To Push Back the Darkness

Chapter 1“Detective Janet Vertran,” I said, shooting what I hoped was a comforting look to the lean, dark-haired man who greeted us at the variety store entrance. I gestured toward my patrol partner. “This is Detective Logan Patterson. You reported a robbery?” “I did,” the man replied. “Vincent Smithson. I own the place. I have to say, you got here fast.” Often, we heard the opposite. A sarcastic, what took you so long? or About time. But I drew little comfort from his words. “Not fast enough,” I said, gritting my teeth. This was the fourth in a string of robberies in the area over the past week. Maybe, if we were lucky, we’d catch a break that would help us solve the case. We could always hope. “Were you working the cash at the time?” “Yeah.” That single word contained mingled pride and regret. “Tuesday mornings are slow, so I just handle it.” He shrugged. “The perp waited till the store was empty, then came in through the front door…“ I swiveled my head to follow the direction the man behind the counter had pointed. “And then he waltzed up to me, gun in hand, dropped a zip-up leather bag on the counter, and demanded the contents of the till. So I gave him the money.” “Good decision,” I said, nodding. “You don’t want to tangle with somebody with a gun.” I scribbled in my notepad, then looked up. “Can you give us a description?” “I can do better than that,” Vincent said, his downcast expression brightening. “He didn’t have a disguise of any sort, and I have a hidden camera at just the right spot to catch a good view of his face. Come on back and I’ll show you.” I gave Logan a sidewise glance. He shrugged. Just go with it. I nodded. Who knew, maybe this time would be different. Though I wasn’t counting on it. Vincent led the way into a cramped office. I grimaced when the play-back began. Sure enough, the perp’s features blurred and rippled. Same effect as the other three crimes. “What the—” In the seconds it took for the play-back to run, the store proprietor’s glee morphed into a mix of puzzlement and anger. “He wore a distort device. Like the others. Until we get our hands on it, we won’t know exactly how it works,” Logan told him. “Distort field doesn’t cover the top of his head,” I said, leaning forward. “Looks like he wore a toque. Just like the others” “Weather’s a little warm for that, that’s what I thought,” Vincent said. “We’d like to take a copy of the video with us, if you don’t mind,” I turned toward the proprietor and held out a flash drive. “From the camera angle you showed us and any others, for the time frame of the robbery. There might be evidence that’ll help us.” For a moment, I thought he was going to refuse. But he’d simply sunk into a despondent funk, which seemed to dissipate as he processed my words. “Sure. It’ll just take a minute.” Vincent busied himself with that chore, seeming happy to have something to occupy his time. When he finished, I thanked him. “One more thing. We may not have video, but if you don’t mind sitting with a sketch artist—” “Yes. I’ll do that. If you think it will help?” He shot me a beseeching look, and I hesitated. Sometimes, on the police shows on TV, the characters make commitments like, “We’ll catch the guy. Don’t worry.” Me, I’m careful not to say those sorts of things. They sound nice, and they’re reassuring at the time, but it makes it sting all the harder when you can’t live up to it. When you raise false hopes. And I know all about the pain of false hopes. “Any data we can gather is beneficial,” I said as I followed Vincent to the front of the store. “You never know when one piece of information, no matter how small, is going to give you a valuable lead.” That much I could say without my conscience barking at me. It’s not what he was looking for, and we both knew it. Still, he nodded. “In that case, I will,” he said. “The thief didn’t touch anything else? You’re certain of that?” While I’d been gathering the video evidence, Logan had scouted the front of the store area, scouring for clues. Unsuccessfully, from the look on his face. “I’m certain. And he was wearing gloves, so in terms of fingerprints—” Vincent spread his hands and shrugged. “In that case, we can release the scene,” Logan said. “Best piece of news I’ve had all day,” the proprietor grunted as he headed toward the front door to flip the sign to “Open.” I followed Logan out the door, taking one last regretful look back. I’d hoped this would be our break in the case. But it looked as though the phantom robber didn’t plan on getting caught any time soon. * * * * Two hours later, back at the Precinct, Logan slapped his desk with his palm. “This’s useless,” he snorted. “Like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of a football field.” “It’s hard to know where to start when you don’t have prints or ID’s,” I admitted. “Still, the sit-down with the sketch artist might help.” “It’d better help more than what we’ve seen so far.” I knew what he meant. Without conscious intent, my gaze went to the white board where we’d tacked up the sketch artist’s images we’d gathered from the other similar cases. Same M.O. each time. And yet, the facial features rendered by the sketch artist appeared to be of different people. They leered down, as though taunting me. “Maybe it’s a gang,” Logan mused. “Sending different members each time. To spread the blame. Muddy the trail.” “Maybe. That’s assuming the witnesses don’t just have bad memories.” I sighed. “We could cross reference with the Gangs unit. See whether the M.O. fits for any of them. Especially the gangs that operate in or near the neighborhood where the robberies have been occurring.” “Happy to.” Logan shot me a sly look. “What?” I narrowed my eyes, studying my partner with suspicion. Since when does Logan volunteer to work with any of the other departments? “There’s something else we could try.” Before he could articulate what that “something” might be, the answer came to me as well. I was already starting to shake my head. “Aw, c’mon…” “I have a feeling this is going to be a tough one to crack through conventional means. Maybe PAT will see a pattern where we can’t.” I bit back a retort, and leaned back in my chair. Logan was right about that. I just wished it wasn’t up to me to make the request.