LITMIR.BIZ

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do, yeah.”

      “My wife swears by horehound drops. Might want to try some.”

      A polite invitation, coffee, an offer to add cream to that coffee, and now some fatherly advice. No, this was not good.

      “I’ll do that,” Luke said, and waited.

      McDowell sat back in his chair and tented his fingers under his chin. “Well,” he said, “you must be wondering why I called you in today.”

      Luke said nothing. Back when he was a marine, he’d learned the drill. Keep your mouth shut and wait. You’d find out what was going on sooner or later. That worked in a cop’s world, too.

      McDowell cleared his throat, rose from his desk and walked to a wall map of Seattle. He stabbed a finger at the northwestern section of the city and raised an eyebrow at Luke.

      “Some very expensive real estate up here,” he said.

      Luke muffled a sneeze. “Uh-huh.”

      “I guess you’ve heard about the robberies in the area the last few months.”

      Now they were getting down to it. Luke began to relax. Maybe he’d misjudged things. Maybe McDowell was the victim of another management seminar, this one on issuing summonses to his office that didn’t sound like summonses.

      “I heard something about a cat burglar doing his thing.”

      “At first. But our perp’s gone from playing it cool and careful to strong-arm tactics. Comes in when he knows somebody’s home, frightens them half to death, roughs them up if they don’t move fast enough.”

      “Sounds like a real nice guy.”

      “Uh-huh. His taste is good, too. He takes only what they call estate jewelry, meaning it’s old and expensive.”

      “What more do we know?”

      “Well, we had a report of one of the missing pieces possibly turning up on the market.”

      “Possibly?”

      “Yeah. And not in your usual kind of market, Sloan. This wasn’t a pawnshop.”

      “What was it, then?”

      The lieutenant sat down behind his desk. “Ever hear of the Emerald City Jewelry Exchange?”

      “Sure. Big place, expensive by the looks of it. On a street over in Belltown.” Luke cocked his head. “Wait a minute. Are you saying somebody at Emerald City is fencing stolen jewelry?”

      The lieutenant allowed himself a quick smile. “I’m not saying a thing. Not yet.”

      “But?”

      “But a lady called last week, all upset. Said she’d just come from there and swore she spotted a necklace that was the duplicate of one stolen from her. It was lying in a corner of a display case.”

      “And?”

      “Let’s put it this way. The lady in question is ninety-three, wears a hearing aid in each ear and glasses thick as Coke bottles. During the original interview, she told the detective who took the squeal that she’s being pestered by aliens from outer space who talk to her through her Persian cat.”

      Luke grinned. “Uh-huh.”

      “The detective paid her another visit, chatted with a maid who said the old girl’s okay most of the time but, well, every now and then she has a little trouble with reality.”

      “Not the world’s most reliable complainant,” Luke said with a nod.

      “On the other hand, the maid was with her that day. She says when the old woman gasped and pointed at the corner of the case, she looked, too, and she thinks maybe it really was the necklace.”

      “Maybe?”

      McDowell shrugged. “‘Maybe’s’ about it.”

      “Did they say anything to anybody in the store?”

      “No, not a word. They went straight outside and phoned us.”

      “So, what we’ve got is an old lady with a screw loose, and a maid who thinks maybe she saw something . . . and maybe she didn’t.”

      “Exactly. That’s why we have to move carefully on this.”

      “I assume somebody checked the display case in the store.”

      “Sure. The detective went in, she took a look, didn’t see a thing.”

      “And she interviewed the people who work at the exchange?”

      McDowell shifted uncomfortably in his swivel chair. “The place is owned by Julian Black. Name ring any bells? No? Well, Black’s at the top of the food chain. Good-looking guy, rich, supposed to be as honest as George Washington . . . and he’s active in civic affairs.”

      Luke folded his arms. “You mean, he knows all the right people.”

      “You say that like it’s an obscenity, Sloan, but that’s how things work. Black’s on a first-name basis with the governor, he served on the mayor’s recent ad hoc arts commission, and I’d be a fool to drag this department into a swamp until I know how deep the mud’s going to get.”

      “Simply interviewing his clerks wouldn’t be . . . ”

      “It would,” McDowell said firmly. “Seattle’s best families buy their toys at Emerald City. The last thing people like that want is cops swarming over the place, giving it a bad name.”

      “Yeah. Okay. I can see that.”

      “I thought you would. That’s why you’re going to set up a surveillance.”

      Luke nodded. He hated doing surveillance. It was almost as dull as watching grass grow, but that was where he’d figured this was going.

      “Okay.”

      “You’ll have a camcorder so you can get tape of anything that looks interesting.”

      “Where am I doing this? In a van on the street or is there a parking lot?”

      For the first time since their meeting had started, McDowell looked uncomfortable.

      “We’ve arranged for you to set up the camera and equipment across the street, at a place where you can have an unimpeded view of the exchange, where you can hang around for hours and nobody will figure you for a cop.”

      Luke frowned, thought about the street the exchange was on, and came up with what he assumed was the place he’d be setting up shop.

      “I’ve got it. That caf;aae—what’s it called? Caffeine something.” He snapped his fingers. “Caffeine Hy’s. Yeah, I guess that’ll work.” He grinned as he began to rise from his chair. “Although I’ll probably swear off coffee by the time I—”

      “Not the coffee shop.”

      “No?” Luke sank into the seat again. “Maybe I’m thinking of the wrong street.”

      “You’ve got the right street, Sloan, just the wrong spot for the stakeout.” McDowell picked up a pencil and tapped it on the edge of his desk. “You’re going into the Forrester Square Day Care Center.”

      Luke blinked. “What?”

      “I said, we’re setting you up in—”

      “A day care center?”

      “Right.”

      “Day care for what?” Luke said slowly. “Dogs? Cats? Canaries?”

      “Very funny.” McDowell’s voice was flat. “Kids. Babies through kindergarten. You’re going to be a teacher’s aide.”

      Luke stared at the lieutenant. He thought about what he knew about kids, which was exactly zero. He thought

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