The Old San Pedro Mission Robbery

by PJ el Agodon

This is a Dragnet story based on the characters of that show. I try to stick with the original, but put my own twist on the personal side of them. The police work may not be 100% accurate, but again, I use the show as a guidline, the rest is my imagination. I have fun writing these stories, and I hope you have some fun reading them. I have total respect for J Webb and Mark VII!

(August 12, 2012)

EDIT - FEBRUARY 8, 2014

THE OLD SAN PEDRO MISSION ROBBERY

CHAPTER ONE

It was Monday, October 7, we were working the day watch out of Robbery Division. The boss is Captain Morris. My partner is Bill Gannon. My name is Friday.

Joe had started early today, at 6:30; Bill arrived at the usual time just before 8:00.

"Good Morning, Joe!" said Bill, surprised to see him there, not only early, but already buried in a pile of paperwork. "Aren't you the early bird?"

"Morning, Bill. I just couldn't sleep, so I figured I would do something worthwhile with my time. I woke about 3:00 and just couldn't go back to sleep, so I decided to read for a while, thought it might make me tired. But it didn't work that way, woke me up more than I was. After that I just came in here."

"What you reading that got you so interested?" Bill sits at the desk and looks through some of the paperwork, and chooses a file to work on himself.

"Oh, just one of those cheap detective novels. I like them sometimes, not real accurate, but they can be entertaining."

"Which one? I read them sometimes too." he admits. He opens a drawer and brings out a pencil, pen and an eraser.

"It's called 'The Brass Halo'. It's a Father Shanley mystery, set at St Anne's Parish, in L.A. There's 14 in the series, I think. I've read most of them."

"Don't recognize the title. Who's the author?"

"A guy named Jack Webb." replied Joe.

"The actor? I didn't know he wrote books, too." said Bill, surprised.

"No, same name, not the same guy. This one is just a writer as far as I know. You got a file there for a Mark Johnson?"

Bill looks through the files and locates the one Joe is looking for, and hands it to him.

"Here you go. I'd like to borrow one of them some time. The books I mean, files I got enough of." he laughs and Joe agrees.

"Sure, I'll bring some in tomorrow. Think we'll ever see the end of paperwork, Bill?" Joe asks, shaking his head.

"Not in our lifetime, no."

Joe stands and stretches for a minute, he's been at this for nearly an hour and a half.

"I'm going to get some coffee, can I bring you one? "

"Thanks Joe, and don't forget extra, extra sugar."

"Right, one sugar, easy on the coffee. Be right back."

Robbery Division is on the third floor, the cafeteria is five flights up, on eight. He walks down the hall to the bank of elevators, pausing for a minute trying to decide if he should take the stairs. He knows he could use the exercise, but in the end opts for the elevator. He pushes the button for up thinking, he'll start using the stairs tomorrow. Entering the cafeteria, he gets the two coffee's and adds a couple donuts. He'll watch his diet tomorrow too. Before heading back, he sits at a table and has a cigarette. Detective Danny Bowser stops by to say hello. He looks at his watch, then at Joe,

"Been working five minutes and already on a coffee break? Man, you boy's got it easy down in Robbery!"

"That we do, Danny boy. Where you working today?" he inquires.

"I'm just coming off night watch in Juvenile. Quiet night for a change. Going home to bed. I hate these night shifts, by the time I get used to the hours, it all changes again. I'm off, my regards to Bill." he waves as he heads for the elevators and home. Joe finishes his cigarette then gathers the coffee and donuts, and takes the elevator back down to three.

He hands Bill his coffee and a donut that he accepts with appreciation. They drink their coffee and continue working on the files. One of the ladies from the file room appears at their desks, with another large stack of forms to be taken care of. She drops them on the desks and just shrugs her shoulders,

"Sorry," she says with a smile, not meaning a word of it. Joe and Bill just look at the added work like it was a pile of nuclear waste, and about as much fun.

So far it has been a slow morning, no calls yet. Maybe we'll be lucky and have a quiet day, Joe thinks. No sooner had that thought passed through his mind when the phone on his desk began to ring. He looks at his watch, noting that it was 10:17, he picks up the receiver.

"Robbery, Sergeant Friday here, how may I help you?" He listens while the caller tells him his name and the reason for the call.

"Yes sir, and when did you first notice this?" He listens again as the caller explains his situation. "And you waited this long to call? I see, yes sir, I understand. The name of the Mission again?" He writes down all the information and says, "We'll be there within 30 minutes." He replaces the receiver and tells Bill, who is watching and listening to Joe's end of the conversation, "There's been a theft at the San Pedro Mission, over on Benedict Avenue. Someone stole the offering money from the Sacristy. It's the second time, it happened last week too, but they didn't report it at the time."

"Why not, Joe?" asks Bill.

"They figured it was a one time thing, and it wasn't very much cash. Didn't think it was too important, I guess. You ready? Beats paperwork, anyway."

They head to the parking garage and take their unmarked car and sign out. It takes them just 20 minutes to get there, not bad, considering morning traffic.

The Mission is one of the oldest in the city, and it looks it. The walls are crumbling in places, and the roof probably leaks. Not a landmark by any means, just old.

"Who do we ask for, Joe? You got a name?" Bill inquires as he puts the car in park and shuts off the engine. Joe removes the slip of paper with the information on it from his pocket.

"Padre Vega, he's the one who called in the report."

They get out of the car, and approach the large weatherworn door at the front, that is set back inside three stone arches. Bill reaches out to try it, and finds it unlocked. Once inside, it takes their eyes a few moments to adjust to the dimness. The air is cool in here, and the room is permeated with the faint smell of incense, and melting wax. While trying to decide where to look for Father Vega, they hear soft footsteps coming through the church. They turn to look to see who it is, and it does seem to be Padre Vega, at least it is a Priest.

"Good Morning, gentlemen, may I help you?" He asks, extending his hand in welcome.

"This is Officer Gannon, I'm Sergeant Friday, Robbery, LAPD." says Joe, displaying his leather case with his Badge for the Priest to see. "We received a call this morning from a Padre Vega, is that you sir?"

"Yes, that was me. Thank you for responding so quickly. If you will follow me to the Sacristy, we can talk there, since that is where this happened." He turns to re-enter the Nave, genuflecting as he passes in front of the Altar. They notice an old man working in the pews, he has a large cloth and appears to be dusting. Against one wall is a bank of glowing candles in red votive cups, some flickering from the movement of the air as they pass by. The floors are old and worn from years of the feet of many worshippers, but everything is clean and looks lovingly cared for, though poverty is evident everywhere. The Priest opens a small door to the right of the Chancel with a key attached to his belt with a chain, and lets Joe and Bill pass through.

"As I told you on the phone, we seem to be the victims of a robbery. I hesitated to call because it is only a small amount of money that has been taken, but it has happened twice now. Last Sunday, and now again yesterday. It's not much in the scheme of things, but we are a small and poor church, every penny is important, you understand?"

"Yes, Father, but the amount is not the important thing here, you've been a victim, whether it's a dime or a dollar, and we're here to see if we can get this stopped. Of course you know, we can't guarantee that you'll get your money back, in fact that's pretty doubtful." He looks at Bill, who nods his head in agreement. That's the part they both hate, the victims hardly ever recover their losses. "We will try, of course, but right now we want to stop it from happening again." Joe explains to him. "Now why don't you tell us from the beginning what happened. Start with the first theft."

Bill has his notebook and pen ready to record the information. He starts with the date at the top. The Priest gathers his thoughts, then begins to explain what happened.

"After the offerings are collected, the Usher takes the basket back to the Sacristy and leaves it on the counter. He then exits, locking the door behind him."

"I noticed when we came in here, Father, that you unlocked the door. Is it usual practice to keep this door locked?" Bill pauses in his writing to ask this question.

"Yes, this door is always locked. This is where the Sacrament vessels are kept, along with other valuables. The only exception being during the Mass, so that the Usher has access to the room to bring in the offerings. Then he always locks it when he leaves."

"Is a key necessary to lock the door, Father?"

"No, Officer Gannon, only to open it." Bill writes this information in his notebook. "Continue, Father," he says with a nod.

Joe stands to one side, his hands deep in his pockets, listening to the conversation and observing the layout of the room. Padre Vega continues.

"After seeing the last parishioner out, I return to the Sacristy, at which point I empty the money into a leather bag and deposit it into our small safe here, until Monday morning when it is counted and sent to the bank."

"Where is the safe, Padre?" Joe asks. The Priest opens a door to a small closet where the vestments were hung. There is access to a little safe set into the floorboards, with a wooden box containing leftover candle pieces, covering the spot. The closet is small, so Joe just sticks his head in to see it, checking for anything unusual, but finds nothing out of the ordinary. He nods to Bill to continue.

"Tell us what happened last Sunday, Father." Bill tells him.

The Priest closes the closet door before continuing, then notices something on the floor, he bends to pick up what appears to be a small stone. He smiles and comments that the Atar boys always have these in their pockets, and are continually dropping them on the floor. He tosses the small stone into the waste basket and continues.

"When I came in here last Sunday, I removed my vestments first, then turned to empty the collection basket. I don't know the exact amount, it's never very much, we're a very poor parish, but we average about twenty five to thirty dollars, in paper money, that is. Sometimes a little less, but not very often more. But you know what the strange thing about this was, Officers? Not any of the coins seemed to be taken. The paper money is always just ones, then there are a number of quarters and dimes. Even nickel's, the children offer that from their small allowances. The coins usually add to about ten dollars." He smiles at the thought of the children's generosity when they have so little themselves. "But both Sundays, all the coins seem to be there."

Joe and Bill exchange glances, wondering if that had any significance.

"It was probably easier just to take the folding money," says Joe, "It's quicker and easier to carry, won't drop as easy, and doesn't make any noise."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," says Padre Vega. He continues on, giving more details.

"Yesterday was really the same situation, not any difference, really."

"Is this door the only access to this room?"

"Yes," replies the Priest. Joe walks over to where there is a small open window on the back wall. The window itself is only about 24" x 12", and the open part of that less than 6". Much too small for even a child to get through. "There are no other entries then, no hidden doors, cupboards, or panels?" He knocks on some of the walls, but they sound solid to him. He knows that many old churches had secret passages that were sometimes used to help people hide when necessary, though he couldn't see anything that could possibly fit that theory.

"None that I am aware of. I can check with Padre Espinoza, he is our senior Pastor here. He has been at this mission for over forty years, he would know for sure. But I don't really think you'll find anything like that."

"We'll need names and addresses for the ushers, and anyone else who could have had access those two Sundays. You said you have Altar boys?" Bill asks.

"Yes, we have two, they each were here on one Sunday. Their names are Martin Lopez, and Johnny Munoz, thirteen and twelve. Good boys, both of them. I'll have to look up their addresses for you, but I'm sure they would not have done this."

"I understand," says Joe, "but at this point everyone who had access to this room is a possible suspect, and that includes you too, Padre. We will eliminate as we progress with the investigation. Now, who else do we add to the list? What about the man we saw dusting the pews? Who is he?"

"That's our janitor, Alfonzo Castillo. He has been with us for many years, and yes, he was here both Sundays. He straightens up after Mass, but comes back on Mondays to clean. And then there is Mrs. Jiminez, she is our Altar lady. She puts the Sacrament articles away. Then we have the usher, the same man both Sunday's, his name is Carlos Sanchez, he's retired. I think that is all of the people who could have had access to this room on those days. I will get the names and addresses for these people for you, if you will excuse me, I'll return shortly."

He turns to leave, going to his small office where he has the information he will need.

"Well, what you think, Joe? Not many possible suspects, are there?"

Joe is still just looking around the small room, not sure what he is even looking for.

"I guess I'm thinking, anyone of these people could have done it, once. You know, desperate for even just a few dollars. But it just doesn't fit doing it twice. That's what's puzzling me. They should have known they would get caught."

""Yeah, but they didn't get caught, did they?"

Joe just shakes his head, frustration showing in his face.

"No, but then we didn't know about this until the second theft."

Father Vega returns with a list of names and addresses, and hands them to Bill.

"Most of these live within a short distance from the church," he tells them. "And only one family, Lopez, has a telephone. If you wish to speak with Alfonso Castillo, our janitor, he is here now, I can ask him to come back here so you can do that. One less home to seek out for you then."

"Yes, thank you, we would appreciate that." replies Joe.

"What can you tell us about his background, just to give us a starting point." Bill once again pulls out the notebook to enter the information given.

"Well, let me think," the Father pauses for a minute. "He has been a member here all his life, and I think that he is seventy-eight now. He is a widower living on a very small pension, in just a single room over at the Golden Age Men's Hotel. He does a very good job for us, as long as he is not drinking. But he doesn't do much of that anymore, too expensive, you see. Let me bring him back here for you." The Father goes in search of Mr. Castillo, while Bill and Joe wait. He returns in just a few minutes and tells him to answer the questions Oficial Gannon and Sargento Friday have for him. He pats his arm and tells him not to worry, it is OK. Then he leaves, so Joe and Bill can speak with him privately.

"Do you speak English, Sir?" Joe inquires.

"Si, I mean yes, I do. Pretty good anyway." he smiles timidly at them both.

"You know what this is about, why we are speaking with you?" Joe continues.

"Si, yes, it is about the missing money. I did not take it, Juro a Dios! I swear to God!" he corrects his wording. Many people slip into their familiar language, when under stress. Joe and Bill both understand this.

"Were you in the Sacristy on either Sunday while the money was in there? Did you see it?" Alfonso stops to think a moment, trying to remember. Bill is watching him closely, and notices his eyes appear to be red rimmed.

"Yes, I was in here, but I didn't look into the basket. It is not my job to do that. I only came in to help Mrs. Jiminez carry the Sacraments. Sometimes they are too heavy for her."

He is holding a worn out fedora in his hands, turning it around by the brim, and shifting back and forth on his feet. They can see that he is nervous. He keeps looking at the counter behind Bill, where there is a sink, with a storage area beneath it.

"Do you have any ideas who may have taken this money? Did you see anyone in here besides Mrs. Jiminez?" Joe continues with more questions.

"No Sir, I did not. And Mrs. Jiminez, she did not take it, either. She is a good woman. It must have been a stranger here that day." He states emphatically.

"Did you see any strangers, Mr. Castillo?" Bill asks him. Alfonso just hangs

his head, looking at the hat in his hands, and softly says, "No."

"Thank you, Mr. Costillo, that's all the questions for now. You can go." Joe holds the door open for him to leave. Alfonso takes one more hesitating glance at the doors under the sink, then turns to leave, shuffling slowly through the church.

Joe and Bill exchange glances, they both look at the lower cupboard.

"What do you think is in there, Joe?" asks Bill.

"You noticed his breath, kind of strong don't you think? My bet is he has a bottle stashed under there. Let's take a look." He opens the door and crouches down in front of it and looks inside. There are not many articles in there, some wood polish and a few clean rags, another small box with spent candles. Joe is wondering what they do with all the candle leftovers they seem to have. He is just about to rise when he see's a small paper bag, way in the back of the cupboard. He reaches in for it and brings it forward into the light. Opening it, he finds what he suspected in the first place, a very small bottle of very cheap whiskey. It is only half full. He hands it up to Bill, who takes it and remarks,

"It looks like our friend Mr. Costillo, has come into a little cash, Joe."

"Yeah, it appears that way." Bill gives him back the bottle, and Joe replaces it where he found it, for now. Bill checks the time, it is 11:35.

"You want to grab some lunch before we start on this list, Joe?"

"Yeah, I guess we should." That donut was long gone, and he was feeling a little hungry.

"There are some great Taco places here, Joe, want to try one of them?"

He can tell by the tone of Bill's voice that he wants to try them. Maybe I can find something there that won't give me indigestion for the remainder of the day, he hopes.

"Sure, Bill, lead the way."

They leave the Sacristy, locking the door behind them as they go. They pass through the church on the way to the big door. Bill is looking around, just taking in information of the building layout. Not watching where he is going, he bumps into a little old lady who is standing in the Narthex. He startles her so she drops her purse and her prayer book on the floor.

"OH! I am terribly sorry, Ma'am," he says as he bends to retrieve her articles.

"Are you Ok? I'm really sorry." he hands her the book and her purse.

She smiles at Bill and pat's his arm, "Estoy bien." she tells him, "Estoy bien.

Como se llama?" She looks at Bill, then to Joe. He replies to her,

"soy Sargento Friday, y Oficial Gannon. Estas bien?"

"Si," she replies, "estoy bien." She nods her head and smiles again.

Looking at Bill, and pointing to her purse and prayer book, she says

"Gracias por su ayuda." Again she nods and smiles. Joe points to Bill and says to her.

"Perdon lo siento." "Gracias," she replies.

"She says she is fine, and thanked you for picking up her things. She also asked our names, which I told her. And I said you were sorry for bumping into her."

Bill is looking at Joe in amazement. He didn't realize he spoke Spanish. The woman reaches out to stroke Bill's face, and says,

"Tiene una cara amable" Then reaches into her purse and brings out a card that she presses into Bill's hand,

"Estro es para ti."

Joe translates again for him,

"She says you have a kind face, and that card is for you."

Bills smiles and takes her hand,

"Gracias," he tells her. She replies, " Que Dios to bendiga!"

He looks to Joe, who replies,

"She said may God Bless you." Joe says to the woman, "Que dos bendiga demasiado."

Turning to Bill, he repeats, "May God bless you too." The woman looks at Joe and points to his face, then to her own eyes, and tells him, "tiene compasion en sus ojos."

He smiles at her and says "Gracias." They turn to leave, and he says "Adios, querida Senora. I said 'goodbye, dear Lady.'" he tells Bill as they step outside into the warm noon sun.

When they get outside Joe lights up a cigarette, tossing the match in the gutter.

"What was that she said to you, Joe? You didn't translate that."

"Uh, I'm not sure." He says as he opens the passenger side of the car.

"Come on, Joe, you know what it was. Tell me."

"Yeah," he said, somewhat embarrassed, "she told me I have compassion in my eyes." Joe is never comfortable with compliments, and would rather not talk about it. Bill opens the drivers door and gets in.

"You never cease to amaze me, Joe. I think I know you, and then I learn something new. You're like an onion, peel away one layer, and there is another one underneath, waiting to reveal another facet. I never knew you spoke Spanish, why didn't you ever say? When did you learn that?"

"I grew up in a small, poor neighborhood, much like this one. As in most of Los Angeles, there was a high Mexican population. You just pick it up as time goes by. Guess it just never came up before. What is the card she gave you?" he asks, trying to shift the attention off of himself.

Bill looks at the card she had handed him. It was a picture of St Francis, with animals surrounding him. The Patron saint of animals. He hands it to Joe who looks at it and reads the words printed on the back. As he reads it he is thinking, not a bad prayer for a policeman, either. He hands it back to Bill, who puts it into his pocket.

"Let's go tackle those tacos, partner," he tells Bill, "so we can get back to work."

CHAPTER TWO

They found a small taco shack not far from the church. Bill ordered his usual spicy concoction which seemed to contain meat, beans, and lots of hot sauce. Joe ordered a chicken taco, no hot sauce, and seemed pleased with his choice. After they finished eating, Bill pulled out his notebook so they could decide where to go first.

"The boys are still in school, so we'll wait with them. That leaves Mrs. Jiminez, and Carlos Sanchez." Joe takes the list, looking at the addresses he tells Bill he is not familiar with the area to know where they are.

"Let's check the street map in the car."

"Joe, why don't you ask the man at the taco stand? I bet he knows where they are. Father Vega said none were far from the Mission. You speak the language."

"Good idea, Bill, should have thought of that myself."

Joe walks back to the taco stand and waits for the man to finish with a customer before speaking with him. He explains that they are police officers, and shows his badge, then he shows the man the addresses and ask him for directions. The man speaks English, so Bill is able to write the information without Joe having to translate. Mrs. Jiminez lives just around the corner from the stand, so they decide to leave the car and walk to her home.

"Mrs. Jiminez is very hard of the hearing," the taco man tells them. "You must speak loud for her."

"Thanks," Bill replies, "we'll be sure to do that."

"I hope there is no trouble, Mrs. Jiminez, she is a very good Senora."

"Just some routine questions, sir." Joe assures him, with a nod and a smile they walk away.

They come to the address written on the paper. It's an old house that appears to have been turned into small apartments. Bill looks up at the large home and turns to Joe and says,

"You want to bet her place is at the top?" It has three stories plus a large front stoop of at least six steps.

"Maybe not, Bill, she's not so young, but if she is up there, you'll make it. She must." Joe heads up the stairs and looks at the names on the mailboxes. "We're in luck, Bill, says Jiminez, apartment 107, first floor."

They enter the house and look for the numbers on the doors.

"Here, Joe," says Bill, "This one, in the back." Bill knocks softly on the door and waits, while Joe brings out his badge case.

"Knock louder, Bill," Joe tells him, "remember, that guy said she was hard of hearing."

"Oh yeah, I forgot." Bill knocks firmer this time. They wait for a response. It does not seem like there is anyone inside. He was just going to knock again when the door across the hall opens slightly. A small, older woman peeks out through the opening.

"What do you want?" she asks timidly. "Who are you?" She has a heavy Spanish accent, but seems to speak English OK.

"We're police officers, ma'am, we're looking for Mrs. Jiminez." He shows her his badge, that she looks closely at. She turns her head to look inside her apartment and says, "Carlotta, they are looking for you." A woman appears behind her, presumably Mrs. Jiminez. She looks at them, and Joe shows her the badge too, introducing Bill and himself.

"Are you Mrs. Jiminez?" he asks." "Yes sir," she replies, "how can I help you?"

"May we speak with you in your home?" He asks. "We have a few questions in regards to the theft at the Mission." She looks at them with apprehension clearly on her face, but says she will talk to them. She comes out into the hallway and unlocks her door, and invites them in. Her neighbor is still watching from her open doorway, and Mrs. Jiminez leaves her door ajar, before entering her home.

Bill tries to hide a smile and under his breath tells Joe,

"Guess my kind face doesn't cut it here, must be because of your passionate eyes."

"Com-passionate, Bill!" He replies, with a small grin.

"Mrs. Jiminez, we have a few questions for you regarding the money missing from the Mission. You are aware of the situation, I believe. Is that correct?" Joe smiles at her trying to gain her trust, and not cause her to fear them.

"Si, yes, I have heard about it. What can I tell you?"

Bill, once again has his notebook and pen ready to keep record of her statement.

"Were you back in the Sacristy on either Sunday, alone?"

"Si, I came early to set up the Sacraments, it was a little past six, Mass is at seven."

"When you arrived that morning, was the door locked, or unlocked?" Joe asks.

"It was locked, Sargento, as it always is. Padre Vega came to open it for me, as he does every Sunday. He waited while I took what I needed, then he locked the door again."

"Did you notice any strangers around that morning, Senora? Or someone who did not belong in that area? Anything different?"

Mrs. Jiminez pauses for a minute, trying to recall anything that could help.

"No, Sargento, nothing. I'm sorry."

"When did you return to the Sacristy?" he continues.

"After the Mass was over, I came back to replace and wash the Vessels."

"Did you notice if the money was in the basket at that time, Ma'am?" Bill stops writing for a moment to ask the question.

"No. Oficial Gannon, I did not look for it. I did my work, then left."

"Was anyone in the Sacristy when you left?" asks Bill, still making notes.

"Si, yes, Alfonso was there yet, he had helped me carry some things. I said good bye to him, then I went home."

"That's Alfonso Costillo, right?" Bill checks the name.

"Si, Oficial Gannon. Just like every Sunday. He is a good man, Officers, he did not take that money. And I did not take it either." She glares defiantly at both men, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. "We are both very poor, but we wound not steal from the Mission or from Dios! The Diablo is at work here!"

"Gracias, Senora, for your time and help. There are no other questions at this time." Joe reaches into his pocket to hand her a card. "If you think of anything else, please call us at this number." She takes the card, but says,

"I know nothing else."

"Yes Ma'am, adios." Bill and Joe both nod at her, then take their leave. They notice the neighbor's door is still open, and they can see the woman standing just behind it. As they leave the building they hear her rush to her friend's side, to make sure the 'gringo's' did not harm her.

Once outside, Joe lights up a cigarette, inhaling deeply, then tossing the match. They stand for a minute while Bill looks over the notes he made.

"Well, what do you think, Joe, is she capable of this?" Bill asks him.

"Well, I guess little old ladies have done their share of stuff over the years, but do I think this one did? No, in my gut, no. I almost feel ashamed for having questioned her." He takes another drag from his cigarette, while trying to decide the next course of action.

"We've got to question them Joe, but I know what you mean. OK, where to next?"

Joe pulls the slip of paper from his pocket along with his pen, he puts an 'x' next to Mrs. Jiminez and Alfonso Castillo and also Padre Vega.

"Next is Carlos Sanchez. According to the directions from the Taco guy, his place is about six blocks down this way. Let's get the car, it'll be quicker."

Bill looks relieved, he was half afraid Joe would want to walk to all of them. As they pass the taco stand Bill turns to go back to it. Now what? Thinks Joe, didn't he have enough spice? He leans against the fender of the car waiting for him. Bill returns in just a few minutes with two ice cold, green bottles of 7-up. He hands one to Joe and tells him, "I thought this would go good about now. That taco stuff can make you thirsty."

"Mine wasn't spicy, but thanks, I am thirsty." He takes the bottle and gets into the car. They sit for a few minutes enjoying the cold sodas, then Bill starts the car and pulls onto the road.

"According to this, you turn right at the next corner, Bill, then go for three blocks. The street we want is Agua Street, number 511, I think that's on your side." They watch the numbers as they pass, Bill finds it and turns around in a neighbor's drive way. The house is very small, but neat. It is built in the Spanish adobe style, with rounded archways and a red tile roof. The yard is full of bright colored flowers, someone obviously has a green thumb. Bill parks alongside the curb, and placing their soda bottles on the floor out of the sun, they get out of their vehicle and approach the house. The yard is fenced in and there is a small gate at the front. As Joe reaches for the latch a tiny ball of fur comes charging from the porch of the house, barking wildly. He backs off, releasing his hold on the gate. He's been doing this long enough to know better than to approach an excited animal, especially these little ones. They can be more protective than a big dog sometimes, and more dangerous. From around the corner of the house a woman wearing a large sombrero type hat and gardening gloves calls to the animal, but it continues to bark.

"Muffin!" she calls sharply, and the dog finally stills.

Joe and Bill look at each other and Bill silently mouths the name 'Muffin?'

Joe bites his lip, trying not to grin, the danger may not be over yet, he's thinking.

The woman picks up the little dog and comes over to the fence. "May I help you gentlemen?" she asks while trying to calm 'Muffin' who is still growling under his breath at them.

"Yes Ma'am, we're police officers, my partner Bill Gannon, my name is Friday. We're looking for Carlos Sanchez, does he live here?" He displays his badge for her to see.

She looks the badge over before replying, "Yes, Carlos is my husband. May I ask what this is in regard too?"

"We just need to ask him a few questions, Ma'am. Is he here?"

"Not at the moment, no, but I expect him at any time. He just went to the store for some eggs. Let me put Muffin on her chain out back. Please make yourselves comfortable on the porch, it's shady there. I'll be right back."

"Thank you, Ma'am, we'll do that." Bill smiles at the lady and the dog.

Joe again unlatches the gate and they walk up the stairs to the front porch, keeping one eye on the yard, in case Muffin decides to return.

"You know, Bill, I like dogs, any kind, any breed. But those little ones make me nervous. The got teeth sharp as razors, and seem to enjoy using them. And I think we're right up there with the mailmen on their menu. I wonder why that is? Ever think about that?" Joe is still scanning the yard, just in case.

"Yeah, I have noticed. Guess the little one's are making up for their size. They head right for the ankles too, it's like they know you can't reach them."

"Of course they head for your ankles, Bill, they couldn't reach your knees!"

Joe looks around the porch and notices an ashtray on a small table, so he assumes it would be OK to smoke. He was just going to light it when Mrs. Sanchez comes around the corner and joins them on the porch. She notices that he is hesitating, and tells him to go ahead.

"Please, take a seat, it may be a few minutes yet before Carlos returns. I suppose this has to do with that missing money at the Mission." she comments to them. "This is very shameful, I cannot believe anyone would steal from the Mission. I hope you will find who did this. I suppose it was someone in great need. There are many that fit that description there. Too many." There are two wooden benches on the porch, after Mrs. Sanchez sits on one, Bill and Joe take a seat on the other.

"Mrs. Sanchez, are you the gardener of this lovely display? Your flowers are beautiful!" Bill tells her. "I've not seen so many colors mixed together like this."

"Why, thank you, Officer Gannon. Yes, this is my hobby." She smiles as she looks out at her garden. "This is my domain, Carlos is the backyard gardener, he grows wonderful vegetables for us. We even have a lemon tree." She proudly states. Rising from her bench she says, "Here he comes now." Joe and Bill stand to meet Mr. Sanchez who is walking up the front steps with a bag from the store. Mrs. Sanchez reaches out to take the sack from her husband, and introduces him to the officers.

"Carlos, these men are from the police department, Officer Gannon and Sergeant Friday, they want to speak with you. I'll take this into the kitchen." She enters the house with her package, leaving the men to their discussion.

"Hello, officers," He extends his hand in greeting. Joe shows his badge to him and shakes his hand, as does Bill.

"Do you want to speak out here, or would you prefer inside?" he asks them.

"This is fine, Mr. Sanchez." Joe is looking at him closely, he seems familiar, somehow.

"You think you recognize me, Sergeant Friday, am I right?" He smiles at Joe.

"Yeah, you do seem familiar." Joe's hoping it's not someone with a criminal past.

"Don't worry, I'm not one of your cases, but I've worked on some of yours. I was in R. & I., Stats Division, before I retired two years ago. I worked on a number of your files over the years. We saw each other in passing, I was just one clerk among many."

"That's all any of us are, Mr. Sanchez, one among many. It's how we get the job done."

"Please, sit, I'm sure you're here about the theft at the Mission. How can I help?"

Joe and Bill resume their seats on the bench, Mr. Sanchez sits on the other and lights a cigarette.

"We just need to get some information from you, sir," Bill explains. "We're trying to get to the bottom of this."

"Yes, I understand, I suppose I'm a suspect at this point. I didn't do this, but I know how the procedure works, I'll be glad to help anyway I can."

Bill flips through his notes and begins with a few basic questions.

"Were you there both Sundays when the thefts occurred?"

"Yes sir, both times."

"And it's your responsibility to bring the offerings into the Sacristy, right?" Bill writes in his notebook the questions and the responses he gets from Mr. Sanchez.

"Yes."

"How many years have you done this?" Bill continues.

"Oh, let me think, I would say five or six years now." he replies.

"Has there ever been any trouble like this since you have been involved with the collections?"

"No, sir, never been a penny short." Joe notices that he answers the questions openly, and honestly. He shows no resentment, and does not appear evasive at all. This is another dead end, he's thinking. Bill continues to ask the same questions he did with the others, his answers much the same. No strangers, or folks out of place. No idea who may have taken it. Also speaking up on behalf of the others, vowing that they did not take the money either. Bill finishes up and looks to Joe to see if he has anything further to add, but Joe shakes his head no.

"Thank you, for your time and cooperation, Mr. Sanchez. We have nothing further at this point." Again, he removes a card from his pocket and hands it to him, "If you think of anything else, please give us a call."

"I'll be sure to do that, though I cannot imagine what it would be."

They thank him again, and walk down the steps to the gate, being sure to latch it as they pass through.

"We sure got a whole lot of nothing, Joe. Nobody seems to have done it, and they all vouch for the integrity of the others." They get into the car and finish off their sodas, now warm from the afternoon sun. Joe checks his watch, it's after three.

"The kids should be home from school by now." He comments, "which one is the closest? We'll do him first."

"According to this," Bill says, holding up his notes, "the Lopez family is about a mile from here. Then the Munoz boy's home is right in back of the Lopez's house. I sure hope it's not one of the kid's Joe. I'd hate to have to do something about that."

"Yeah, I know. Let's get this done, maybe they'll have some answers for us at least. But I'm afraid we're running out of questions. I don't want to have to tell the Padre that it is one of his parishioners, but I also don't want to tell him we don't know who did it."

CHAPTER THREE

Bill starts the car and drives down Agua Street to Santa Fe, where the Lopez home was located. This neighborhood was pretty much the same as the surrounding area. Poor, but neat. The Lopez home was a two story clapboard structure much in need of a paint job, The grass in the yard was trimmed, but quite brown. No flower gardens here, Joe notices.

They park and walk up to the front door. A large glass window is in the center of the door, covered by a heavy lace curtain inside. Bill tries the doorbell, but doesn't hear anything. He looks at Joe, who shakes his head. "Better knock, Bill, I don't think it works." Bill knocks firmly on the door, and they wait to see if someone answers. They hear footsteps approaching and the curtain moves just slightly as someone peers out. The door opens to reveal a small girl, about eight or nine years old. She looks at Bill, then at Joe. Without saying a word to either of them she turns and yells with a voice so loud that it startles both of them.

"Mama, there's some men here!" She turns away and leaves the vestibule without saying a word to either of them. They wait to see if someone will come. A woman, looking to be in her late thirties comes from the back of the house drying her hands on a towel. She smiles at them and apologizes for her daughter.

"May I help you?" she inquires.

"Yes ma'am," Joe replies, once again producing his badge. "This is my partner, Officer Bill Gannon and I'm Sergeant Friday. We're from LAPD. Is Martin Lopez, your son?"

"Yes, he is. What's the problem, is something wrong? Has something happened to him?" she looks frantically from Bill to Joe, fear evident in her eyes.

"No ma'am, not that we are aware of. We just need to speak with him, but I gather he is not home?"

"No, he isn't. He and a friend went to a ballgame with his Father after school today. What's this all about? Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"We just need to speak with him and ask a few questions regarding an incident at San Pedro Mission. You mentioned a friend, may I ask if the friend is Johnny Munoz?"

"Yes, how did you know? Johnny got the tickets and invited Marty and his Father to the game. Are the two boys in some trouble, Officers?"

Joe and Bill exchange looks at the mention of the tickets, both thinking the same thing, that tickets to a game are a little expensive for a kid to be purchasing.

"Is this just a local game, like the high school or something?" Bill asks, they both had just assumed it was a game at the stadium.

"No, it's at the Dodger's stadium. That's why they needed an adult to take them. Johnny's Father passed away a few years back, so my husband, Martin, tries to fill the gap when he can. Johnny's Mother has three other children to tend to, plus working part time, so she does not have the time to do stuff with the kids. We try to help where we can."

"Yes Ma'am, when do you expect them back? Was this an early game?" Bill asks while writing in his notebook.

"No, the game starts at five, I think. I don't expect them till later, but I'm not sure when."

"We'll return to speak with him tomorrow after school. Do you expect he will be here about this time?"

"Yes, I'll make sure of it. Do you want to speak to Johnny here then too?" His Mother is looking concerned.

"No, Ma'am," says Bill. "We'll speak with him at his home tomorrow."

"Johnny comes here every afternoon after school, and stays till six, when his Mother returns from work, that's why I asked."

"If that's the case, then yes, we could speak with him at that time." Joe tells her.

"Does his Mother have to be here? What about Marty's Father? Should he be here?"

"They certainly can be, if they wish, but this is only routine questions at this time." Joe gives her a smile, to reassure her. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Lopez, we'll see you tomorrow at three thirty."

They leave to return to the car, and settle in.

"Well, we're batting a thousand today, Joe. Guess we should give it a rest. Anything else we can do today?"

"A whole day's work, and not a crumb. May as well go back to the center and tackle some more paperwork. I'm not sure of much today, but that the paperwork is waiting, I'm sure of that." Joe lights up a smoke and stares out the window as Bill turns the car towards Parker center and the dreaded work load.

It's Tuesday morning, just past nine. Joe and Bill are once again doing paperwork. Joe reaches into his bottom desk drawer and removes a small paper bag, which he hands to Bill.

"What's this?" he asks, opening it to peer inside.

"Those books I promised to bring. You weren't at your desk when I came in, so I stuck them in the drawer. Forgot about them till just now." Joe replies.

"Oh, thanks, I appreciate it. I don't know when I'll get them back to you, I'm a bit of a slow reader. It's hard to find the time, what with the kids and yard work and such." He pulls a few out and is looking over the covers.

"No rush, take your time." Joe tells him.

"Not enough paperwork for you, Gannon?" It's Captain Morris, head of Robbery Division. He picks up one of the books and looks it over. "Think you'll find some answers in here?" He peers at Bill over the top of his glasses as he tosses the book back onto the desk.

"Uh, no sir, just taking a look." He gathers the books together placing them back into the bag, then shoving it into his bottom drawer. Joe keeps his head down, working on his file, trying hard not to grin, but not succeeding too well.

"How did the case go yesterday at the Mission? I'm assuming you made time in your reading schedule to go there."

Joe fills the Captain in on what they found out, which wasn't much. He informed him that they would be returning later in the day to interview the two young Altar boys.

"But I'm betting we will come up empty there too. Just my gut feeling, I don't think any of these people were involved." says Joe, resignedly.

"Well, check it out, do your best, that's all you can do. By the way, Bill," he says turning back to him, " 'The Naked Angel', is a good one. Don't let the name fool you, it's not that type." He smiles and walks away, leaving a surprised Bill watching him go.

"Hmmm," says Bill, "I wouldn't have figured the Captain as a reader of this stuff." Joe just smiles and continues to write.

They have one call about a robbery of a gas station, that turned out to be very routine. All that did was just add more paperwork to their day. One of the guys from the front office took orders and did a lunch run, so they didn't leave the office until it was time to see the Lopez and Munoz boys.

"It's three, Bill, let's get the car and head over there now. They should be home by the time we get there." Joe takes the stack he was working on and places it in the OUT box on the corner of his desk. He stands and slips into his jacket while Bill does the same.

"OK, Boss, let's go. I'll drop these in my car on the way out." he's talking about the bag of books Joe brought in. Joe looks at him with a raised brow, boss? With a shake of his head, they leave the office to pick up their vehicle.

As they drive along, Joe lights up a cigarette, disposing of the match in the ashtray. He keeps going over the details of this case in his head, but comes up empty each time. There has to be something that they are missing. But what? No one knows anything, no one has seen anything, they haven't even heard anything. It's like they are looking for the Invisible man.

"What's your take on all this, Bill?" he asks hoping for some insight. Maybe he has seen something that Joe has missed.

"This Mission thing? I just don't know, but my gut agrees with yours, I don't think we have a real suspect yet. Maybe a few questions for the Castillo man, he did have the whiskey that the Padre said he could ill afford. But maybe he has an answer for that. And it's questionable about Johnny and the ball park tickets, but we haven't talked to him about it yet. They both may have perfectly good explanations."

"I hate to even say this, but what about the Padres? We talked with Vega, but still haven't spoken with the senior pastor, what was his name?" Bill hands Joe his notebook, he takes it and flips through looking for the name. "Ah, here it is. Espinoza. We need to speak with him too. Maybe after we talk with the boys we can stop at the Mission, and have a word with him."

"What a line up, Joe. Old ladies, kids and priests. And what's worse is that someone is getting away with it. So much for our 'expertise'." Bill sighs, wishing that something would break.

"I keep going over the layout of that room," says Joe, "Who ever it is, gets in there without being seen, at least twice that we know of. There are only two entrances, the main door and that tiny window, which barely let's in a breeze, much less a person. I'm still wondering about a secret passage or door. You remember, that a lot of these old churches and Missions had secret entries that were used to give people in need, sanctuary. As old as this one is, it wouldn't totally surprise me. But I just couldn't find any evidence of one. Do you think it's possible that the janitor, Mr. Costillo, would have access to that knowledge?" Joe turns to look at Bill, who considers the question.

"Good question, Joe," says Bill. "I think that would be highly possible. Padre Vega did say he was a life-long member. He's nearly eighty, that's a long time. And being the janitor, he would know all the nooks and crannies, I would bet. Good thinking, Boss, guess that's why I drive, so you can think." Bill nods his head at Joe with a grin.

"Oh," says Joe with a smile, "so that's why. I often wondered. Must have been too busy thinking to figure it out." He finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt out the window as they approach Santa Fe Street. Bill signals his turn, and proceeds down the road to the Lopez home.

As they are getting out of the car, Mrs. Lopez appears on the front porch to meet them. "Hello, Officers, my you're prompt." She looks at her watch noting that it is exactly three thirty. "It happens occasionally, Mrs. Lopez." Bill responds with a smile.

"Follow me, the boys are in the kitchen waiting for you." She leads them through the house, to the back where the room is. Sitting at a large round table are the little girl from yesterday, and two very nervous looking young boys.

"Maria, take your crayons and book and go on the front porch to wait for me. I'll be right there. Officers, this is Marty, and this is Johnny Munoz. Boys, this is Officer Gannon and Sergeant Friday, I want you to answer any questions that they have. And I don't need to remind you to be truthful, do I?"

"Yes, Ma'am." they both say, keeping their eyes downcast to the table.

"If you need me, I'll be on the front porch with Maria. I understand you would like to speak to them alone, just call me, I'll return then." She looks at her son and his friend and says, "Just be truthful, and there won't be any problems."

Bill pulls up a chair across from the boys and begins speaking to them.

"Hi Johnny, Marty, as your Mom told you, I'm Officer Gannon, this is Sergeant Friday." He nods toward Joe, who is standing with his back to the counter. "We were here yesterday, but heard you went to a ballgame. Did you have a good time? Did we win"? Bill has an easy way with kids, especially boys, since he has four of his own. When kids are involved Joe almost always let's Bill lead the discussions, it put's them at ease, where Joe's sterner demeanor sometimes makes them more reticent to give information. He remains the authority figure, while Bill is more like a Father figure. Kind of the 'good' cop, 'bad' cop, routine for kids.

"Yeah, it was a good game, we had a lot of fun. And the Dodger's won!" Marty was all smiles telling Bill about it. "I got the tickets," volunteered Johnny, "but Marty's Dad bought us hot dogs!"

"Hot dogs?" says Bill enthusiastically. "You know what? That's my favorite thing! Piled with lots of everything!" Even Joe has to smile at that statement. Bill's affinity for the loaded hot dog is no secret.

"Well, boys, as much as I like to talk ball games and food, we are here for another reason. Do you know what that is?" Bill becomes more serious, but gentle still. Both boy's look at each other, then shake their heads in unison. Bill glances at Joe, surprised that they didn't seem to know anything. Joe steps toward the table and asks the boys, "You are both Altar Boys at San Pedro's Mission, right?" Marty, who is the older, answers him.

"Yes, sir, we are." Johnny seems to be aware that there is a problem, but is unsure what it might be. He looks at his friend for reassurance.

"The past two Sundays the offering money has been missing from the Sacristy. Would either of you have any knowledge of this?" Joe continues his questions. Both boys look at him in total surprise, then at each other, their eyes wide with the realization of what Joe was implying.

"What we are wondering here, is did either of you see anything, or anyone different, maybe hanging around, or doing something they shouldn't be?" Bill tries to gain their trust, by shifting the focus away from them.

"No," says Johnny. "I didn't see anything. It was the same as any Sunday."

"What about you, Marty, did you notice anything?" Bill asks, putting a gentle hand on his arm.

"No sir, I didn't see anything either. I didn't know the money was missing." Both boys look ready to cry, which really tugs at Bill's heart. Joe comes next to the table, and getting down on one knee to bring him to the same level as the boys, asks them,

"If I ask you a question, will you promise to tell me the truth? No matter what it is?" he looks into the eyes of both boys, and feels that he can trust them to be truthful. They look at him and nod, but say nothing.

"Did either one of you take that money?" he hates the fact he even has to ask that question.

"No, I didn't, Sergeant Friday. I'm telling you the truth." Marty answers very solemnly, looking directly into Joe's eyes. He put's his hand on his shoulder and tells him, "I believe you, Marty. Thank you for being honest."

"I didn't take it either, sir" Johnny tells him.

"Thanks, Johnny, I believe you too." Again he reaches out to pat his shoulder, also.

"I'm sorry we had to ask you these questions, but that's our job when something like this happens." Bill explains to them. "We're going to ask that you think about this though, and if you remember anything at all you will get a hold of us. Here's our card with our number, you just call anytime and we'll talk to you. OK?" He hands each of the boys a card, which they take and look over. "Well that's all for now. Hey, Johnny, I was just wondering how you got so lucky to get tickets to the Dodger's game? And three of them yet."

"My Uncle Jose, he works at the stadium, and sometimes he can get tickets. It was my birthday last week, and he gave them to me. He knows that Marty is my friend, so he got one for him, too. Uncle Jose was going to take us, but then he couldn't, so he gave his ticket to Mr. Lopez so he could take us."

"Well, wasn't that nice of your Uncle. You're a lucky boy. You've got a good friend here Marty." Bill tells him. "I know, sir, he's my best friend! And not just because he gets tickets to the ball games." He grins at his friend and Bill.

They leave the two boys in the kitchen and walk through the house to the porch where Mrs. Lopez and Maria are waiting.

"Thank you, Ma'am," Joe acknowledges her cooperation. "We have all the answers we need for now, The boys were very open with us, we feel that will be the end here." Joe takes a few minutes to completely explain the situation, and that the boys were no longer suspected of anything.

"I'd heard of the missing money, so I figured that is why you wanted to speak with them. I could have assured you yesterday when you were here that they had nothing to do with it, but I understand you had to see for yourselves. I hope you can get to the bottom of this soon. It casts shadows on so many people."

"We'll do our best, Ma'am, and thank you, again." Bill replies.

They turn and walk down the sidewalk to where the car is parked. Joe gets in a lights a cigarette, Bill gets behind the wheel and starts the car.

"I'm glad you asked about those tickets, Bill. That was the one thing that bothered me, but you cleared that up, thanks."

"Well, what should we do next, Joe? Find some puppies to kick?"

"Like you said, 'old ladies, kids, and priests'. The priest is next, we'll save the puppies for later."

CHAPTER FOUR

They drive down Santa Fe, turning on Benedict Avenue, where the San Pedro Mission was located. They park in front and enter the Mission through the large front doors as they had before.

"It's nice and cool in here," comments Bill. "It's been unseasonably warm lately. We're going to have some fire problems if we don't get rain soon."

Yeah," Joe agrees, "I'm afraid of that too." They hear footsteps approaching from the darkened hallway behind them. Turning they see Padre Vega coming to greet them.

"Good afternoon, Officers! Are you bringing good news today?" he shakes both hands and has a look of expectation on his face.

"No, Padre, I'm afraid we have nothing yet." Joe tells him. "We'd like to speak with your senior pastor, I believe you said his name was Espinoza? Would he be here?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I not tell you when you were here before?" Bill and Joe exchange glances.

"Tell us what? Padre," asks Bill.

"Padre Espinoza is on a ninety day retreat. He's been gone about six weeks now. His health is failing, and he is considering retiring. He thought the time off would benefit his thoughts and maybe also his health."

"Then I take it that he was not here during any of these thefts, is that right?"

"That's right, Officer Gannon, he left about a month before this began. He doesn't know about any of this either. I have no way to contact him while he is on the retreat."

"We just wanted to speak to him about the possibility of hidden panels or doors, things like that."

"We've come up empty, Padre. None of the leads went anywhere, Everyone we've spoken to has been cleared of suspicion. We were thinking, maybe Mr. Castillo might know something about the building structure, having been here so long. We also have a few more questions for him. He wouldn't be around now, would he?" Joe asks.

"No, not this late in the day. But I'm sure you would find him at the hotel where he lives." the padre tells him.

Bill flips through his notebook and find the information he is looking for.

"The Golden Age Men's Hotel?" He checks with the Padre.

"Yes, I can get the address for you or give you directions if you wish." he offers.

"Not necessary, Padre," Joe says, "we're familiar with the place. I was wondering," he continues, "if we may look in the Sacristy again while we are here?"

"Of course," says the Padre, "follow me, I'll unlock the door for you." They walk to the front of the church and he opens the door to the room with his key. Joe is watching him, and thinking.

"Padre, I noticed the other day and today that you have the key on your person. Is that always the case? Is it ever left anywhere?"

"Yes, Sergeant, it is always in my possession. I only take it off when I retire for the night."

"What if you leave the building, like to go to the hospital, or make visits? Do you take it then also?" asks Bill.

"Yes, usually if I go somewhere, Padre Espinoza would be here, and he has the only other key."

"Is that so?" asks Joe. "Does he have that key with him on this retreat would you know?"

"No, he doesn't. I have it locked in the desk drawer in my office with some of his other things." he tells Joe.

"While we look over things here, would you mind checking that it is still there? We'd appreciate that."

"Most certainly, I'll be right back." he turns to go to his office, while Joe and Bill go over the Sacristy once again.

Bill gets down on one knee to look under the cabinet. He reaches in and brings out the bag with the bottle in it, handing it to Joe.

"It's still here Joe, he must not have been able to get back inside for it." Joe opens the bag and holds the bottle up to the light.

"Looks like the same level as the other day, too." He replaces it in the bag and gives it back to Bill to return it to it's hiding spot. As Bill starts to rise his foot slips on something. He looks to see what it is, and picks it up. Another pebble that the kids have dropped, he thinks, tossing it into the trash can. Joe is standing looking out the small window.

"This tree is very close to the wall here, Bill. Someone could climb it, but the window is too small for anyone to enter." he tries to open the window a little wider, but only manages to move it less than an inch. That can't be the point of entry, he's thinking. He walks along the wall, feeling the smoothness of the wood, that the room is paneled with. He knocks a few places, but it all feels and sounds solid. Bill is looking into the small closet, doing the same, but reveals nothing. He looks up, noticing something.

"Joe, come here and look at this." He is pointing to the ceiling where there is a small square opening, covered with a wooden hatch. Bill moves out so Joe can get a better look. The closet is too small for two men to be in it at the same time. Joe points to a wooden chair sitting against the far wall.

"Hand me that chair, Bill, I'll try to open this." Bill moves the chair into the closet and holds it steady while Joe climbs on top of it. Joe pushes against the wooden hatch, but it doesn't give easily. He gives it one more hard push with his fist, and it gives way, with lots of dust spreading around, causing Joe to sneeze.

"Don't think anyone's been up here in a while," he tells Bill. He sticks his head into the opening, trying to see what is up there. "Bill, look under the sink there, I think I saw a flashlight. See if it's there and if it works."

Bill does what he asks, and checking to see if it lights, which to his surprise, it does. He hands it up to Joe, who takes it and looks into the opening. "It appears to be just a small storage area, Bill, no other openings that I can see. And from the dust, no one seems to have been up here in a long time." he turns off the light and hands it back to Bill, and carefully lowers himself from the chair. His hands are covered in dust and so is his jacket.

Bill looks on with amusement and tells him, "You've got cobwebs in your hair, Joe."

Padre Vega enters the room as Joe attempts to dust himself off. From under the cabinet he takes a large towel and hands it to Joe who uses it to remove the cobwebs. He goes over to the sink and washes his hands, before speaking. Bill returns the chair to it's place against the wall.

"I totally forgot about that spot, Sergeant, or I would have mentioned it to you." the Padre apologizes to Joe,

"I think everybody has forgotten that spot, Padre, from the looks of it. And there does not seem to be any exits there." Bill takes the towel and brushes the back of Joe's jacket with it, then returns it to the Padre.

"I checked on the key like you asked me to. It's right where it belongs, along with a few other articles belonging to Padre Espinoza. I can show you if you like….?" he offers.

"Thanks," Joe replies, "but that won't be necessary. We need to speak with Mr. Castillo yet, but I don't think he'll have much more to offer. I don't know what to tell you at this point. It's going to be a wait and see situation unless something shows up. Take your usual precautions, and contact us after Mass next week. Maybe this will be the end of it. I'm sorry we were not able to clear this up, or to return your money. But we will continue to keep the file open."

Bill and Joe leave the Padre to lock the Sacristy as they head outside. The next stop is the Golden Age Men's Hotel, to speak with Alfonso Castillo.

They arrive at the hotel just past five-thirty. At the desk in the lobby is an older gentleman who seems to be in charge. Bill approaches him, hoping he speaks English.

"Good evening sir," he says as he produces his badge. "We're looking for Alfonso Castillo, does he live here?"

The man behind the desk peers through thick glasses at the badge Bill is holding up. He glances at Joe, then back to Bill.

"Cops, huh? What did Castillo do?"

"We just want to speak to him, does he live here?" Joe replies, abruptly.

"Yep"

"Is he in?" asks Bill.

"Nope"

"Is he expected anytime soon?" Joe asks, exasperation apparent in his voice.

"He's free to come and go, as long as he is in by ten, when I lock the doors."

Joe is rapidly losing patience with this situation. He's hot, tired and hungry and this case is frustrating him, he doesn't want to parry words with this man.

Bill steps in and tries to get a straight answer from him. He can see that Joe is about to lose his cool, and if he starts in, they'll be here all night.

"Can you tell us his room number, so we can check if he is there or not?" asks Bill.

"Why? I already told you he's not. Wouldn't do you any good."

Joe steps forward and slams his fist on the counter, causing both Bill and the clerk to jump.

"Enough of this nonsense! Give my partner the information he asked for or you'll be taken in for interfering with an investigation! NOW!" he stares the man down, not blinking an eye.

CHAPTER FIVE

"Sergeant Friday? What are you doing here?" a soft voice with a heavy Spanish accent asks. Joe and Bill both turn to see Alfonso standing behind them, looking bewildered.

"Mr. Castillo," the relief in Bill's voice is evident. "We'd like to ask you a few more questions, if you have the time. Could we talk privately, maybe in your room?"

"Yes, of course, just follow me." He glances at the man behind the counter, then turns to the stairs on the right. "It's only up one flight, I'm sorry there is no elevator here." He apologizes like it was his personal fault.

"No problem, Mr. Castillo," Bill tells him with a pat on his shoulder. They follow him up the stairs. The air is warm and heavy, with a staleness to it. Reaching the top, he leads them down the hall to a door at the back, the numbers 232 on the door. He takes out his key and with shaky hands manages to unlock the door. The room is small, but very neat. He has only a single bed with an iron frame, neatly covered with a worn quilt. An old bentwood rocker that had seen better days, sitting next to an open window, a small round table with one chair, made up the total of his furnishings. A closet with just a few garments hanging, and a small dresser inside. This is what a lifetime boils down to, thinks Joe, pity for the old man filling his thoughts. It was a little cooler in here, a soft breeze was coming in the open window.

"Please, mi amigos, sit down." he points to the single chair and the rocker.

"Thanks, but we'll stand, this will only take a minute." Joe explains. "But you sit, please," he pulls out the chair at the table and indicates for him to take it.

Alfonso, hesitates only a minute, but turns to sit in the rocker. "Gracias," he says to them both. He looks so tired and frail, Bill is thinking, and he is wearing a sweater, despite the heat. He leans back into his chair, seeming to relax a bit.

"Mr. Castillo, we'll come right to the point." says Joe, thinking there is no reason to drag this out. What needs to be said won't be any easier with lots of small talk.

"We found a bottle of whiskey under the sink in the Sacristy yesterday. We believe it is yours, is this right?" Alfonso keeps his head down, not looking Joe in the eye.

"Si, it is mine." he says in his soft voice.

"The Padre told us that you drink sometimes, but you haven't had the money to do so lately. Is that true?" Ashamed of this, he just hangs his head, and nods.

Bill is standing behind Alfonso in front of the open closet door. He reaches inside and brings out another bottle of the cheap whiskey, showing it to Joe before replacing it on the dresser. Joe considers for a moment what to say next.

"Mr. Castillo, I see you have one here too." Joe takes the single wooden chair and pulls it next to Alfonso. He sits so that he has eye contact with him.

"Can you tell us how you were able to get these on your limited income?"

"You are thinking I took that money, aren't you?" he asks, looking Joe in the eye this time.

"It is starting to look that way, Alfonso, don't you agree?"

"Si, but it is not true. I did not take that money, I told you that yesterday."

He is now looking Joe directly in the eye, defiance showing in his face. He rises slowly from his chair, arthritis making the movements difficult. He walks to the dresser in the closet and opens the top drawer. He removes a small wooden box from within and walks slowly back to the table where he places it down. Opening it, he withdraws an envelope, which he hands to Joe. Joe takes it and looks at the address, it is to A. Castillo at this hotel. The return address is A. Castillo Jr, San Francisco.

"It is from my son. Go ahead Sergeant, take it out and read it."

Joe opens the letter and scans the writing. Much of it is in Spanish, but he is able to read most of it. He reads aloud in English, so Bill understands. The son sent him twenty dollars, with instructions for him to buy some warm clothes. A warm jacket. There was still a ten dollar bill inside the letter. Joe looks to Alfonso, waiting for him to explain.

"I am ashamed, Sergeant. I bought the whiskey instead of the jacket. That warms me too. My old sweater will do for now. I hid the one bottle at the Mission, it helps me to move a little better when I work. I did wrong here, Sergeant, but I did not take the money from the Mission. No matter how cold or hurting I was, I would not do that."

Joe sits for a moment looking at the letter he held in his hands, then at the man sitting in front of him. He refolds the letter and places the money inside, he hands it to Alfonso.

"I believe you, Alfonso. But we had to ask. You understand?"

"Si, yes, I understand. Gracias." The look on his face was total relief.

"May we ask you another question, Alfonso" Joe continues. He looks a little apprehensive, so Joe places a hand on his arm, "not about the money." He assures him. Alfonso smiles and says he will answer if he can.

"Padre Vega tell us you have been with the Mission all your life. We were just wondering if you know anything about the structure itself."

"The Sacristy in particular," adds Bill. "We're wondering if there are any possible secret entries, anything like that. We know a lot of old churches used to have them."

"Why yes, there is something like that. But I'm afraid it is not in the Sacristy. It was located under the font of the Baptistery. But that was sealed off many years ago. I was a child when they did that. But nothing was ever in the Sacristy, to my knowledge at least." He looks between Bill and Joe, hoping he has been of some help.

"Gracias, Alfonso, that answers an important question for us." says Joe with a smile. "That's all of your time we will be taking."

"That's OK, Sergeant, that is the one thing I'm not short of." He walks with them to the door and says, "I hope you can find what happened at the Mission. It is sad to think that someone would be so in need, that they would do that. I'll pray for them, and for you, also." He turns to walk slowly back into his lonely room.

Bill and Joe take the stairs down, they pass through the lobby, where the surly clerk still stands behind the counter, watching them. Joe hesitates a moment, he thinks about saying something to him, then changes his mind, and follows Bill out the door. Before getting into the car, Bill removes his suit jacket, laying it in the back seat, then gets behind the wheel. Joe gets in on the passenger side, his only concession to the heat is unbuttoning his sports coat.

"This heat is oppressive," says Bill, while rolling his window down. "Why don't you take your coat off, Joe?"

"I'm fine, it's hot, no matter what." Joe rolls his window down and turns to reach the rear window and rolls that one down too. Facing front again he pulls a cigarette from his pack and just looks at it instead of lighting it. Bill can see he is deep in thought, and just leaves him be for a while. He starts the car and heads back to Parker Center, so they can check out and get their own vehicles to go home. Joe still hadn't lit his cigarette, Bill notices.

"You OK, Joe?" he asks.

"Huh? oh…. yeah, just thinking." He goes to take a drag from his cigarette, then removes it from his mouth and looks at the end of it, puzzled. He realizes then that it's not lit. Taking matches from his pocket he lights up.

"Sure hope we get some rain soon," says Bill , just trying to make some small talk. "Maybe that would break this hot spell. My garden is starting to shrivel with this heat, nothing is growing. Have to water twice a day it seems, and sometimes that's not enough. A good vegetable garden takes lot's of water you know."

Joe looks over at Bill, he knows he is rambling on about something, but Joe really isn't listening. This case is truly bothering him. What is he missing? Is one of the 'suspects' lying? He doesn't think so. Oh, he's been fooled before, but his instincts tell him that's not the case this time. And he's been at this long enough to trust his instincts, most of the time. But, if none of them did this, then who did? How did they get in there, with no one seeing them, not once, but twice?

"Bill," Joe interrupts Bill's garden story with out realizing he did. "What's your take on all this? Are you believing all these people? Or do you think some one is pulling the wool over our eyes?"

Bill ceases with his garden talk, not taking offense that Joe wasn't listening, to consider the question.

"Two senior citizens, two young kids, a priest and retired police official. Not exactly our regular line up for a crime wave, is it? I don't think it's any of them, Joe. I really don't. But I don't have a clue who it might be. We must be missing some one, I mean that money didn't just disappear on it's own." Bill shakes his head, he can't figure it out.

"Yeah," agrees Joe. "Neither can I. We're missing something, we have to be! But what the hell is it?"

"What are we going to do from here?" They're at a dead end as far as Bill can tell.

"Right now, the only thing we can do is wait and see if it happens again. Maybe another clue will show it's self. Or the criminal will slip up somehow. You know, get over confident because they are getting away with it. The first time it wasn't even reported, so they figured a second time wouldn't be either. But it was, now the police are involved. Could be that would have put a scare into them, and that will be the end of it."

Bill has to laugh at that. "Yeah, we really scared them straight with our fancy detective work. Somebody is having the last laugh, and it isn't us. Face it, Joe, I think we've been outsmarted on this one. Somebody clever is behind this, mark my words."

"I'm afraid you may be right, Bill. Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

Bill pulls into the underground parking area at the Center, he checks in and returns the keys.

"Bill, go home," Joe tells him. "I'll go up and take care of the paperwork. Surprise Eileen for a change and come home on time."

"Are you sure,? I don't mind, Eileen's used to me being late."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Just go home. There's not enough to report for one of us, much less two. See you in the morning." Joe waves him off as he heads for the elevator. He's had enough stairs for one day.

CHAPTER SIX

The rest of the week they were kept busy. For some reason, extreme heat spells brings out the worst in people. And hot it was. And dry. There was threat of fires in the hills east of Los Angeles, there was threat of violence in the inner city. Gangs were active and robberies and attempted robberies were the norm. Assaults were happening with alarming frequency. But none were as puzzling as the San Pedro Mission. It was never far from their minds.

It was Friday afternoon. Joe and Bill had just returned from investigating a small liquor store hold up. Two young men, only eighteen and twenty, had held up the liquor store, at gunpoint. They had a good description from the owner, and finally a witness came forward with details. One of the robbers had dumped his girl for another, and the dumped one turned him and his pal in, which led them to their apartment, where the men, money and weapons were found. Not to mention the new gal.

"They never learn, do they Joe?" says Bill with a shake of his head.

"No, they don't, but this time it was to our advantage. At least we got them. More than we can say about the Mission."

"Maybe that's what we need there, Joe. A woman scorned, might solve the whole deal." Bill laughs, only half kidding.

Joe walks over to the window and stands looking out while smoking a cigarette. He turns to Bill, and comments, "It looks like it might rain, the sky is dark out over the water." Bill comes to the window to see for himself.

"Oh, I sure hope that happens. We need to get a break from this hot spell. I worry about the gangs and possible riots. It's happened before."

"Yeah," Joe agrees, "Homicides are always up in times like this. Well, are you done? Let's get out of here before something else happens to keep us here."

"You got plans for the weekend, Joe?"

"Yeah, I plan to do nothing, but sit in front of a fan with a cold drink and a good book and some music.. How about you?" he asks as he gets his jacket and waits foe Bill.

"Yard work, and Eileen wants the kitchen painted, but it's too hot for that. I envy you your fan, drink and book. I guess being single has a few advantages sometimes." he admits.

They walk out to the ramp where their cars are parked, each heading for their own car and home. Joe gets into his car, wishing now that when he bought it he would have sprung for the air conditioned model. Rolling down the windows and lighting a smoke, he follows Bill out of the ramp, and heads for home.

The rain started sometime after midnight, and continued for most of the weekend. It was late Sunday evening before it finally let up. The temps were much lower, and the air was comfortable now.

Joe met Bill in the ramp and they walked into work together Monday morning. "This is so much better," Bill proclaims. "I couldn't take much more of the heat. And I didn't have to do yard work, so that was even better."

"So what did you do then, paint?" asks Joe.

"You can't paint when it rains, Joe." he patiently explains. "No ventilation without open windows. You need ventilation when you paint."

"Yeah, I guess you do. So what did you do then all weekend?" he asks. "Just lay back"?

"No such luck, Eileen had us clean out the garage." Bill admits reluctantly. Joe just smiles in amusement. Being single does have it's advantages, he thinks.

"Looks like the weekend was quiet," says Bill, reading the weekend report that was on the bulletin board. "Nothing like the past week. Maybe things will settle down now."

"For a day or two," agrees Joe. "But it won't last, you know that." he picks up a morning paper that was lying on the desk, and reads a few articles. Not quite time to clock in yet, so he takes advantage of it.

"Listen to this, Bill. A small town in Iowa reports that they had a homicide. This is the second one in, get this…ten years! Can you imagine? I wonder what it's like to be a cop in a town like that? We get that many in ten minutes sometimes." he just shakes his head in disbelief. In ten years?

"Yeah, and with crime rate that slow they don't even have paperwork to keep them busy. Did you ever consider going into small town police work, Joe?"

"Not really, no. Why, have you?" he looks questionably at Bill.

"Yeah, I have. I came from a town like that. It's a good life, great environment to raise kids. It can be scary to raise kids here in the city. I wonder sometimes if we made the right choice. Maybe we should have gone back to small town America."

"You've done fine with your kids, Bill. You should have no regrets. They can get in trouble in small towns, too, it's not confined to the big city."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Bill agrees. Just then the phone begins to ring.

"Robbery Division, Officer Gannon speaking. Yes Padre Vega, he's right here," Covering the mouthpiece, he tells Joe "It's the Padre from San Pedro Mission." Joe accepts the phone, and greets Padre Vega.

"Good Morning, Padre, Sergeant Friday here. What's the word about yesterday?" He listens as the Padre explains the situation to him.

"OK, I see," Joe continues to listen to him. "Well, that's good news, but doesn't help the past situation. If you find anything else, call us right away. OK, thank you, Padre. I will." He hangs up the phone and just thinks over what he had heard.

"Well, Joe? Did they get hit again this Sunday?" Bill asks.

"No, nothing missing this week." Joe replies.

"Do you think they got scared off because of the investigation?"

"I don't know, could be I suppose. I'm glad they don't have another loss, but I was kind of hoping they would drop more clues if they hit again. I'm afraid this one is just going to go cold."

"Well, that happens sometimes, Joe. It's not our first to do so, and it won't be the last. We gave it a good shot, not much more we can do unless something else shows up."

"Yeah, I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." Joe takes pride in their work, and their ability to solve crimes. It's not often they come up against one that slips by them, and when they do, it frustrates him to no end.

The phone rings again, this time Joe answers, and takes the information.

"Attempted robbery at a convenience store." He tells Bill. The owner scared them off, but he's got a good description. Ready to roll?" Without waiting for an answer, he grabs his jacket and heads for the door, Bill following a little behind. He hates it when Joe gets frustrated by a case, he can be a bear to work with. He hurries out to catch up with him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"I can't believe this week is finally over, Joe. I don't know about you, but I'm bushed." Bill leans back in his chair, raising the front legs off the floor.

"Yeah, it was a busy one, that's for sure. I think the cooler weather reprieve is over. Case load seemed to pick up at the end here." He lights a cigarette and flips through the files sitting on the desk in front of him. Satisfied that they are all in order, he drops them into the Out basket on the corner of the desk.

"What you got planned for this weekend, Joe?" Bill asks.

"If the weather holds, I'm taking my friend Walter, to the ballgame on Saturday. He doesn't get out much, but I talked him into it. He hates the fact that he needs to use a wheelchair, says it makes him feel like a burden having to have someone push him around. But I convinced him to go. Told him if he didn't go, I wouldn't go either, so he agreed."

"It's supposed to stay sunny all weekend, so you should be ok. That's nice of you, Joe, I'm sure he appreciates it."

"Yeah, well I enjoy spending time with him. He's interesting to talk to. He's in his eighties, so he has a lot of experiences from times past. I like the history stuff, and talking with some one who lived it makes for interesting conversations. You know, he was a kid in the late 1800's. That's totally amazing to me. A life style so far from our own modern times. Just think of the changes he has seen in his life."

Bill is glad that Joe is enthusiastic about this outing. It's just what he needs, thinks Bill, to get his mind off the Mission case. Maybe he'll relax a little, lose some of his tension.

"What's on your agenda? Going to do some painting?" Joe remembers the previous weekend rains stopped that.

"No, we're driving to Carmel this weekend. Some friends of ours has a daughter that is graduating, so we'll be attending that and the party. It's a long drive, but Eileen and I share it, so it's not too bad. Pretty soon Paul will be driving too, then he'll be a help for trips like this."

"Paul getting to be that age already?" Comments Joe. "Seems like he was just a little kid, not that long ago." Paul is Bill's oldest son.

"Well, it's finally time to clock out. This is one week I'm glad to see the end of. You ready?" Joe gathers his stuff together and waits for Bill to get his, they head for the elevator and home.

The weekends never seem long enough, Joe is thinking as he makes his way into work on Monday morning. He parks his car in the lot, locks it, and heads inside. Bill is standing waiting for the elevator that just arrived, seeing Joe, he holds it for him.

"Morning, Joe! Good timing!"

"Hi Bill, thanks." he acknowledges Bill's favor. Bill pushes the button for the floor they want, as the doors slide shut.

"How was your weekend? Did you get to the game OK?" asks Bill.

"Yeah, we had a good time. I think it did Walter a lot of good to get out for a while. The game could have been better, the Dodgers lost, but it was still a good game. How about you? The party fun?"

"Yeah, it was nice. We hadn't seen Chet and Anne for a long time, and there were some other friends there too. It was enjoyable."

Reaching their floor, the elevator doors slide open. They exit and walk down the hall to the Robbery Division, Joe holding the door for Bill to enter, who then goes to the bulletin board to check the weekend activity, thinking it didn't look too bad. Maybe the trend will follow into the week, Bill hopes.

Joe removes his jacket and settles at his desk, taking a moment to figure where to start. The phone next to him rings, causing him and Bill to exchange looks. This is not encouraging, they are both thinking, awfully early for a first call.

"Robbery, Sergeant Friday here," he speaks into the receiver. He listens for a moment, then tells the caller, "we'll be right out, Padre, within the half hour." He replaces the receiver in the cradle and rubs his hand over his eyes.

"Padre Vega, Bill." he states, "they got hit again yesterday. Let's go see if there is anything different this time. Ready?" He grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and slips it on, the frustration already showing on his face. He just knows that this will go nowhere, but they have to check it out. They go to the garage and sign out their vehicle. Sitting on the passenger side, Joe lights a cigarette while Bill gets the keys, then slides in under the wheel, turns the key, puts it in drive and pulls out into traffic. The traffic is heavy this morning, and there is a stalled van in the one lane which is slowing everything down. Bill glances out of the corner of his eye at Joe, who is not saying anything, just smoking and looking out the window. Well, if the weekend relaxed him at all, Bill is thinking, this ought to void that right quick. He drives on in silence, knowing that is the way to deal with Joe at times like this. Chit-chat would just annoy him now.

They arrive at the Mission after a forty-five minute drive. Bill parks in front and they head for the big wooden doors.

"Sorry we're late, Padre," Bill explains, "traffic was bad this morning." Padre Vega had been standing out front, watching for them to arrive.

"No problem, please come in." he holds the large door open, then follows them as they enter. Once again, they walk through the Nave to the door of the Sacristy. They stand aside while the Padre unlocks the door, then enter the room behind him. Right away Joe see's that the basket is on the floor with coins scattered about.

"Is this how you found it, Padre?" he asks.

"Yes, I decided to leave it as it was for you to see. I hung my vestments, and then left the room as I found it, locking the door."

"Why didn't you call to report it right away?" asks Bill, puzzled by his actions.

"There didn't seem to be any urgency, and I knew you and the Sergeant would not be on till this morning. I suppose I should have, but you were already familiar with the case….was I wrong to do that?"

"You should have reported it immediately, but there's no harm done. I'm glad you left things as you found them, though I doubt we will find anything new." Joe looks about the room, it all looks the same as the last time they were here except for the coins on the floor. The basket seems to have been bumped off the counter where it had been placed, spilling the contents in the fall.

"Same people involved again? Anyone new?" asks Joe.

"Same as each Sunday, Martin Lopez was the Altar boy, everyone else was the same." The Padre is wringing his hands together within the long sleeves of his robe, the stress of the situation weighing heavy on him. Joe bends down to pick up the basket, and gathers the coins closest to him. Along with the coins he picks up one of the small pebbles that had been on the floor, he looks for the trash basket to toss it in, but it's not there, so he puts it into his jacket pocket for the time being. Bill and the Padre are gathering the other coins from the floor. They finish and Bill tells the Padre to put the coins into the safe for now.

"Does the collection basket always go on this counter?" Joe asks, pointing to the one on the far wall. "Not the one that is near the window?"

"Always on this one, Sergeant," he replies, "Always." Joe just studies the room for a minute, trying to find something that would help.

"OK, you say everything was the same, except for the spilled basket. Tell me, what was different the previous week, when nothing was taken." Joe keeps thinking there has to be something. He waits while the Padre thinks it over.

"Not anything, really, just the Altar boy that week was Johnny Munoz, otherwise everything was the same."

"You locked the doors, using your key to enter, no change? Did you notice anything different when you first opened in the morning? Anything out of place?" the Padre is trying hard to recall that Sunday's events.

"No, I'm sure it was all the same, I come in, and set the basket out, I change into my vestments, then open the window, it gets so stuffy in here with only that small one. Oh, wait…I did not open the window that morning because it was raining. But otherwise, things were the same."

Joe walks over to the window and looks outside. Nothing there but the branches of the large oak tree brushing against the walls of the Mission. The branches that reach this far are spindly, and would not support the weight of even a small child. What am I missing? he thinks. In his mind, he goes over the list of people they have already interviewed. No, it's not any of them, he as sure as he can be about that. Sometimes you just know, and this is one of those times.

Bill is making entries in his notebook and the Padre finished putting the coins into the safe. They wait for Joe to speak up.

"I've got nothing, Padre. The only thing close to a clue is the window being open or shut, and that doesn't tell me anything. The window is too small to be a point of entry for anyone, it's just not possible, so being open or closed is just a coincidence as far as I can tell. It has no bearing on this at all. I'm sorry, Padre, there is just nothing more we can do or say at this point. The only suggestion I would have for you would be to choose someone you totally trust to remain in the Sacristy with the money until you come in to transfer it to the safe. Maybe Mr. Sanchez? Is he needed elsewhere after he brings the money in here?"

"No, that might be a very good idea, Sergeant. I will speak with him about that this week."

"Keep us informed, and call the station immediately next time. Someone will see that we are informed. I just hope that there isn't a 'next time' Padre."

Bill and Joe leave the Padre in the Sacristy and return to their car. They sit inside for a few minutes before leaving, Bill checking his notes, and Joe lighting a cigarette.

"This doesn't make any sense, Joe," says Bill, "I just can't figure it out. Somebody is getting in there, and out, and no one see's anything. You don't think the Padre is doing this, do you?"

Joe considers what Bill is saying, wondering much the same thing himself. But on closer examination of the thought, he discards it.

"No, I don't feel that he is. He seems genuinely as puzzled, as we do. I still wonder about a secret passage somewhere. Maybe we should have a team from S.I.D. come in and give it a once over, we might be missing something. I guess 'might be' is an understatement at this point. Obviously we are missing something."

"Wouldn't hurt, I suppose. We're sure not picking up on it. Maybe check with Stats in R.& I. too. See if there are any similarities to other cases. I'll take care of that when we get back, Joe." Bill offers. Joe nods in agreement, still deep in thought.

The rest of the week passed quickly, keeping them busy with a few cases they could even solve. S.I.D had sent over a team to check out the Sacristy, but turned no new information. There were no secret rooms or passages to be found. Stats had no records of similar M.O.s Dead end. That didn't set well with either of them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was Friday night and Joe was tired when he got home. He put his gun, ammo, cuffs and badge in his special spot, locking the drawer. Now if I just had a special spot to put what's on my mind and lock it away till Monday, he's thinking, I might get some rest this weekend. Before he removes his jacket, he checks the pockets for receipts, notes or just junk in general. Deep in the corner of one pocket he feels something unfamiliar, round and hard. He pulls it out and finds a small acorn in his hand. What on earth?, he's thinking. Where did I get that? He sets it on his dresser while he continues to empty his pockets. Removing his work clothes, he slips into something more casual. Turning off the lights, he steps into his den and turns on the stereo with a stack of soft jazz records on the spindle. He had the stereo wired to play in all the rooms, so he would have music throughout his apartment. Adjusting the volume to low, he ambles into the small kitchen to heat a can of soup for supper. Pouring the hot soup into a large mug, he settles into his favorite chair to eat and relax with the music drifting through the rooms. For a while he is able to forget the problems at work, and just relaxes, evetually drifting into a restful sleep.

Saturday dawns bright and sunny, promising to be a nice day. It's going to be a busy one for Joe, running errands that time does not permit during the week. On his way home, he passes a movie theater that specializes in old movies. This weekend matinee features the 1953 movie 'War of the Worlds'. He remembers seeing that a long time ago, and decides to treat himself to the show. He buys his ticket and a large tub of popcorn, which will easily take the place of lunch, and finds a seat in the darkened theater. For the next two hours he loses himself in the show and the popcorn.

After the movie, he stops at the grocery store to stock up on a few items. Milk, eggs, bread and of course some soup. He selects a steak and a couple of pork chops, he can always put them in the freezer if he doesn't want that tonight. A baking potato and some frozen veggies. That should hold me for a while he thinks, and heads for the checkout.

When he gets home he puts the groceries away. He decides to leave out a pork chop and freezes the other and the steak. Turning on the oven he places the potato inside, then takes his dry cleaning to his bedroom to hang up. Closing the closet door, he notices the acorn still sitting where he left it last night on his dresser. He picks it up, and turns it over in his palm. Where did I get this, he's puzzled about that. Still rolling it in his hand he walks into the kitchen to start a small pot of coffee. He sets the acorn on the counter while he fills the pot with cold water. He takes the can of coffee out of the refrigerator and measures it into the basket, places the cover on the pot and turns the flame on the stove top to high, mentally telling himself to keep watch on it so it does not boil over. That's happened more times than he cares to admit. He lights a cigarette while waiting for the pot to boil, and leaning against the counter he picks up the acorn again to study it. "Where did you come from?", he speaks out loud, startling himself in the process. Great, he thinks, now I'm talking to acorns. Guess I need to get out more. He hears a sizzle and splash as the water in the pot boils over. He quickly turns it down and sets the timer for seven minutes, hoping not too many grounds got into the coffee. He sets the acorn back on the counter and retrieves a pan from the cupboard to fry his chop in, and looks for a veggie to make with his dinner. He continues to prepare his meal, the acorn temporarily forgotten.

After eating, he washes the dishes and puts the kitchen in order. Looking it over and satisfied with the results, he lights a cigarette and wanders over to the patio door and looks outside. The evening air is cool, but the sky is clear. Tomorrow should be another nice day. He's thinking he should do something tomorrow, maybe a walk on the beach, just to get some fresh air. He could call Karil to see if she wanted to join him. They had beeen friends for many years now. No hot romance, just friends. After all these years he didn't see the relationship changing, and Karil was satisfied with the arrangement, too. He would decide later about calling her. For now he shuts the sliding door and returns to the den in search of something to read. He selects a book, a mystery, and stacks the music, then settles in for a relaxing evening.

But his mind is not cooperating. It keeps going back to the troubles at the Mission. He finally gives up attempting to read, and sets the book aside. Getting up, he paces through the apartment, trying to make sense of it all. Walking into the kitchen his foot slips on something lying on the floor. He bends down to pick it up, it's the acorn again. Or another one. He looks on the counter where he had last seen it, but there wasn't one there. He must have knocked it down while cleaning the kitchen. He still can't remember where he got it, looks it over one more time, then goes to toss it in the trash. Doing that, and slipping on it, jars his memory. He found it on the floor of the Sacristy, where he slipped on it there, too. For some reason, he had assumed that it was a small stone or pebble, and was going to toss it. Now he remembers that the waste basket was not there and he stuck it in his pocket and forgot about it. He shakes his head and laughs at himself. Well, at least I solved one mystery, he thinks.

He goes back to the den where he gives it another shot at reading, this time he becomes engrossed in the story. He reads for a few hours, then decides to turn in for the night. He falls asleep, still with the Mission mystery in the back of his mind.

Suddenly he comes abruptly awake. He's not sure if he was dreaming or thinking, but a possible solution has presented itself to him. He sits on the edge of the bed, trying to gather his thoughts. Could this be it? he's thinking. Could it be this simple? He reaches for his cigarettes and lights one, taking a deep drag. He sit's a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. Looking at his watch he see's that it's after five. This might be crazy, but he has to check it out. It's all he's had, so he can't just ignore it. Lifting the receiver on his bedside telephone, he dials Bill's number. It rings three times before a groggy sounding Bill answers. "Hello? Gannon here" he says into the phone, his voice thick with sleep.

"Bill? Joe here, what are you doing?"

Bill looks at his watch, giving it a shake to see if it's running, it almost five thirty.

"What do you mean, 'what am I doing?' What do you think I'm doing? It's not even dawn, I was sleeping."

"Well, get up and get dressed, I'm coming to get you in thirty minutes!" Joe tells him.

"Why? Where are we going?" Bill is confused and tired and wants to go back to sleep.

"We're going to church!" Joe barks into the phone, "be ready!" he hangs up the phone and he heads for the shower and to get dressed.

Bill just sits on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out what has gotten Joe all fired up so early in the morning.

"Bill?" Eileen asks, "who was that?"

"Joe," he states simply.

"What did he want so early?"

"He's coming to get me, I got to get dressed."

"Where you going?" He turns to look at Eileen, and just shakes his head.

"Church," is all he says to her.

"Church? Why?" she's not awake and is confused.

"I don't know, maybe he got 'religion' during the night. You go back to sleep, I've got to get dressed, he'll be here in less than thirty minutes."

CHAPTER NINE

Bill is standing outside waiting when Joe pulls up twenty-nine minutes later. He reaches across the seat and opens the door, telling Bill to get in. Bill slides in and slams the door. He turns to look at Joe who already is pulling out onto the road. He hates it when Joe drives, he is so impatient.

"Are you going to tell me what we're doing out here in dawns early light?" He never even had time to grab a cup of coffee, he's no good in the morning until he's had his coffee. Joe knows that.

"I told you on the phone, we're going to church." came Joe's terse reply.

"OK, I know that. Now, you want to tell me why?"

Joe gives him a sideways glance and takes in Bills confused expression.

"You need coffee, right?" he asks. Joe had the leftovers from the night before that he drank cold before he left. He realizes that Bill has not had any yet. Looking ahead, he see's an all night convenience store and pulls in. Telling Bill to stay put, he hurries inside to get two coffees, grabbing a handful of sugar for Bill's. He pays and walks swiftly back to the car. Handing Bill a cup, he takes the lid off of his, and sips the hot brew carefully, while Bill empties numerous packs of sugar into his. Joe glances at his watch and decides they have a few minutes to spare, as Bill takes his first sips.

"Better now?" asks Joe, feeling badly for rushing Bill so. But if his idea is right, they have to be there in time to witness it. After taking another sip of his coffee he starts the car and drives toward the Mission.

"Working on it," replies Bill, still feeling the residue of sleep.

"OK, here's what I am thinking," Joe begins. "I was laying there in bed last night, when suddenly this idea came to me."

"Can I ask you a question, Joe?" Bill inquires, interrupting him.

"Yeah, sure, what?"

"Do you ever sleep? You know, like a normal person? Six, maybe even eight hours at a time? No thinking, just sleeping?"

"No, why do you ask?" Joe seems surprised at the question.

"Never mind, tell me about your big idea." This better be good, Bill's thinking. "Oh, and what church are we going to?"

"St. Pedro's Mission. Where did you think?"

"I'm not thinking anything yet, that's why I asked."

Joe goes on to explain that he might have an idea who has taken the money, and how it was done.

"One of our suspects, or someone else?" Bill is beginning to come around, the coffee is helping.

"No, none of the people we have talked with already. I still feel confident that it's not one of them. This is kind of out of left field, but it still might be on target."

"You got a name? Or just a hunch?" Bill asks. Joe relies on his hunches a lot, with good reason too, as they are more often than not, right on.

"I guess it's just a hunch right now, but we don't have anything else to go on at this time. Unless you have come up with something new this weekend?"

"No. Look, I know it's an important case, Joe, but I haven't given it any thought at all this weekend. Apparently, you have."

"Yeah, it's been on my mind. Can't seem to avoid it. Anyway, it came to me after I was talking to the acorn….."

Bill had just taken a large sip of his coffee when Joe said this, and nearly choked on it.

"You were talking to what ?" he gasped.

"The acorn," he replied, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it.

"The acorn. What acorn? What are you talking about?" Bill's starting to wonder if the strain is getting to Joe. Too much work, too little sleep. Too much thinking.

"The one in my pocket, Bill." He glances over at Bill wondering what his problem is. "I thought it was a stone, but turns out it was an acorn." He explains.

"I see. If it had been a stone, you probably wouldn't have talked to it, right?"

"Right, that wouldn't have made any sense."

"No, of course not. What was I thinking?" Bill's beginning to wonder if this all isn't just a dream. He's really not riding in this car at dawn with Joe, discussing conversations with acorns. Maybe I should lay off those garlic nut butters before bed, he's thinking.

They arrive at the Mission before continuing the conversation, but instead of parking in front, Joe turns the corner and pulls up to the curb on the side of the building. Looking at his watch he notes the time, 6:52. Good, we got here in time, he's thinking. Bill opens his door and Joe reaches out to catch his arm.

"Where are you going?" he asks Bill.

"In the church?" he questions Joe.

"No," Joe tells him, "we'll wait out here. Just relax and finish your coffee." Joe lights up a cigarette, tossing the match out the window and leans back to wait.

"Are you going to tell me what it is we're waiting for?" He doesn't want to bring up the acorn again, he's afraid Joe will tell him what it said to him.

"That's the Sacristy window over there," Joe points to the side of the building. "You can see that it's open this morning. The Padre must already be in there. Now, we just have to wait and see if our thief shows up, as I think he will."

"I don't understand, Joe. I thought we agreed that no one could enter through that small window. Have you changed your mind?"

"No, I still say that no one could get in there, it's too small. Just watch and see, our thief should show up about 7:30, if my calculations are right."

A few cars come down the street and park in front of the church. There are more people on foot, coming from all directions. A couple of kids take a short cut through the Mission yard on the side where the Sacristy window is. Bill turns to look at Joe, with raised brow, silently asking, is this our thieves? Joe knows what he means, and shakes his head, no. They continue to wait and watch.

"Keep an eye on the tree," Joe advises Bill. "The branches near the window."

It's now past seven and there are not anymore people outside, the Mass has begun. They continue to wait. A typical stake-out, Bill is thinking. Not much, if anything, is happening. But at least they are outside in the fresh morning air, not cramped in some dark, damp cellar not knowing what to expect. He still wishes Joe would tell him who they are waiting for.

Joe glances at his watch, it's 7:23. Shouldn't be long now, he's thinking. He lights another cigarette to help pass the time. It's quiet, only the birds chirping and the faint sound of the organ coming through the open windows. He finishes his smoke, then motions for Bill to get out of the car and not to slam the door. He walks around to Bill's side and leans against the fender while keeping an eye on the large oak tree branches that brush the side of the Mission. Suddenly, there is a rustling of the branches. The limbs nearest the window dip with the weight of the culprit as he reaches out to grab the window ledge, lifting himself onto it and in the window. Bill is watching opened mouth, not believing what he is seeing. He turns to Joe, who is standing there with a knowing grin on his face. Bill starts to say something, but Joe cuts him off, and just points to the window, indicating that Bill should watch. Softly he says,

"We've only seen him go in, he hasn't taken anything yet. Wait."

They continue to look at the window, waiting for the thief to leave with the goods. They don't have a long wait. He emerges from the window with many of the bills in sight, and makes a jump for the tree branch, and disappears up the trunk.

"This is what the acorn told you, Joe?" Bill asks in astonishment.

"The acorn didn't talk to me, Bill, I talked to the acorn. And I didn't mean we had a conversation, I was just talking out loud. Anyway, this is what I came up with, and it looks like I was right." He smiles with satisfaction.

"I got to hand it to you, Joe. I wouldn't have figured this one out in a million years, even if the acorn had talked to me." Bill just shakes his head, and laughs.

"Let's head inside, Bill, the service should be almost over. We need to talk to the Padre and see if there is money missing again today. Which I am sure there is, since we saw it with our own eyes. We'll need a black and white here, and I suppose someone from the fire department with a ladder. Unless you want to climb up there?"

"No, thanks, Joe, my tree climbing days are long gone. I prefer my bones in one piece. I'll make the calls when we get inside."

They walk around the side of the building to the main doors. Mass had just ended and the parishioners were filing out into the sunlit morning. They wait outside a few minutes until most have left, then enter and head for the Sacristy. They find the Padre in there with the basket in his hands, with a look of dejection on his face. As Bill and Joe enter the room he looks up surprised to see them, he was just going to place a call to them to report the latest theft.

"Good morning, Officers! I'm afraid we have been hit once again. I was just going to call you, and here you are."

"Good morning, Padre," Joe greets him, and Bill nods to him. Joe walks to the window and looks up into the tree. "We came early today, and were waiting outside to catch our thief."

"Did you see anything?" the Padre asks anxiously.

Joe and Bill exchange glances and a smile.

"Yes, Padre, your thief is sitting up in this tree as we speak. Is there a phone I can use? I need to call for some back-up." asks Bill.

"Yes, of course, you may use the phone in my office, it's just next door. Please help your self, the door is open." offers the Padre.

"Thanks, I'll be right back, Joe." Bill heads for the Padre's office to make his calls.

Joe is looking around the floor, then sees what he is searching for. He bends down to pick it up, then hands it to the Padre. Padre Vega accepts it from Joe with a puzzled expression.

"That's from your thief." he explains. "It may have been meant as an exchange of sorts."

The Padre looks at the object in his hand, then at Joe.

"An acorn?"

"That's what it is all right. If you look out this window, a little to the right, you may be able to spot his 'hide out.' You might even see him."

Padre Vega walks to the window and peers up into the branches of the oak tree. He sees nothing out of the ordinary, just a couple small bird nests and one large squirrel nest.

Joe says nothing, but lets the Padre think it over a minute. He continues to look into the tree, while rolling the acorn between his fingers. He looks at the acorn again, then back at the tree. His expression goes from puzzled to enlightened. He turns to Joe, and asks,

"A squirrel? Your telling me a squirrel took our money?"

"It appears that way, Padre. We'll know for sure when the back up gets here. Someone needs to get up to that nest and see what's in there. Today's money should be there, but I don't know if they'll find anything else."

"Why would a squirrel want the money?" asks the Padre.

"I really have no idea, Padre. My guess would be for some type of nesting material. Maybe he was getting his nest warm and ready for winter."

"Joe, the back up will be here shortly. Some one from Animal Control is coming too. Maybe they can give us some answers." Bill informs him as he returns to the room.

"Well, I sure wish someone would." says the Padre. "I just can't believe this! But I am so grateful that it was not one of our people."

"I understand, Padre," says Joe, "I feel the same."

"What tipped you off about the squirrel? I never would have given that a thought."

"Joe has this affinity with wild life Padre, he seems to communicate with them on their level," says Bill with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I could tell you about a camping trip we took not so long ago, he had them eating right out of his hand."

"I'm sure the Padre doesn't want to hear about that, Bill. Let's get outside and wait for the back up." He gives Bill a stern look, that does not intimidate him in the least. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut about that dang acorn, he's thinking. I haven't heard the last of this yet, I'm sure.

The three men walk through the church, entering the yard through a small door at the end of the hall. The black and white arrives as they emerge from the building. The Officers identify themselves to the Padre. Bill and Joe are familiar with both men, and begin to fill them in on what's happening. As they are speaking, the fire truck pulls up alongside Joe's vehicle, the driver gets out and approaches them.

"Hi, Joe, Bill. What you got here today?" The driver is a man they have worked with before, Dan Fielding.

"We need to get up in that tree Dan, and find a squirrels nest, so it can be checked for money." explains Joe.

Dan looks at Joe and raises an eyebrow questionably. "Money?" he asks.

"Yeah," Joe says, "Money." This is embarrassing, he thinks.

"What makes you think there's money up there?"

"Because we saw him run up there with it." He gives Bill a look that says 'you can help out here at any time.' Bill just stands there, content to let Joe handle this one on his own.

"OK, Sergeant, you're in charge here. I'll get the ladder up." he moves back to his truck and gives orders to the men to raise the ladder into the oak tree. It's a slow process and takes a few minutes to accomplish. Once in place, Dan turns to Joe and asks,

"You want to take it from here, Joe?"

"No! You or one of your guys can handle that."

"Gee, I don't know, you want us to search the nest? You got a warrant? I don't want to step on anybody's rights here, not even a squirrel." He's trying hard not to laugh, but seeing the look on Joe's face, he decides to get on with business. "I'll do the honors," he informs Joe, and begins to climb the ladder into the tree. They stand below, watching him ascend into the branches. A small crowd has gathered in the street, curious as to what is going on. Dan disappears into the heavy foliage, as all await to see what happens next. In just a moment he reappears, climbing down the ladder. He stops and calls to Joe to bring him a large paper sack.

"Padre?" he asks.

"Yes, I'll get one," Padre Vega hurries back into the building, returning shortly with a large brown bag. He gives it to Joe, who hands it up to Dan. He takes it and returns to the upper branches of the tree. While they are waiting a car pulls in behind the fire truck. A woman dressed in a uniform similar to a park ranger approaches the small group waiting at the base of the ladder.

"Who's in charge here?" she asks while displaying her identification. "I'm with animal control, Bess Ohlson." Joe steps forward and says,

"Sergeant Friday, Ma'am, and Officer Gannon. Let me explain what's going on here." he takes a few minutes to fill her in on the details.

"You've got to be kidding!" she laughs. "In all my days, I've never heard of such a thing! You know, there's not much I can do for you here. We wouldn't be able to catch it, and even if we could, and transported it to another location, it would find it's way back again, anyway. The best I can suggest, would be for the Mission to put a screen on that window for future protection, or keep the window shut."

"Yes, Ma'am," replies Bill. "That's a good suggestion. I'm sure the Padre agrees."

"Why do you think it wanted the money, Miss Ohlson?" Joe inquires.

"Well, obviously it didn't know what it was. But my guess would be for lining the nest. How it figured out where to find it, is anybody's guess. Just one of those things. We'll never really know for sure."

All heads turn as Dan begins to climb down the ladder with the paper sack held firmly in his hands. He reaches the ground and hands it to Joe.

"There's your loot, Sarge, looks like quite a bit in there. That nest was full!"

Joe takes the bag and opens it to see what was inside. A very strong odor causes him to withdraw quickly.

"Oh," says Dan, "I forgot to mention it stinks. I guess you noticed that."

Joe looks at him with watering eyes, and tells him, "Yeah, I noticed."

The money in the sack was damp and dirty, and as Joe already found out, smelly.

"We'll have to take this with us back to the station," he tells Padre Vega. "It will be gone through and counted before it is returned to the Mission. Right now, it is evidence."

"Does it look like anything will be salvageable?" he hopefully asks.

"The stuff from today will most likely be OK," he replies, "the rest remains to be seen."

"The bank will reimburse damaged money, I have heard, if there is enough of it intact to identify it." Bill volunteers the information.

"Yeah, I've heard that too," agrees Joe.

"That would be wonderful!" The Padre was happy to hear that. He never expected to get anything back, so this would be a great blessing.

The men had replaced the ladder on the fire truck and were waiting for Dan to finish talking with the officers.

"Thanks for the assist, Dan," says Joe.

"No problem, haven't had to get a kitten out of the tree for a while, so I guess we were due. Though this was my first experience with a squirrel as a criminal. He made a pretty good haul too, from the looks of it." He laughs as he walks away, gets into the fire truck and drives off.

The two officers from the black and white checked with Joe as to what he wanted them to do.

"You men can go," he tells them. "Officer Gannon and I will book the evidence. Thanks for your help." The small crowd that had gathered dispersed once the fire truck and police car left. Joe rolled the bag tightly and handed it to Bill, who reluctantly took it.

"Padre, we'll be in touch, probably tomorrow sometime, to let you know when you can get the money. Now don't forget," Joe reminds him, "Shut that window until you can get a screen for it."

"Thank you, both, for your help with this. I am just so relieved. And, yes, I will go shut that window, right now." He is all smiles as he heads back into the building.

"Well, Joe, another case solved. We're just like those Texas Rangers, we always get our man. Or in this case, our squirrel."

"I thought that was the Canadian Mounties, who always get their man?"

"Well, whoever," Bill shrugs in reply. "Point is, we got him! All because you talked to that acorn." Bill can't resist needling Joe a bit about that.

"Bill," Joe says with a sigh, "I told you, I didn't talk to the acorn, I just spoke out loud while holding it."

"OK, Boss, we'll go with that version, if you want." Joe just shakes his head in frustration and turns and heads for the car. He gets in the passenger side and slams the door. He reaches in his pocket for a much needed cigarette, and notices Bill standing next to the window just looking at him.

"What?" Joe is losing patience with this game of Bill's.

"Uh, Joe," Bill hesitates to continue. Looking at Joe's expression he knows he has pushed this a little too far.

"What?" Joe repeats, irritably. He's not in the mood for nonsense right now. It was a short night and a long day so far, and he's tired.

"Joe, this is your car. Did you want me to drive?"

Joe looks around him and realizes Bill is right. This is just not his day. He slides over under the wheel, pops the trunk, so Bill can put the money in there, and digs out his keys. He starts the engine as Bill gets in, and he mumbles "sorry about that," under his breath, and lights his cigarette. Bill just nods as they drive back to the station in silence.

Joe parks the car, and Bill retrieves the bag from the trunk. Once inside they take the elevator to the third floor, and enter the door marked 'Robbery Division'. Being Sunday morning, there are not many people about.

"How do we enter this into evidence, Joe? Do we have to go through it and count it?" Joe considers the question for a moment, not wanting to get into that mess anymore than Bill does. But they can't just sign it in as a 'bag of money', without some accountability for it.

"I'll do the paper work, you can count the money. Sound fair?" asks Joe innocently. Ordinarily Bill would jump at the chance to skip paper work, but not today. Not with this stink. But arguing won't help, Joe's in charge.

"Fine, I'll take it in room four." He takes the bag and heads for the door. You can only push Joe so far before he won't take anymore. Guess I hit my limit, thinks Bill.

He pushes the door to room four open, and spills the contents of the bag on the interrogation table. He removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves when he hears the door to the room open. He turns to see who it is, and is surprised to see Joe with sleeves already up, enter.

"Figured I'd better help you count. Hate to have you pass out from the smell and have to do it all over again." They exchange looks, and smile. Then lose the grins when they get a whiff of the cash.

They work on the soiled money for the next hour and a half. Most of it seems to be salvageable, though dirty and wet. Bill has been keeping tally as they went along.

"How much is here, Bill?" asks Joe, while wiping his hands with a paper towel.

"Seems to be right around $133. Depends on what the banks will agree on, but that seems to be about it. Next time someone says something about squirreling something away, it's going to have a brand new meaning to me." he chuckles.

"Let's put that in this canvas bag I brought in, then drop it in the evidence room. We still have the report to fill out. I'll start in on that while you drop this off and get the receipt." Joe offers. "But first, I'm going to use some soap on these hands." Bill takes the bag and they both stop to wash up. He heads for the evidence room while Joe goes back to the desk to get started on the report. In less than an hour they are ready to head home.

Joe drops Bill at his house just before noon.

"You still have some day left to spend with the family, Bill. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You want to come in, Joe? Eileen will makes us some lunch." invites Bill.

"Thanks, but not today. I just want to get home and take a shower or two. Maybe burn my clothes," he laughs, only half kidding.

"Yeah, go home and rest, or whatever it is you do. See you in the morning." Bill waves and heads for the front door where Eileen is standing, waiting. Joe waves to both and drives away.

CHAPTER TEN

Monday morning is clear and promises to be a beautiful day. Joe arrives at work at 7:45, Bill about five minutes later. They meet just outside the Robbery Division door. Captain Morris is waiting just inside, and tells them to come to his office. They follow him in and shut the door when he motions for them to do that.

"I see you wrapped up that Mission case, yesterday. Kind of a surprise ending, huh? Whatever led you to that conclusion, Friday?"

"Oh, you know Joe, Skipper, he's always thinking. He leaves no stone unturned, or in this case, no acorn." Bill says with a grin. Joe glares at him, sending a warning with his eyes, which Bill is totally ignoring.

"Acorn?" the captain asks, looking from Bill to Joe. "Well, whatever, as long as we can take this off the books. I'm glad the church will be getting their money back. That's what's important here. Unusual outcome, no doubt about it, but you did a fine job, again."

They both offer their thanks, and head for the door.

"Oh, Friday," he calls out, "Try not to make it a habit to talk to the acorns though. Some may find that a bit odd. Maybe leave that part out of the report." He turns away to hide his laughter. Joe stands there for a minute, then turns to Bill, but see's only his back as he hurries down the hall to the office.

One of these days, partner, one of these days, I'll get the last laugh, he's thinking. But it doesn't look like today is that day. Joe follows him back to the office, just knowing this isn't the end yet.

He finds Bill all ready seated and working on some reports. On the desk in front of his chair is a small box wrapped with play money and a piece of string tied around it.. He just looks at it, then at Bill.

"OK, what's this?" he asks, but doesn't touch it.

"I don't know, Joe, it was there when I came in. Must be for you."

Just then Officer Mike Johansen opens the door with a bang. All heads turn to look at him.

"I just took a suspect into room #4. Smells like something died in there! I was almost willing to confess myself, just to get out of there. I put him in #3, change the tapes, OK? Better call cleaning services before some one croaks." He turns and heads for room #3, to finish his work.

"Guess we should have sprayed or something last night, huh, Joe?"

"I guess," he replies. He's still standing by his chair, looking at the package, trying to decide if he wants to open it or not.

"Hey, Joe, we heard you broke the Mission case yesterday!" says Danny Bowser, who just came in from across the hall in Homicide. "you recovered the missing money, but did you get your suspect? Did you slap the cuffs on that dirty rat?" Laughter is coming from all corners of the office. "Yeah," someone calls out from the back, "Did you read him his rights?"

"We heard you had an informant, who was that? Some nut, I suppose."

"Open your gift, Joe, us guys all chipped in. If the APB brings him down, you're going to need them."

He stands there glaring at Bill, who is totally ignoring him. Joe picks up the box, may as well get this over with, he's thinking, as he unties the string. He removes the play money and lifts off the cover. He looks at the contents and can't resist the laugh that is building up inside him. Clever, he's thinking. Inside, laying on a bed of cotton, is a pair of tiny hand cuffs, about the size of a key chain. He picks them up, and hold them for all to see.

"Gee, thanks!" he smiles, as he clips them onto a belt loop of his pants. He endures the good natured kidding, and the round of applause that accompanies it. It's kind of nice to be able to joke about the outcome of one of the cases for a change. In their business it doesn't happen that way often. He'd just rather be the one doing the joke, not being the butt of it. Bill's still not making eye contact, but his shoulders are shaking with hidden laughter. Joe just thinks, you're day will come, I'll see to it.

After a few more minutes of good natured kidding, the officers return to their desks and phones, ready to start another day of work.

"Bill, I was thinking, instead of having the Padre come here to get the money, how about you and I take it to the bank and exchange it for him. Then we can drop it off at the Mission."

"Yeah, I like that idea, I'll go get it from the evidence room. You want to check it out with the skipper before we go?" Bill slips on his jacket getting ready to leave.

"Go ahead, Friday, Gannon," says the captain who had been standing by the door and had overheard Joe's suggestion. "Looks like a slow morning, I can spare you. Like your cuffs, Friday." He grins as he walks away.

Bill returns from the evidence room with the canvas bag, and he and Joe go to the garage to check out their unmarked vehicle.

They arrive at the bank just after the doors were opened and conclude their business and exchange the damaged money for fresh. The amount the bank totaled was more than they had figured. It came to $149. They accepted the cash and signed the appropriate papers, then left for the Mission. As they drove away Bill seemed to be thinking about something.

"What's on your mind, Bill?" Joe asks as he lights a cigarette.

"I was just thinking about the first day on this case. You remember that old woman I bumped into?"

"Yeah," says Joe. "what about her?"

"Remember that card she gave me?"

"The one for your kind face?" he smiles at the memory.

"Do you remember what was on it?" he asks Joe.

"Some kind of a prayer, if I remember right." He looks at Bill waiting for his reply.

"Yeah, it was about St Francis. I just thought that was kind of ironic, you know?"

"How's that, Bill?" Joe's not getting the connection.

"He's the Patron Saint for animals, Joe. It's just kind of funny, that I got that at the beginning of this case, and an animal was our culprit. Just kind of funny, that's all."

"Yeah, it is. This whole thing was kind of funny, when you look back on it. Wonder what R. & I. will do with this? Think it will end up in the M.O. file?" They both have to laugh about that.

They arrive at the Mission at 10:30, and look for Padre Vega. Walking through the building they find him in his small office next to the Sacristy, going over some paperwork.

"Even the church has paperwork, Padre." Bill comments as they enter the room.

"Yes, Officer Gannon, and I hate it about as much as you do yours, I bet. I didn't expect to see you here today, I thought you were going to call me to come down to the precinct? There isn't any trouble, is there?" He looks from Bill to Joe, with apprehension on his face.

"No, no problems," Joe assures him. "Just the opposite, in fact. Officer Gannon and I took the money to the bank this morning and we have your replacement for you." He removes an envelope from inside his jacket, and hands it to the Padre.

Padre Vega takes the envelope, and opens it, peering inside to see the contents. He removes the cash, and counts it out. He looks to both Joe and Bill with amazement.

"There's $149 in here! I didn't expect that much! Ser de gracias a Dios!" he says as he crosses himself.

"Your squirrel friend may have been at this a little longer than we thought, maybe that's why the amount is higher. Have you made sure to close that window?" Joe asks.

"Yes, Sergeant, I did that immediately. And Carlos Sanchez has offered to purchase and install a screen for us. Hopefully, that will take care of the problem. We also changed procedure, to place the basket in the cupboard instead of leaving it on the counter. We don't want this to happen again!"

"Sounds like an excellent plan Padre," says Bill.

"Thank you, both again. For your hard work and for bringing the money in. I really appreciate it all."

"You're welcome, I'm just glad it all worked out. Most robbery victims never regain their losses. You were lucky."

"We were blessed, Sergeant, that was our luck."

They say their goodbyes, and head for the car. Bill sits behind the wheel for a minute before starting the car, Joe lights a cigarette.

"It feels good to have one turn out ok, doesn't it Joe?" he asks as he starts the engine, and pulls out into traffic.

"Yeah, it does at that." Just wish it happened more often, he thinks.

THE END