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Jack Stevens stopped chewing. With a trembling hand he placed the half-eaten sandwich back in his lunchbox. He sat still, listening. Ten years as night guard at Haywards Electrical Components warehouse had given Jack familiarity with the night noises of the building. The alien sound had come from the back of the building. Jack stood, adjusted his gun in its holster, picked up his torch, and left the office. Walking between the rows of pallet-packed shelves, he paused now and then to listen. At the rear entrance door he slid the bolt back with slow cautious movements, turned the knob and pushed. The metal door swung open. He thumbed the on button of the torch and swung the powerful beam around the yard. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Jack stepped outside. An arm encircled his neck from behind, pulling him back off balance. A hand pressed a fabric pad over his nose and mouth. Oblivion.
Jack told his tale when the Warehouse staff found him bound and gagged the next morning. Police scrutiny of the case had produced nothing substantial to date. The Insurance Company thought they could smell something. My phone buzzed Wednesday morning. John from Mutual Atlantic. “Hullo Charles, we have something we would like you to look into. You may be aware of the Hayward Electrical break in?”
“Yes, I noticed it in the papers. How can I help?”
“Look everything over and tell us what you think. We will arrange access to the business for you with the management.”
“Ok, send me the details I’ll need, and I’ll start on it.”
I had no contract with Mutual Atlantic Insurance. They called me now and then when something came up. My work had saved them money in the past and it kept them coming back.
After reading through the paperwork they forwarded, I did not blame them for having misgivings. I drew up a list of question raising occurrences during the robbery. Security cameras are everywhere in the building except the rear. The hoodlums entered through the rear door. Did they know about the lack of cameras in that vicinity? Once inside, they sprayed every security camera within reach with black paint. They used a Company ladder to get too some of them. How did they know the camera locations? The gang took many of the most valuable components ($50,000 worth). The time needed to get those components out of the building suggests pre-knowledge of the whereabouts of said components among thousands of items in the warehouse.
A face to face with Jack Stevens to hear his story again, was my first task. His bosses prevented me from doing so. They had granted him three weeks leave to recover from the ordeal. They did not want him bothered with more interviews or questions.
The Police figured the thieves used the Cemetery at the back of the warehouse to get their vehicle close enough to load. An asphalt road runs around the perimeter of the Cemetery hugging the wire fence all the way. The thugs loaded their vehicle through a hole cut in the fence. A quick repair job fooled nobody. The Cemetery confirmed the severing of the chain on the front gate that night.
I took a quick look around the warehouse. My primary purpose was to request copies of the few seconds of video footage before the blacking out of the cameras, from each camera, be sent to my eighteen-year-old nephew Walter. Walter is my Computer whiz kid. I am woefully behind the times when it comes to Computers. I read and send email and Google search. That’s about it. It delighted Walter when I offered him work to supplement his Uni studies. I pay him an hourly rate for time on his computer for me, and the occasional bonus for exceptional results. Walter has the benefit of a Mensa level IQ and is one of those teenage nerds who is at ease and skilled in all things Internet and Computer. If the footage had anything useful Walter would find it.
I rang Walter and let him know the footage was coming. All signs pointed to insider assistance. An employee getting part of the take for passing on information crucial to the success of the heist. For my money Jack Stevens was top of the insider suspect list. Was his story a lie? Did he open the rear door for the gang, help them with pilfering the components, and allow himself to be bound and gagged when they finished.
My experience is crooks always make mistakes. The hard part is finding where they have slipped up. If I could not talk to Jack Stevens, I could do the next best thing. The most basic of private Investigator activities, surveillance. I decided to do three days of watching the comings and goings at Jack’s house. Maybe something would turn up.
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Jack lived opposite a small park with a kid’s playground and a few trees. The house was a small bungalow style home with steps leading up to a front porch. I keep a small dull pink fiat 850 for surveillance work. It’s an ordinary looking nondescript vehicle that doesn’t draw attention to itself. I figured if I pulled up on the far side of the park, the playground equipment and trees would obscure me. A small pair of binoculars enabled a closer look if needed.
I was there from 10am to 8pm. On the third day all I had seen of interest was Jack loading two boxes into his vehicle and driving off. And later a white van delivering two similar boxes to Jack’s house. The binoculars would not pick up the markings on the boxes much to my annoyance. At 7.30 pm on the third day it was getting dark. I was ready to give it up as a failed idea. Dinner from MacDonald’s drive through on the way home, and that would be the end of it.
Then boom !!, my driver’s side window exploded. My first thought was a bullet. It showered me with glass. I threw myself flat on the bench seat with my arms over my head for protection. If it was a bullet it had missed me. I could feel no pain. The bedlam continued. Some hotshot was slamming the car with a baseball bat or an iron bar. The onslaught continued as the assailant smashed the windscreen, bonnet, roof, rear window, side windows, and side panels. I stayed down. This time the target was the car not me. The goon finished his work and disappeared into the darkness. I never got a look at him.
In the trade we call that a burn. When the target of your surveillance spots you and realizes what you are doing. I was shaking, from fury. I owed this guy one. I knocked a hole in the smashed windscreen, and with chilly night air blasting my face, managed to drive home.
Later in the evening an excited phone call came through from Walter. “Uncle Charles I found something on the video footage.” I have said to Walter he can call me Charlie or Charles. He prefers to stick with Uncle Charles.
“Great Walter, I’ll be over in the morning.”
Attacking my car was a mistake by the hoodlums. Innocent people might not like your surveillance, but they do not fly into a violent rage and smash your car. Guilty people do that. Jack’s people had unwittingly shown me I was on the right track.
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As I watched, Walter moved the video footage across his screen, frame by frame. “I couldn’t get anything from the cameras they sprayed from the floor.” He pointed. “They used the ladder for this one. I’ll zoom in and you’ll see.”
The detail became clearer and part of an arm with a tattoo came into focus. A red heart with Eddie loves Amy written across it. “That’s it, Uncle Charles.”
It wasn’t much, but it was something. All we had to do now was find the owner of the arm. As Charlie Chan said, “fingerprints very valuable if detective can catch owner of fingers.” Tattoo on arm very valuable if detective can catch owner of arm.
“Walter can you find details of Jack Stevens immediate family, brothers and sisters etc? We’ll start there.”
“Sure that will be easy. I’ll call you when I’m finished.”
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Walter soon came back to me with an enthusiastic call. “We’ve got them Uncle Charles.”
“What have you got Walter?”
“Jack Stevens has a brother named Edward. His wife’s name is Amy.”
Gotcha !!
“Do you have Edward Stevens phone number there?”
I noted the number. I called John at Mutual Atlantic Insurance and explained what we had found and what I planned to do. I suggested he inform the boys in blue.
Most of us at one time or another as kid’s, have come across an ant’s nest, or a column of ants going about their orderly business. An obstacle placed in the path of the column, or a stick poked into a nest, has ants racing about everywhere in disarray. I was about to poke a stick into the operations of the Stevens brothers.
I gave it three hours then rung Edward Stevens.
“Hullo, Ed Stevens.”
“You don’t know me Mr Stevens. I’m in the market for a large quantity of electrical components. Transistors, resistors, capacitors, fuses, relays, switches, circuit breakers and the like. The word on the street is you have supplies of high-quality components at below wholesale prices.”
“Who’s speaking?”
“I prefer to remain anonymous for the moment Mr Stevens.”
“Who told you I have these items?”
“I prefer to keep that to myself also Mr Stevens. Can you supply me with those components at that price level?”
“No I can’t. I don’t know what you are talking about. Goodbye.” He terminated the call.
The call ended my involvement in the case. Mutual Atlantic included a memo on subsequent events with the healthy cheque I received in the mail.
The Cops in the plain car watching Edward Stevens house saw a flurry of activity shortly after I called him. Panic was evident. Frantic transferring of boxes from the house into a white van standing in the driveway took place. Once loaded, the van fled the driveway and headed for Jack's house, followed at a distance by the plain Police car. More hasty transferring of boxes from Jack’s house to the van eventuated. As the van rolled out of Jack’s driveway the appearance of two plain police vehicles halted the exit. Police arrested two cousins of the brothers later in the day.
I figured Walter was deserving of a bonus for this one.
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