slapping him upside the head, and putting the record straight, but that was hardly going to convince him otherwise.’
‘And you didn’t know the guy?’
‘Never seen him before. But he sounds like the same guy you chased over the wall last night.’
‘I only got the briefest look at him,’ I said, but didn’t acknowledge if it was the same man or not. I couldn’t be certain.
‘We should call the cops,’ Clayton said, ‘and let them know what’s happened.’
I looked sharply back at the house. The rain was diminishing, and I could see the hazy lights from the upper floors above the treetops. ‘We should get back to Cole,’ I corrected him. ‘I’ll phone Detective VanMeter as soon as I’ve checked on him.’
Clayton nodded at my wisdom, pushed away from the wall, and set off down the drive. ‘Wait up,’ I said, ‘there’s something you have to do first. Lock that goddamn gate.’
He turned and peered at me, angrily working his jaw. ‘Who pays your wage?’ With that he didn’t wait for an answer but turned and marched off, the shells crunching under his deliberate footsteps.
11
‘Joe, things are kind of hectic for me right now,’ said Bryony VanMeter as she stood in the back yard of a house a few miles to the south of Andrew Clayton’s place. The storm had passed but water still cascaded from the eaves of the house and the nearby live oak trees. The waves out on Old Tampa Bay were rougher than she had seen them in years, but the storm had passed. Wisps of steam rose from the boardwalk at the edge of the sea, and from Bryony’s damp clothing. There were cops in numbers all over the place, and flashlight beams danced each direction she looked, reflecting off the wet walls and rooftops, as if their wielders expected to find a robber clinging to one of those surfaces in a desperate bid to escape discovery. They were wasting their time, because the home invasion crew had been and gone before the first patrol car arrived. Thankfully the homeowners were unhurt, and because the crew knew the game was up they’d fled the scene without any ill-gotten gains.
A cordon had been thrown in place, but neither Bryony nor any of the other cops on the scene believed the robbers were still inside it. The elderly homeowners had been disturbed from sleep by a ringing phone when the company responsible for monitoring their alarms called to check their authenticity via a code word. This was prior to alerting the police to the break-in to avoid a false call out. Only then did anyone know the house was actually under attack. When the husband hit the audible alarm and he and his wife barricaded themselves inside their panic room, and half their neighbourhood was roused by the wailing klaxon and flashing beacons the gang had fled, but not before a number of witnesses had stumbled from their front doors. There were thirteen eye witnesses at last count, but sadly not one of who could give a good description of the robbers or the vehicles they’d made off in. Perhaps the police would glean more facts with pointed questioning later, but right now Bryony felt everything about the situation was in chaos. She could do without Hunter complicating matters.
‘I won’t keep you,’ Joe said, in that matter-of-fact way of his, but he didn’t mean he was going to hang up, quite the opposite. He intended carrying on, but would be concise and to the point. That was one blessing.
‘Tell me,’ she sighed.
‘Clayton was just assaulted at his front gate. Could have been by the same man I chased last night.’
‘Parker Quinn,’ she said, recalling the identifying hair found on the dropped glove.
‘No, not Quinn, this was a totally different person. I met Quinn earlier, don’t forget.’
He had indeed. And Bryony trusted that he wasn’t mistaken this time. But if Hunter had seen the same man he chased yesterday evening, how could the glove he’d dropped contain hair matching the sample taken from Parker Quinn? She
‘And you didn’t know the guy?’
‘Never seen him before. But he sounds like the same guy you chased over the wall last night.’
‘I only got the briefest look at him,’ I said, but didn’t acknowledge if it was the same man or not. I couldn’t be certain.
‘We should call the cops,’ Clayton said, ‘and let them know what’s happened.’
I looked sharply back at the house. The rain was diminishing, and I could see the hazy lights from the upper floors above the treetops. ‘We should get back to Cole,’ I corrected him. ‘I’ll phone Detective VanMeter as soon as I’ve checked on him.’
Clayton nodded at my wisdom, pushed away from the wall, and set off down the drive. ‘Wait up,’ I said, ‘there’s something you have to do first. Lock that goddamn gate.’
He turned and peered at me, angrily working his jaw. ‘Who pays your wage?’ With that he didn’t wait for an answer but turned and marched off, the shells crunching under his deliberate footsteps.
11
‘Joe, things are kind of hectic for me right now,’ said Bryony VanMeter as she stood in the back yard of a house a few miles to the south of Andrew Clayton’s place. The storm had passed but water still cascaded from the eaves of the house and the nearby live oak trees. The waves out on Old Tampa Bay were rougher than she had seen them in years, but the storm had passed. Wisps of steam rose from the boardwalk at the edge of the sea, and from Bryony’s damp clothing. There were cops in numbers all over the place, and flashlight beams danced each direction she looked, reflecting off the wet walls and rooftops, as if their wielders expected to find a robber clinging to one of those surfaces in a desperate bid to escape discovery. They were wasting their time, because the home invasion crew had been and gone before the first patrol car arrived. Thankfully the homeowners were unhurt, and because the crew knew the game was up they’d fled the scene without any ill-gotten gains.
A cordon had been thrown in place, but neither Bryony nor any of the other cops on the scene believed the robbers were still inside it. The elderly homeowners had been disturbed from sleep by a ringing phone when the company responsible for monitoring their alarms called to check their authenticity via a code word. This was prior to alerting the police to the break-in to avoid a false call out. Only then did anyone know the house was actually under attack. When the husband hit the audible alarm and he and his wife barricaded themselves inside their panic room, and half their neighbourhood was roused by the wailing klaxon and flashing beacons the gang had fled, but not before a number of witnesses had stumbled from their front doors. There were thirteen eye witnesses at last count, but sadly not one of who could give a good description of the robbers or the vehicles they’d made off in. Perhaps the police would glean more facts with pointed questioning later, but right now Bryony felt everything about the situation was in chaos. She could do without Hunter complicating matters.
‘I won’t keep you,’ Joe said, in that matter-of-fact way of his, but he didn’t mean he was going to hang up, quite the opposite. He intended carrying on, but would be concise and to the point. That was one blessing.
‘Tell me,’ she sighed.
‘Clayton was just assaulted at his front gate. Could have been by the same man I chased last night.’
‘Parker Quinn,’ she said, recalling the identifying hair found on the dropped glove.
‘No, not Quinn, this was a totally different person. I met Quinn earlier, don’t forget.’
He had indeed. And Bryony trusted that he wasn’t mistaken this time. But if Hunter had seen the same man he chased yesterday evening, how could the glove he’d dropped contain hair matching the sample taken from Parker Quinn? She
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