Hallow Springs

Twenty-six

"Yeah, after I closed the bar I came upstairs and found the window broken."

"Was anything taken?"

"I had a jar of tips with about five hundred bucks there on the bookshelf. It was gone. Three weeks worth of tips saved up for nothing..." he shook his head in disbelief.

"Did you call the police?" he started chuckling at the suggestion.

"Are you kidding me? Yeah Jason Peters is going to come down here, after my lawyer made a fool of him and help me find who jacked five hundred bucks from my apartment. Oh and on top of that, put that a whole disappearance of Jeremy Wilson on the back burner for day."

He had a point, there was no use in contacting the police. There was a better chance of them planting evidence in his apartment then helping him find his missing money.

"Did they take anything else?" I noticed a slight hitch in his reaction, as if he stopped himself. This struck me as it was the first time he wasn't smooth and charming. He was so relaxed in my presence that it was disconcerting to see him tense up. I had just asked a loaded question and I could tell I was about to get an empty answer.

"No... They just wanted the cash. It was a smash and dash job if I've ever seen one."

"Are you sure?" I asked pressing down on his pressure point. He lifted his head and eyed me with calm intensity.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

I needed to turn the subject back to the cell phone if I was going to get anything else out of him. I feared that my line of questioning had thrown him off and I was in danger of sacrificing valuable intel if I continued pressing on him. "Have you found any cell phones in the bar?"

"No... but if I were you I'd check the dumpster out back. People chuck things in there all the time. They don't seem to care what signs I put up."

"When is trash day?" I asked to which his expression fell. He began shaking his head.

"Yesterday... even if it were in there, it would be long gone by now." Ansel was silent for a moment as if searching for other possibilities, but none were coming.

"Well if you hear of anything please give us a call." I flicked a business card in my hand and stood to leave.

"Will do. Thank you, Detective."

He walked me downstairs and out of the bar with a polite farewell. He didn't seem to mind that all of his customers were throwing me judgmental glances on my way out. I pushed the bar door open and walked out into the alley again where Peters and Sykes were waiting for me with empty hands.

"Nothing?" I asked. Peters shrugged his answer.

"You?"

"Your old friend Ansel Mason and I had a nice chat." Peters scowled at hearing the name.

"Really?" Peters asked with a crooked smirk.

"Well I wouldn't trust a thing that asshole says." Sykes interrupted with his typical defiant tone. "He's probably just trying to waste our time again."

There he goes again. I was getting tired of Sykes entitled shit. This wasn't his daddy's ski resort, this was the grind of police work. I slowed my gaze on him and eyed him with contempt.

"Well he did say that we should check the dumpster. Apparently, people throw stuff in there all the time. Want to go for a swim Sykes?" I pointed toward the dumpster down the alley. He snarled as he realized I wasn't asking. He considered his defeated position for a second and realized he had no outs. He then flashed me a smile that was the equivalent of a middle finger and plodded his way down toward the dumpster.

Peters and I watched as he climbed the dumpster and dropped in.

"You think it could be in there?" Peters asked.

"No... the trash came yesterday... I just wanted to see him get in there." Peters busted out into laughter. He pounded my fist in complete approval. We watched Sykes start shifting around trash for a minute until the laughter died. Peters inhaled a breath to ask a question with, while he rubbed his shoe in the dirt.

"So..." he exhaled laboriously, "...what did old Ansel tell you?" his motioned to his apartment above the garage.

"His apartment got robbed on the night that Jeremy Wilson went missing."

"Really?"

"Yeah, someone climbed the fire escape and broke the window, snagged about five hundred bucks in tips and ran."

"And?" Peters sensed that I had already developed a working theory.

"....and Sam told me that Jeremy had asked to borrow $5,000 dollars two nights before."

"You don't think...." Peters began following my logic.

"I think Jeremy Wilson was here with his phone and I think he broke into Ansel Mason's apartment, stole the cash and ran."

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