Read Online Grave Consequences by Aimée Thurlo - Free Book Online Page B

and the dark blue pants he wore were used, faded, and stained. Today he was “Martinez,” according to the name tag above the pocket, an employee of a well-known local home heating-and-cooling outfit. Al had on a similar uniform. They were now approaching the target residence in a rented white van with one of those magnetic signs on each door.
    The northeast Albuquerque neighborhood of mostly earth-tone stucco homes was upper-middle class, with houses Charlie judged would sell for 300K or more. There were only a few cars in the matching concrete driveways and they were all recent models. In his experience, the fewer cars on a residential street, the more prosperous the neighborhood.
    â€œWhose house are we busting into, anyway?” Charlie asked as they came to a halt at a stop sign. He adjusted the white cap with the company logo so the bill was lower over his forehead.
    â€œIt belongs to some university professor who’s on sabbatical in Latin America, a friend of Detective DuPree. The house sitter is going to be away all day. I’m taking a couple of expensive watches, a Bose system, and an antique Colt pistol,” Al added.
    â€œAnd the next-door neighbors are at work?”
    â€œThey’re supposed to be,” Al said.
    â€œOur cover is that we’re changing filters, checking out the systems, stuff like that—right?” Charlie asked.
    Al nodded as he pulled up in front of the target house. Next, he brought up a clipboard and filled out a fake work order while they casually checked for witnesses or curious neighbors up and down the street. Residential burglars usually worked fast, so the plan was to take their time to avoid suspicion.
    â€œLooks clear to me, no faces visible at windows, nobody outside at the moment,” Charlie announced. “We need to stay casual. We’re supposed to be here.”
    â€œLet’s go for it. You get the box of filters, I’ll get the tools,” Al said, climbing out. “We should be here at least fifteen or twenty minutes to make it look legit.” He brought out an overhead garage door control, pushed the button, and it opened as they unloaded their stuff.
    Five minutes later, Charlie was replacing the furnace air filter while Al was in the house, tracking down the items they were “stealing” and placing them in the empty filter box. Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw a bald-headed Anglo man in tan shorts and T-shirt, about sixty years old at the end of the driveway, look toward him, and then back at the truck.
    The man walked halfway up the drive, looked at the sign on the truck, then called out. “Where’s D.J.? His car’s gone.”
    â€œExcuse me?” Charlie replied. “There’s just me and my supervisor here today. Scheduled maintenance, changing filters, checking out the system.”
    â€œCan I help you, sir?” Al said, coming out of the garage door leading into the house, carrying the filter box.
    â€œI’m with the neighborhood watch. Jorge asked me to keep an eye on the place while he was away. There’s supposed to be a house sitter, but I don’t see his car.”
    â€œThat’s not it?” Charlie nodded toward the burgundy Mercedes in the garage.
    â€œD.J. drives an old Acura,” the man said, turning to look down the street.
    Al sat down the box and took a small notebook out of his pocket. “This is Professor Wheeler’s house, isn’t it? San Ignacio Road, Number 2088.” Al turned to check the house number running along the trim of the porch. “All we got was a key and a work order. This job was scheduled months ago.”
    â€œRight address, right name,” the man replied. “I guess D.J. is in class.”
    â€œWe’re about done here,” Charlie said, picking up the toolbox. “Maybe you should stick around until we leave, if that’s a problem.”
    The man looked at the box on the concrete