a few yards from his desk. Handwritten notes and jagged scratch-outs covered the fanned yellow sheets. A few minutes ago, the pages rattled merrily when Jack threw the pad in frustration. Tantrums were juvenile and counterproductive. That's why they felt so good.
His bowlegged, knee-bent scuttle to fetch the tablet was peculiar to the elderly, toddlers and those whose spines had conformed to nonergonomic chairs. Jack plopped the pad on the desk, then stretched for the ceiling's acoustic tiles. Crackles and pops sounded like chicken bones in a garbage disposal. He yawned so hard that black specks jittered behind his eyelids.
"Think," he said, still standing, his hands thrust in his trouser pockets. "Gerry Abramson isn't paying you to be dense."
Centered amid the paper rampart he'd dutifully studied was a street map photocopied and pieced together from the Park City phone directory. A colorful four-by-six-foot Chamber of Commerce version was framed on the wall, but the compact tape-job better suited the purpose.
Besides, he'd have to switch on the overhead to see the big one. An island of light shed by the desk lamp was cozy and less conspicuous to fat, unemployed freaks cruising Danbury Street.
Dotting the miniaturized map were color-coded flags snipped from sticky notes. Each bore the date of the previous year's and current burglaries. A pattern should have emerged. Burglars, particularly pros, as the success rate confirmed, didn't act on impulse or at random.
Eight months of inactivity presumed advance planning for this year's take, hence a corresponding level of preparation the year before. Inherent in both should be a sort of grid effect designed to throw off the cops: hit a couple of north-side homes, then south, then the eastern burbs, etc. The property-crimes unit would chase their tails all over town, unable to anticipate the thief's next move.
In hindsight, that strategy should be obvious. Jack stared at the map. Uh-huh. Sure. He might as well have thrown his ticky-tacky little flags like darts. Blindfolded.
"Gerry's wrong about every victim being out of town when the thefts occurred," he said. "Two hits were in gated communities with manned guard posts. Was it luck, happy accident or genius to hit during a whoop-de-do celebrity golf tournament and the debutante cotillion?"
No answers, including what the debs were coming out from, and how three days of brunches, lunches, teas and dinners culminating in a formal ball enabled it.
Talking to himself didn't always rouse any synapses from their stupor, either, but there was something about thinking aloud that worked better than brooding in silence.
His finger tapped each of three widely separated flags. The first marked the Calendar Burglar's alleged debut. The other pair, this year's second and fifth B & Es. "What frosts the cupcake is how he knew to rob these folks."
The majority of the robberies occurred in affluent, newer housing developments with names like Grande Vista Estates and Devonshire Downs. These particular three occurred in less target-rich environments: modest homes in older middle-class neighborhoods. The victims' net worth exceeded that of many of the McMansion dwellers, but apparently they subscribed to the antiquated notion that flaunting it was déclassé.
"A lot of Park City natives wouldn't recognize these people's names," Jack said. "They donate a lug of money to charity, but pretty much on the q.t."
Charity was big businessnonprofit status aside. The larger the organization, the larger the administrative staff. Volunteers donated time to causes they deemed worthy, and while that might apply to some on the payroll, logic asserted that for others, it was just a job. And not one that'd earn a down payment on a house in Grande Vista Estates.
Donor anonymity didn't apply to recordkeeping. Federal and state forms must be filed,
His bowlegged, knee-bent scuttle to fetch the tablet was peculiar to the elderly, toddlers and those whose spines had conformed to nonergonomic chairs. Jack plopped the pad on the desk, then stretched for the ceiling's acoustic tiles. Crackles and pops sounded like chicken bones in a garbage disposal. He yawned so hard that black specks jittered behind his eyelids.
"Think," he said, still standing, his hands thrust in his trouser pockets. "Gerry Abramson isn't paying you to be dense."
Centered amid the paper rampart he'd dutifully studied was a street map photocopied and pieced together from the Park City phone directory. A colorful four-by-six-foot Chamber of Commerce version was framed on the wall, but the compact tape-job better suited the purpose.
Besides, he'd have to switch on the overhead to see the big one. An island of light shed by the desk lamp was cozy and less conspicuous to fat, unemployed freaks cruising Danbury Street.
Dotting the miniaturized map were color-coded flags snipped from sticky notes. Each bore the date of the previous year's and current burglaries. A pattern should have emerged. Burglars, particularly pros, as the success rate confirmed, didn't act on impulse or at random.
Eight months of inactivity presumed advance planning for this year's take, hence a corresponding level of preparation the year before. Inherent in both should be a sort of grid effect designed to throw off the cops: hit a couple of north-side homes, then south, then the eastern burbs, etc. The property-crimes unit would chase their tails all over town, unable to anticipate the thief's next move.
In hindsight, that strategy should be obvious. Jack stared at the map. Uh-huh. Sure. He might as well have thrown his ticky-tacky little flags like darts. Blindfolded.
"Gerry's wrong about every victim being out of town when the thefts occurred," he said. "Two hits were in gated communities with manned guard posts. Was it luck, happy accident or genius to hit during a whoop-de-do celebrity golf tournament and the debutante cotillion?"
No answers, including what the debs were coming out from, and how three days of brunches, lunches, teas and dinners culminating in a formal ball enabled it.
Talking to himself didn't always rouse any synapses from their stupor, either, but there was something about thinking aloud that worked better than brooding in silence.
His finger tapped each of three widely separated flags. The first marked the Calendar Burglar's alleged debut. The other pair, this year's second and fifth B & Es. "What frosts the cupcake is how he knew to rob these folks."
The majority of the robberies occurred in affluent, newer housing developments with names like Grande Vista Estates and Devonshire Downs. These particular three occurred in less target-rich environments: modest homes in older middle-class neighborhoods. The victims' net worth exceeded that of many of the McMansion dwellers, but apparently they subscribed to the antiquated notion that flaunting it was déclassé.
"A lot of Park City natives wouldn't recognize these people's names," Jack said. "They donate a lug of money to charity, but pretty much on the q.t."
Charity was big businessnonprofit status aside. The larger the organization, the larger the administrative staff. Volunteers donated time to causes they deemed worthy, and while that might apply to some on the payroll, logic asserted that for others, it was just a job. And not one that'd earn a down payment on a house in Grande Vista Estates.
Donor anonymity didn't apply to recordkeeping. Federal and state forms must be filed,
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