patted him down.
“Look what I found.” He yanked an automatic from the punk’s waistband.
“Ah, man,” the punk lowered his head.
Pulling out handcuffs, the officer rattled off Jamie’s Miranda rights then clicked the cuffs in place. “Let’s get you down to headquarters, Jamie, and see what else you might want to tell us.” O’Reilly passed the kid on to the second officer who herded Jamie into the backseat of the cop car.
Clay slapped O’Reilly’s shoulder. “Thanks for getting here so fast.”
“No problem. You think he’s the guy who broke into 518 earlier?”
Clay followed the cop’s gaze to Violet’s house. “Hard to tell. Instinct tells me that first guy was bigger, but I didn’t get close enough to know for sure. Find out if Jamie has ties with anyone in Chicago. The Mafia’s caused some problems in Montana. The FBI suspects they’re interested in someone in-state.”
O’Reilly pursed his lips. “And the reporter? How’s she play into the mix?”
“Ms. Kramer’s a bit more inquisitive than she should be for her own good. The mob doesn’t like anyone on their heels. She’s gotten a little too close.”
“I’ll have the guys on patrol keep watch on this neighborhood. There’s been rumor of someone dealing drugs a block over. Jamie may have been heading that way. If he talks, we may be able to close down the operation. Appreciate the help you provided tonight.”
Clay gave the officer his cell-phone number. “Call me when you find out what the kid was doing.”
“Roger that. Stop by headquarters later, if you’ve got time. I’ll tell you what we learned.”
Clay appreciated O’Reilly’s invitation.
Two men up to no good in one night. Every cop knew coincidences didn’t apply to law enforcement.
Trouble had found Violet Kramer twice. In Clay’s opinion, that was two times too many.
He turned at the sound of a front door opening to see Violet step on to the porch. Her hair swirled around her oval face in tiny ringlets wound as tight as she seemed.
She wore jeans and a parka and a pair of hot pink, fuzzy bedroom slippers that slapped down the stairs and sidewalk as she stormed toward him.
“What in the world is going on, Clay? Sirens and flashing lights in the middle of the night? How can anyone sleep?”
She glanced at the crowd of neighbors, many of them senior citizens, who gathered on the opposite side of the street and were watching with interest. One sweet older lady waved. Violet smiled a greeting before she turned back to Clay, the smile gone.
He stepped toward her. Did the woman have no fear?
“Everything’s under control, Violet. No need to worry. The police have the perpetrator. They’ll get to the bottom of what he was doing on your street.”
“And what was he doing, Clay?”
He heard the sharpness in her response. Probably due to the late hour or maybe the number of folks who were watching and wondering about her involvement in the drama.
“He appeared to be casing the neighborhood. Officer O’Reilly’s checking on any ties he might have with Chicago and the mob.”
“The mob?” She stared into the patrol car, squinting her eyes against the flashing light. “He looks like a kid.”
“The mob isn’t comprised of only old men. They recruit teens whenever they can.”
Her mouth pursed as if she didn’t appreciate his condescension, then her expression softened. “Have you been out here all night?”
He nodded, noting the confusion that instantly clouded her face.
She hugged her arms. “It’s got to be below zero.”
“Actually, it’s a bit warmer. The weatherman on the radio mentioned five degrees above zero about an hour ago.”
She let out a long sigh. “Then I should offer you my thanks.”
“A cup of coffee would help.”
She smiled and the night warmed.
“One cup and I promise I’ll let you get back to sleep,” he said.
“Come on, then.” She turned about-face and slapped her slippers up the steps and into the house.
Clay followed, noting the scent of vanilla as she lit a candle on the coffee table and hurried toward the kitchen. Working quickly, she poured coffee into the basket of the dripmaker. The smell of fresh grounds mixed with the candle into a rich blend as he pulled a straight-backed chair from the table and slipped into the seat.
He eyed her makeshift attempt to secure her back door with one of the chairs. For all her external bravado, the earlier break-in had bothered her.
Violet placed cream and sugar on the table and poured two mugs with the hot brew.
“Thanks.” He raised his mug and eyed her through the steam. Her lips were swollen with sleep and her cheeks puffy. Sitting across the table from her, Clay felt that Violet had lowered some of her earlier barriers.
“You think the second guy had ties to the mob?” she asked, her voice filled with question.
Clay shrugged. “Hard to say. But he didn’t belong on this street. Plus, he was packing an automatic.”
Her eyes widened. “A gun?”
“That’s right. A gun.”
She straightened her shoulders. “Missoula’s had problems, Clay. A bad element has infiltrated the city, and the police are struggling to handle the increased crime.”
“They responded both times we needed them tonight,” he said in their defense.
“Well, it’s been a problem.”
“How’s Stu feel about law enforcement in the city?”
“He thinks they’re handling the situation the best they can, but—” She hesitated.
“But you don’t?”
“I have a natural concern about the tactics they use.”
“What kind of answer is that, Violet? You’re either for the cops or you’re not. Has there been graft or corruption?”
She shook her head.
“What about racial profiling?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Sounded as if the main problem with law enforcement was Violet.
Clay
