V Is for Vengeance

apart.”
    “Looking for the photographs.”
    “Probably,” she said. “I told him I’d call the cops if he didn’t get the hell out. He left and I thought that might be the end of it, but then he stopped again here demanding to search the shop. I’d already talked to my boss and he said not without a warrant, so now Sergeant Priddy’s gone off to get one. Door opened just now, I thought it was him.”
    “A warrant based on what? He’s yanking your chain. It’s a fishing expedition, pure and simple. How’s he going to find a judge who’ll sign off on that? He has to show probable cause.”
    “He said he was almost sure he’d get an anonymous phone tip.”
    “He’s bullshitting.”
    “Maybe so, but what if he’s not?”
    “I take it Pinky’s here.”
    She didn’t nod but she dropped her eyes, conceding the point. “I was thinking once it got dark, I’d put him in the trunk of my car and take him someplace else. What do you suggest?”
    I shook my head. “Bad idea. Len’s probably planted someone to keep an eye on you, so it’s better if you stay put.”
    “What about you? He says it’s just for tonight.”
    “Len’ll be watching me the way he’s watching you. He knows darn well Pinky’s on the premises, so he’ll anticipate any attempt to get him out of here and into a car. Doesn’t matter whose. They’ll make a traffic stop using some excuse and that’ll be the end of it.”
    “We have to do something.”
    “I’m taking off. The longer I stay, the more it’s going to look like we’re hatching a scheme.”
    “You’re leaving me?”
    “Briefly. I have an idea and if it works, you’ll see me sooner than you think. Just don’t make a move until I get back.”
    “Okay.”
    Once I was out of the shop, I proceeded to the corner at a leisurely pace. I was operating on the assumption that anyone watching would note my departure and then be forced to choose whether to follow me or stick with June. I turned right onto the side street, but instead of returning to my car, I continued walking until I reached Chapel. If Len had assigned a vehicle surveillance, the focus would probably be on the Grabber Blue Mustang. As long as that stayed where it was, I thought I might move with some degree of freedom. I crossed Chapel and went up to the next intersection, which put me in the same block as the consignment store.
    I went in. The woman at the counter looked up and greeted me warmly, a practice meant to discourage shoplifters, who prefer to go unnoticed. I circled the store, browsing through racks of garments, with a particular eye to coats. The temperatures in Santa Teresa sink into the forties and fifties at night, and while heavy outerwear is uncommon, there’s always a demand for something lightweight. I checked a couple of price tags and felt myself blanch. This was secondhand clothing, which I assumed was synonymous with “cheap.” Not so here. I tried to picture my last credit card statement, wondering if I had the wherewithal to charge the five or six hundred bucks the shop was asking. I’m a stickler for paying off my monthly balance if I charge at all, but I couldn’t remember what my limit was. Had to be close to ten grand. I stopped and thought about the situation. I had good reason to believe the shop was tied to an organized retail-theft ring, which meant the woman who ran the place was a scofflaw. So why was I searching my conscience when she was the cheater? She appeared to my right.
    “Can I help you with something in particular?”
    “I’m looking for a winter coat. Is this all you have?”
    “Let me check in the back. I have a few items that came in I haven’t had a chance to ring into the system.”
    She disappeared into the rear of the store and returned moments later with two coats on hangers. One was a double-breasted camel-hair coat for $395, plus change. The other, a full-length black shearling for a nifty $500.
    “That one,” I said, pointing to the camel hair.
    “Very nice. Let’s see how it fits.”
    She helped me slip my arms into the sleeves and then she adjusted the coat at the shoulder until it sat properly. She directed me to the wall-mounted mirror nearby, and I modeled the coat, taking a look at myself from the rear. It actually looked pretty good. “Kind of pricey, isn’t it?”
    “This is from Lord and Taylor. It retailed originally for fifteen hundred dollars.”
    “Oh. Well, I guess I better snap it up,” I said.
    I waited while