CHAPTER EIGHT

"So, you're looking for an overgrown Cub Scout?" Ray deftly sipped coffee in a cardboard cup, as he swerved around a trash truck.

"Not necessarily." Fraser gripped the dash with white knuckled fingers, as Ray swung back into his lane. The oncoming car blared its horn. "That's just one of many organizations that use the motto. It's also used by the British Parachute Regiment, many service clubs and schools." He paused. "And the U.S. Coast Guard, of course."

"Of course," Ray muttered, as he pulled up to the curb. "We're here."

A uniformed officer tried to wave him away until he recognized the detective, then waved him in. There were two units parked on the street and a barricade on the sidewalk to keep bystanders at bay.

"Oh, dear," Fraser said, as he surveyed the scene. He put a hand on the car door, then turned to the backseat. "Stay here," he told Dief. "There's broken glass." The wolf, who was curled up comfortably, nose to tail, made a noise of contented agreement. Fraser shook his head, dolefully. Granted it was cold today. For Chicago. Ray was bundled up with hat, gloves and two scarves. But Dief was an Arctic wolf, for goodness sake! Fraser made a mental note to institute a winter exercise regimen. They would both benefit. He looked speculatively at Ray. Perhaps, his friend would like to join them for an early morning run. Ray wound his long woolen scarf round and round his neck until only his nose and eyes were visible. Then again, Fraser thought, perhaps not. He got out of the car and followed Ray.

The electronics store was a mess. Someone had driven a vehicle up over the curb and smashed through the front door. There was glass everywhere. An inquisitive crowd had gathered outside the barricades, trying to peer around the uniformed officer that was restraining them.

Another uniform met them inside. Ray noted that the inside temperature of the store was as cold as the outside. The cop had a notebook out and filled them in quickly. A white panel van had rammed through the glass storefront thirty minutes ago. Three armed men in ski masks had jumped out while a fourth, the driver, remained in the vehicle. Two of them had quickly and efficiently loaded high-end electronics, still in the boxes, while the third held a gun on the owner, his two employees and a lone customer. Then they were gone, speeding away a couple of minutes before the first patrol car made the scene.

Four people huddled in coats in the center of the chilly store - an old man, a younger man and woman, and slightly apart, a teen boy. The group clustered together were the owner and his two adult children. The boy was the customer.

Ray talked to the owner, while Fraser examined the entry point. He motioned to Fraser to join him.

"There's a tape of the security feed in the back," he said.

In the small office at the rear of the store, they watched the grainy black and white tape. One camera, wide-angle lens. It showed a dim view of the showroom. They watched as the employees readied the store for business. The room brightened as sunlight streamed in. The teenager walked in and went to a display of cell phones. Suddenly, a small panel truck barreled into the frame. The time on the tape showed 10:02 am. It was an eerie scene as mayhem erupted, people screaming, glass flying, masked villains. All without sound. Four individuals. The driver stayed behind the wheel; three other men got out of the truck. One held a gun on the occupants of the store. The other two moved fast, loading boxes quickly and calmly with a handtruck, even emptying a closet. When it was done, the gunman brandished the weapon, and the three men got back in the vehicle. The truck backed out and disappeared from the frame.

They played the tape through twice. Fraser made notes in his pad. "Very efficient," he commented. "From start to finish, the crime took 6.5 minutes."

"Ballsy," Ray said. He turned to the owner. "Mr. Patel, when did you open?"

"Ten o'clock, precisely," the old man said, wringing his hands. "As usual."

"Do you use steel security shutters?"

"Of course. We bring them down when we close at night, and put them up when we open in the morning."

Ray nodded. That explained the sudden brightening of the scene in the video just before impact. "Otherwise, they would never have gotten through, even with the truck."

A young woman poked her head into the door of the office. "Father?" She looked at Ray and Fraser. "May I come in?"

Patel introduced his daughter, Shia. Ray instructed them on reporting to the insurance company, boarding up the broken glass, and other details. He gave them a receipt for the videotape.

"We'll need a list of the stolen items, as soon as possible," he said to her.

She extracted a pink piece of paper from a drawer, made a copy, and gave him the original. "Here you go."

Ray looked at the delivery ticket and then looked a question back at her.

"We took delivery late last night," she explained. "We didn't even have a chance to price anything before ... " She stopped to compose herself. "They took it all, still in the boxes."

"Better resale value that way," he said, sympathetically. "Deliveries in the rear?" She nodded. "Did you notice anybody hanging around last night? Anything unusual or out of place?"

She thought a moment. "No," she said. "There was no one."

"Is a late night delivery usual with your supplier?" Fraser asked, taking a look at the delivery ticket before giving it back to Ray.

"This was our first transaction with this company." She frowned. "Our other suppliers always delivered during the day." She shrugged. "We prefer after hours delivery as it doesn't interfere with the customers, but the others would never do it because it incurred overtime." She sighed. "That's one reason we switched."

"What was the other reason?" Fraser asked.

"Price."

"Forty years in business in this country, and I have never been robbed," Mr. Patel said, his voice trembling. "And this ... this ... violation!' He was on the verge of tears.

Fraser put a hand under his elbow and guided him to a chair. He got him a paper cup of water from the water cooler in the corner and urged him to sip it slowly. He knelt beside the chair. "Fortunately, Mr. Patel, no one was hurt. That is truly the most important thing." The old man nodded. "And, I can assure you, sir, that the Chicago Police Department will do its best to find the perpetrators and bring them to justice."

Mr. Patel shook his head. "What can you do? One cannot tell who these men are."

"On the contrary, sir. Detective Vecchio and I have already unearthed several important clues." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Ray.

"Uh, that's right." Ray cleared his throat and spoke more firmly. "Many, many clues."

Mr. Patel gave them a watery smile. "But, I am just one small shop. And, this is just one small case. I know how these things work – "

"There is no such thing as a small case," Fraser said, firmly.

"He really means that," Ray confirmed. At Mr. Patel's skeptical look, he said, "Seriously."

The old man stared into Fraser's eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "Thank you," he said to Fraser. Then, up at Ray. "Thank you, both."

They left Shia attending to the old man and returned to the showroom. Fraser examined the room while Ray took a look at the loading dock and alley. No camera, but the security for this place was pretty tight. He flicked a light switch and nodded approvingly as the alley and loading dock lights came on. It would have been well-lit last night. Difficult to case the joint back here without being seen. Steel bars on the windows, heavy duty locks on all the doors, and a good, solid alarm system were all in place

When he rejoined Fraser, he found the Mountie down on his hands and knees examining the carpet. To Ray's intense relief, he didn't lick anything. Then, he was up on his knees, studying a wall. He ran his hands over the surface, pressing here and there.

After a moment, young Mr. Patel came over. His name was Raj. He reached over Fraser's shoulder and pressed a spot on the wall. There was a click and a door opened. Fraser stood up and out of the way.

Raj swung the door wide to reveal a deep, but empty, storage space. "We kept the pricier items in here," he said, bitterly.

"Were they delivered last night, too?" Fraser asked.

"Yeah, most of the stuff in here was. Inventory was down after the Christmas season."

"Raj," Shia called from the office. "Where is the file on the insurance company?"

Raj excused himself and disappeared into the back office.

Ray told Fraser about his examination of the loading dock. "Shia's right. I don't think they could have watched the delivery from the back without being seen themselves." He and Fraser took a last look around before climbing back in to the Riv. Dief opened one eye, then went back to sleep.

"I feel for that old man," Ray said, sadly. He turned on the ignition and let the engine warm up.

"Me, too."

He faced Fraser, with a sour expression. "So, we have unearthed several important clues, huh?"

"I'm sorry, Ray," he said, contritely. "I know you don't like to prematurely divulge information in the course of an investigation, but I thought Mr. Patel was in need of reassurance."

He sighed. "I just don't like giving an old man false hope, Benny."

"False?" he said, surprised. "What's false about it?"

"We don't have a clue where to begin!"

"On the contrary, Ray," he replied. "I suggest we start at 15998 Deerborn Street. A gentleman named Jim. Last name begins with a 'T' or possibly an 'F'"

"Huh?"

"According to the delivery ticket, that's the address of the new supplier that delivered the goods here last night."

"So?"

"A supplier who delivers at night and is cheaper than its competitors."

"Probably 'cause they're not using union drivers."

"Perhaps. But the Patels received a large delivery only last night. A late night delivery that could not be observed from the street as the security shutters were down. Nor did it appear to be observed from the rear alley."

"O-kay."

"Yet, the robbery occurred the very next morning after such a large delivery. Brand-new merchandise, still in the boxes. A veritable windfall for the thieves. Coincidence?

Ray looked thoughtful. "Go on."

"Also, the thieves were familiar with the routine, when the store opened, that the metal security shutters were raised precisely at 10 am, that -"

"Anybody casing the joint would have seen that."

"True. Still, the vehicle they used was precisely the size needed to haul all the items from yesterday's delivery; they brought a handtruck with them; they were experienced at loading large, heavy boxes quickly and efficiently."

"They could be experienced thieves, Benny."

"Granted. But they also knew there was a concealed closet that held the most expensive items and exactly how to open it. It was a tricky mechanism to operate, as you saw."

Ray was getting excited in spite of himself. "Still, there could be a lot of people who know about that closet. Including, anybody that's ever delivered there before. Or worked there."

"I agree."

He looked at him, recognizing that tone. Fraser had an ace up his red serge sleeve. "So, why these guys?"

"On the videotape, the panel truck appeared to be plain white, no lettering or other markings, right?"

"Right."

"Except for the side panel on the driver side. That was just barely in the frame." He flipped his notebook open. "This mark was on the side of the truck."

"It's a squiggle," Ray said, squinting. "Could be just a flaw in the tape."

"Give me the delivery slip." Ray handed it over. There was a logo at the top of the page. A stylized little devil with horns, tail and a pitchfork. Fraser held the paper close to the mark he had sketched, then covered over most of the logo with his fingers, leaving one of the devil's horns exposed. The squiggles were the same on both pieces of paper.

"Damn!" Ray said, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the curb. "So, they used a magnetic cover to obscure the logo on the truck. And it slipped. Probably, when they plowed through the storefront." He grinned. "Deerborn Street?"

"Number 15998."

"Like I said, ballsy," he said. "Sell the merchandise, steal it back, and use your own truck to do it! No wonder their prices are lower. Reminds me of Billy Bob's place." He paused. "Let me guess. Jim T. signed the delivery ticket yesterday?"

Fraser squinted at the paper. "Could be an 'F,' or maybe a 'P.'"

It was a "P." Within five minutes of being questioned, Jim Petersen had rolled over on his three accomplices and the owner of Speed Demon Electronics and Appliances.

Later that day, Fraser and Ray were at the latter's desk, munching on home-made pappadums. The Indian treats had been delivered piping hot, courtesy of Mrs. Patel. The file on the "Drive-Through Robbery," as Ray had dubbed it, complete with four signed confessions, was sitting on Welsh's desk for the State's Attorney's review, practically gift-wrapped and tied with a bow.

Ray had his feet up on the desk and his hands behind his head. "You don't get many days like today, Benny."

Fraser, mouth full, nodded in agreement.

"Toss me another one." Ray caught the pappadum and took a bite. "So, who else uses Semper Paratus besides the Girl Scouts?"

"You mean Cub Scouts, Ray," Fraser corrected automatically. "The British Parachute Regiment. The US Coast Guard. And many other service organizations, clubs and schools."

Ray chewed and swallowed. "I'd go with the Coast Guard. Considering, you know, the Lake."

"I agree." He frowned, recalling yesterday's conversation with Inspector Thatcher. "But, I think my inquiry should be unofficial."

"No problemo," Ray said. He reached into his desk drawer and extracted his address book. He licked a finger and flicked pages. "P... Palermo ... Palumbo ... Poloczek ... Pulaski!" He dialed a number from the book. "Lieutenant Commander Pulaski. Detecive Vecchio, Chicago P.D. Yes, I'll hold." He covered the mouthpiece and spoke to Fraser. "Billy and me played – Billy! You old so and so. Yeah, I know, I know. Too long! How the hell are you?" He gave Fraser a thumbs up, then talked old times into the phone. "Ma's fine. Frannie's fine. Everybody's fine. How's the wife? Aw, congratulations, buddy! When's the due date?" The conversation continued for several minutes in that vein.

Fraser felt a nudge against his knee. He looked down into Diefenbaker's hopeful face. He licked his chops. "One," he said and slipped him a pappadum. "Make it las–" It was gone in one gulp. He looked expectantly up at him. "No means 'no,'" he said, firmly. Dief grumble-growled in complaint, but settled down on Ray's side of the desk.

"OK, Bill. Lemme see." Ray covered the mouthpiece again. "You're off tomorrow, right?"

"Yes."

"Alright, Bill. See you then. Thanks," Ray said, then hung up the phone. He was smiling to himself.

"Ray?"

He gestured at the phone. "We go way back, Billy and me." He reached for a pappadum. "He joined the Coast Guard right after graduation. Last few years, he's been stationed at Waukegan." He took a bite and chewed. "I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning." Dief whined at his feet. Ray absently reached down and handed him the remains of the pappadum.

Fraser stifled the protest that sprang automatically to his lips. He'd give Dief a stern talking to, later. "That's great, Ray. Thanks." He paused. "But I thought you were working tomorrow?"

Ray spread his arms in an expansive gesture. "I can afford to take a day off after today," he said, reaching for another treat. "Besides," he said, lowering his voice, "it's ITJF business."

"You mean, I-J-" Fraser began, about to correct the misplaced initials, then stopped. "Never mind. You're right, Ray. You don't get many days like this one." He put his booted feet up on the desk, placed his hands behind his head, and leaned back, tentatively. He struggled with the uncharacteristic position, nearly lost his balance, knocked Ray's stack of files askew which tipped the plate of pappadums. A couple of the dumplings fell to the floor.

"Sorry, Ray," he said, as he rushed to set things right atop the desk. When he bent over to retrieve the spilled food, it was gone. On the other side of the desk, Dief gave him an innocent look and settled his head on his front paws.

"Relax, Benny," Ray said, amused. "You don't have to relax."

"Oh, good," he said, in relief. He settled in the straight-backed chair, feet on the floor, and popped a pappadum in his mouth.