a handbag,” he observed. “But is she stealing on impulse or is it planned?”
Kerney paused to see if Ramona got his drift. Planning a crime was not what a kleptomaniac would normally do.
“I think it’s impulsive, Chief. But she seems to be putting herself at a greater risk of discovery each time out by stealing more expensive items.”
“Do you think she has just been lucky?” Kerney asked.
Ramona settled back in her chair. “Yeah, and maybe not even aware of it.”
“How so?” Kerney asked.
“Both galleries where the opening receptions were held have good surveillance systems. But when they arranged the exhibits, nobody thought to reposition the cameras. The bronze statue and the miniature oil painting were on display in blind spots within a few feet of the entrances. Easy in, easy out.”
Ramona pulled two videocassettes out of a desk drawer. “We’ve been over these tapes a dozen times, looking for people who attended both openings, looking for anybody who might have disguised themselves, looking for any sign of suspicious behavior. We’ve had the gallery owners identify as many people as they could who were in attendance, and then we followed up with interviews.”
“Did you check the mailing lists the galleries used to send out notices and invitations?”
Ramona nodded. “There was no overlap of names. But remember, these were public events, Chief. Besides the mailings that went out, there were ads in the newspaper and announcements on the radio. Plus, gallery hopping on a Friday or Saturday night is a Santa Fe tradition.”
The telephone rang. Ramona picked it up, listened, said, “Okay, I’ll be there in a few,” and disconnected.
“Let’s go with the theory it’s a woman who’s stealing for the thrill of it and unable to resist the impulse,” Kerney said. “If she’s true to form, she’ll place herself at risk again, and I’m betting it will be at another exhibit opening or show.”
“Why is that?” Ramona asked.
“Because she’s stealing for the pleasure, not profit, and has upped the excitement for herself by doing it in plain view, surrounded by other people. There are six gallery openings tonight, if we include the preview of the art-and-antiquities show at the convention center. Let’s put a detective at each gallery, and two at the convention center, which should have the biggest draw.”
“Consider it done, Chief.”
Kerney stood, pointed at Ramona, and tapped his chest with a finger. “We’ll cover the convention center together.”
“I’ll set it up.”
Kerney nodded and left. Ramona stared at the empty spot on her desk, where the photo of herself and the ex-boyfriend had once stood. The one consolation of finding out he would never get serious about their relationship was that she could once more work double shifts without feeling guilty about it.
She went looking for Detective Matt Chacon, who’d called while she’d been talking with the chief. He was in his cubicle at the far end of the bullpen, scribbling notes on a yellow pad.
Over the past several years Chacon’s thin frame had filled out and he now sported a bit of a potbelly. He looked up from the tablet, smiled good-naturedly, and pulled the ever-present toothpick out of the corner of his mouth.
“What have you got?” Ramona asked.
“Dispatch routed a call to me from Dr. Candace Robbins, a shrink. Apparently there’s a young woman named Crystal Hurley who might be suicidal.”
“Might be?”
Matt consulted his notes. “Yeah. What Robbins knows she got from Hurley’s primary psychiatrist, who called her from New York City. Seems Hurley has made several suicide attempts in the past and has been hospitalized twice for emotional problems. Hurley called her New York City shrink, a guy by the name of Benjamin Cohen, earlier in the day, and told him she had a gun and might-underline might-hurt herself with it. Robbins wanted to report that, based on what Cohen told her, Hurley might be
Kerney paused to see if Ramona got his drift. Planning a crime was not what a kleptomaniac would normally do.
“I think it’s impulsive, Chief. But she seems to be putting herself at a greater risk of discovery each time out by stealing more expensive items.”
“Do you think she has just been lucky?” Kerney asked.
Ramona settled back in her chair. “Yeah, and maybe not even aware of it.”
“How so?” Kerney asked.
“Both galleries where the opening receptions were held have good surveillance systems. But when they arranged the exhibits, nobody thought to reposition the cameras. The bronze statue and the miniature oil painting were on display in blind spots within a few feet of the entrances. Easy in, easy out.”
Ramona pulled two videocassettes out of a desk drawer. “We’ve been over these tapes a dozen times, looking for people who attended both openings, looking for anybody who might have disguised themselves, looking for any sign of suspicious behavior. We’ve had the gallery owners identify as many people as they could who were in attendance, and then we followed up with interviews.”
“Did you check the mailing lists the galleries used to send out notices and invitations?”
Ramona nodded. “There was no overlap of names. But remember, these were public events, Chief. Besides the mailings that went out, there were ads in the newspaper and announcements on the radio. Plus, gallery hopping on a Friday or Saturday night is a Santa Fe tradition.”
The telephone rang. Ramona picked it up, listened, said, “Okay, I’ll be there in a few,” and disconnected.
“Let’s go with the theory it’s a woman who’s stealing for the thrill of it and unable to resist the impulse,” Kerney said. “If she’s true to form, she’ll place herself at risk again, and I’m betting it will be at another exhibit opening or show.”
“Why is that?” Ramona asked.
“Because she’s stealing for the pleasure, not profit, and has upped the excitement for herself by doing it in plain view, surrounded by other people. There are six gallery openings tonight, if we include the preview of the art-and-antiquities show at the convention center. Let’s put a detective at each gallery, and two at the convention center, which should have the biggest draw.”
“Consider it done, Chief.”
Kerney stood, pointed at Ramona, and tapped his chest with a finger. “We’ll cover the convention center together.”
“I’ll set it up.”
Kerney nodded and left. Ramona stared at the empty spot on her desk, where the photo of herself and the ex-boyfriend had once stood. The one consolation of finding out he would never get serious about their relationship was that she could once more work double shifts without feeling guilty about it.
She went looking for Detective Matt Chacon, who’d called while she’d been talking with the chief. He was in his cubicle at the far end of the bullpen, scribbling notes on a yellow pad.
Over the past several years Chacon’s thin frame had filled out and he now sported a bit of a potbelly. He looked up from the tablet, smiled good-naturedly, and pulled the ever-present toothpick out of the corner of his mouth.
“What have you got?” Ramona asked.
“Dispatch routed a call to me from Dr. Candace Robbins, a shrink. Apparently there’s a young woman named Crystal Hurley who might be suicidal.”
“Might be?”
Matt consulted his notes. “Yeah. What Robbins knows she got from Hurley’s primary psychiatrist, who called her from New York City. Seems Hurley has made several suicide attempts in the past and has been hospitalized twice for emotional problems. Hurley called her New York City shrink, a guy by the name of Benjamin Cohen, earlier in the day, and told him she had a gun and might-underline might-hurt herself with it. Robbins wanted to report that, based on what Cohen told her, Hurley might be
Similar Books
