to dress, and is a devout Catholic who is active in various church causes and activities. Her one passion is bingo and she goes regularly to the church’s bingo games and to Mr. Hatton’s. She sits quietly in the back and slips away quietly as well.

  The mystery was not only how she could be so definitively identified as the robber but where the $45,933 had gone. It was in the unsolved crimes cold case file nicknamed the ‘Bingo Bust’.

  The unsolved crime of two years ago involved a check cashing operation in Brandon, on the other side of Tampa. In that case, the check cashing center was a sealed building and the cash was delivered by a company-owned armored car to the back door. The armored car is actually a fortified SUV to attract less attention than an armored truck. There is a driver and a guard riding ‘shotgun’ in the passenger seat armed with a large caliber revolver and a MAC-10 submachine gun.