“Seriously?” Ms. Baker only nodded.
As I looked at the size of the bag, I decided whatever had been in that thing had to be small. It was a fancy evening bag with just enough space to hold a few things: lipstick, powder, maybe a credit card. I remembered that much because it was what my mother would carry in her evening bag when she and my father went out.
“Ms. Baker, may I ask what you think would fit inside that lining?” Spitzer asked.
“Not much. Some small paper notes, maybe? Cash? Perhaps a key? That’s about it, I think.”
I glanced at Spitzer before smiling at Ms. Baker. “Thank you for your time.”
The three of us left the store and walked to a table near a coffee cart. We sat, and Fitz and I stared at Spitzer.
“I have no idea what the hell would have been in that purse.”
I wasn’t sure if I could believe Spitzer’s bullshit. The guy was a detective, but he could have been playing with us to see if we knew something we hadn’t told him. Hell, if I were still in law enforcement, I probably would have made the same play.
I had a thought. “Do you think they keep records on how you get these items to sell? Are they on consignment, or does the store buy them outright and sell them, keeping the money?” Seemed like an avenue that hadn’t been explored.
Spitzer perked up. “Yeah. I’m going back in.”
I wasn’t going to be left behind. We followed Spitzer back into the store and found Ms. Baker returning the purse to the shelf.
“Ms. Baker, one more thought. Do you have any records for the purse we have in evidence? If so, I’d like to have copies. I didn’t see anything else in the evidence bag.”
Ms. Baker rushed away and returned a moment later with a copy of a receipt for the purchase of the purse. Unfortunately, the name of the person who sold the purse was left blank.
I turned to Spitzer. “How’d Maria get caught?” I had a feeling Maria wasn’t the one to rip that lining.
Spitzer pulled out his phone and seemed to scroll for a minute. “A clerk gave a statement that she noticed Maria didn’t have her purchase in a bag when she walked out. The clerk called mall security, and they came along just as she tossed the handbag into a trash can. They asked her to show them a receipt, but she didn’t have one, and she said the Chimi bag wasn’t hers. They got it out of the trash can and called unis.”
We left the store and returned to our table at the café. Maybe I was making a mountain out of a molehill? “What do you think?” I asked Fitz.
“Where did Maria work?” He aimed his question at Spitzer.
“Uh…” Spitzer pulled out his phone and scrolled through it for a moment. “Horseshoe Casino as a cocktail waitress.” He glanced up at Fitz and me, likely trying to gauge our interest.
Fitz chuckled. “Back when I was a marshal in the Dallas field office, there was a case with a smash-and-grab gang. The group was a dozen or so men and two women we knew about.
“It all involved sending information the old-fashioned way—paper and pen. The store employee would get a call from a burner phone. It was the location scout—whom we never caught and nobody was ever able to identify—relaying the location of the next robbery.
“The employee would then slip a piece of paper with the address and a schedule of comings and goings into the item to be purchased, and then she’d create an order ticket with an independent delivery app, listing the name of the item and the shelf location in the store. There were three independent shoppers, one of whom would get the order and pick up the item to deliver to the gang’s leader. From there, and with the information provided, he’d set up the schedule for the group to go in and rob the place blind.
“None of the parties were connected in any way, but both women worked at the same big-box store, though we had a hard time tracking down the third person. We got most of the gang because of the shopper’s testimony, which was why we had to provide protection for her.”
Spitzer grinned. “Damn, you think Maria was working a similar scam?”
Fitz shrugged. “Maybe she was blackmailed into doing it? Would your snitch know shit like that?”
I didn’t even have to open my mouth. That was a great thing.
“I’ll ask him. I need to get back to the office.” Spitzer stood to leave, but something wasn’t right.
I stood too. “Hang on. What aren’t you telling me…us? Something is missing here, Detective. There’s something you’re not telling us.”
Spitzer smirked. “Last I knew, neither of you is a cop anymore. Have a good day, gentlemen.”
I was fucking pissed. That was a shit move on Spitzer’s part, but since he’d already introduced us to Ms. Baker as agents—not bail recovery agents—I was willing to press my luck.
“Let’s go back to the store and ask Ms. Baker a few more questions before we head over to Horseshoe to talk to some of Maria’s coworkers.”
