Green's Way. Juli Bunting
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Samantha Green. I work for the Brownfield’s insurance company.” He shook Samantha’s hand and then looked rather anxiously toward the back of the house.
“Well nice to meet you, Samantha Green.” And as soon as he had appeared, the blonde Adonis walked away and disappeared into the pool house. Damn. She hadn’t even gotten his name.
“Ms. Green?” Samantha turned around to see a strikingly attractive middle-aged Latina woman in a tailored navy blue suit and yellow blouse holding out her hand. “My name is Lupe Martinez. I am the Brownfield’s personal assistant here at the house. I understand you have some questions for me about the burglary.”
Samantha found Mrs. Martinez eager to help. She seemed genuinely distressed at the loss of the paintings.
“They are very valuable and beautiful paintings. The photos you have don’t begin to do them justice.” Samantha liked Mrs. Martinez immediately and knew she could probably get whatever information she needed from this woman who seemed very dedicated to the Brownfields. Of course Sam had yet to meet the Brownfields and wondered when they would be available for her to interview. After their brief conversation, Mrs. Martinez took Sam on a tour of the mansion and showed her all the spots where paintings had been taken. The police had finished dusting for fingerprints and looking for other evidence, so Sam was free to snoop a little at each site. She didn’t see anything that indicated anything unusual. It merely looked as if the paintings had been removed for cleaning or re-hanging.
When she finished at the Brownfield mansion, she headed to the police station where she met with the burglary investigator from the case. He was more helpful than most cops she dealt with, but he was also unusual in that he was assigned to high-end fine art theft. Most cops saw her more as a pain in the ass than as an asset, but this detective seemed to welcome her involvement. In most of her other cases where the cops looked down at her, she just turned on the charm and played the dumb insurance investigator so the smarty pants cop could guide her along and feel superior.
But this cop in Orlando was very helpful. His name was Detective Marco Reyes and he gave her a complete list of all the workers near the mansion that day. It was a copy of the list Mrs. Martinez had given her earlier, and she put it in her briefcase. Detective Reyes showed her the crime scene investigator’s report and, according to it, absolutely no fingerprints were found at the scene near the places where the paintings were taken. Sam asked about it.
“Isn’t it unusual not to find ANY fingerprints near those paintings? I mean, didn’t you expect to at least find the cleaning crew’s fingerprints?” Sam thought it was very curious.
“Yes ma’am. Obviously the perps used gloves and not only used gloves, but completely wiped down any areas they touched. We found very few fingerprints anywhere we dusted in the entire house. And we dusted desks and nightstands, anything in close proximity to the paintings. These perps are pros for sure.” Detective Reyes looked at Sam like he wanted to say something more but glanced at the detective sitting at a nearby desk and seemed to think better of it.
“Yeah, we will probably never know who took those paintings and I doubt we’ll ever recover them.” Sam looked at the nearby detective who had just spoken. He was in general burglary detail and did some of the initial crime scene investigation.
“Why do you say that, Detective? Don’t you think the paintings are here in Orlando?” Sam wondered why the detective was so skeptical.
“Well, no, actually, I don’t. My guess is those paintings are long gone from Orlando.” And with that, he dismissed Sam by picking up the desk phone and dialing.
*****
Now back at her townhouse, Sam turned on the TV, took out her laptop, and poured a glass of wine. She took out her case file and began with the list of employees who were present the day of the burglary. She noticed that the lists were identical with the exception of one instance. On Mrs. Martinez’ list, there was a notation, handwritten, that said the following:
“Workman from Residence Resonance.”
“Good grief, that’s a mouthful.” But more than the weird alliteration the company had chosen for their name, Sam was struck by the fact that this workman did not show up anywhere on the list given to her by the police department. That’s weird, she thought as she took a sip of her wine. She was about to spread some cheese on a cracker when her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but knew the 407 area code meant it was an Orlando number.
“Hello, this is Samantha.”
“Hello Ms. Green. This is Detective Reyes. We met this afternoon regarding the Brownfield case?” Samantha pictured the short, stocky investigator who was so helpful earlier in the day.
“Yes, hello detective. What can I do for you?”
“I have some information I think you might be interested in that was not in our report.” The young detective was talking rather fast with a bit more pronounced Spanish accent than she had remembered. “But I’d like it if you kept the fact that I’m giving it to you confidential.”
“Of course, Detective Reyes. How do you want to do this? Is there somewhere we should meet?”
“There’s a sports bar on North Alafaya called Friendly Confines. I’m not sure where you’re staying, but this place is in Waterford Lakes and I know none of my fellow officers are likely to show up there.”
“Well, sure, Detective. I’m on Cardinal Meadow Trail, not far from the Brownfield’s, and I have a GPS in my car so I’m sure…”
“Oh, then it won’t take you long to get to this place. How about we meet in, say, forty-five minutes?”
“Sure, Detective. See you then.” Samantha hung up the phone and immediately Googled Friendly Confines in Waterford Park. He was right, she thought. It wouldn’t take her long at all to get there. She wondered what information he had for her and why on earth he didn’t want anyone in the police department to know he was giving it to her.
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