“What about a suspicious truck from the power company, where a guy is up in a cherry-picker basket supposed to be working on the lines, but instead he’s looking in bedroom windows with a zoom lens?”
“I would have noticed that,” said Courtney.
“You’d be surprised how many don’t,” said the first detective.
The second detective flipped back through his notes. “You said it’s your uncle’s place? So you’re not actually a resident of Palm Beach?”
“No, just the summer—”
The detective wrote quickly. “That changes everything.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Courtney.
“Nothing,” chimed his partner. “So you were on Worth Avenue this morning. What did you do?”
“I met someone for lunch.”
“What time?”
“Just before ten A.M.”
“That’s brunch.”
“Okay, brunch.”
“Are you changing your story?”
“No,” said Courtney. “Lunch, brunch, what’s the difference? I was robbed blind.”
“Interesting.” A pen pressed against a clipboard. “What was the name of this person you had this so-called brunch with?”
“Gustave.”
“Gustave what?”
“I don’t know,” said Courtney.
The pen came off the clipboard. “You don’t know your friend’s last name?”
The second peeked over the top of his sunglasses. “Do a lot of your friends not have last names?”
“No,” said Courtney. “I mean, when I say I met someone for lunch, I literally just met him.”
“Where?”
“On the sidewalk. He struck up a conversation and seemed nice enough, so we went to grab something to eat.”
Writing on both clipboards now. “Where did you go?”
Courtney opened her mouth, then realized she didn’t know how to say the name of the restaurant, and closed her mouth.
The first detective nodded. “I know that place.”
“Was it a long lunch?” asked the second.
“Pretty long.”
“You probably had a few drinks,” said the first. “How many?”
“Two . . . wait, three. I’m not sure.”
“Hard to remember?” More clipboard writing. “And given the hour, I’m guessing Bloody Marys.”
“Mimosas.”
“You seem to know your way pretty well around a bottle in the morning.”
“What are you implying?” said Courtney.
“Do you often discover vehicle damage you can’t remember?” said the first.
“Have all your relatives stopped lending you money?” said the second.
“No!”
“So you’ve been borrowing large amounts of money lately?”
“No!”
“Can’t keep your facts straight, can you?”
The first detective held an index finger in front of her eyes and slowly moved it side to side. “Just follow it best you can.”
“I am not a drunk!”
“Tell me, how much did you have to eat today?”
“Just one bite. And a shrimp cocktail, but it was the strangest—”
“So you’ve been drinking all morning on an empty stomach.” The first detective glanced at the second. “Gee, that fits no problem behavior model we know of.”
“Look,” said Courtney. “This polite guy asked me to lunch, we ordered— Can you please take your finger out of my face?”
“Is it making you dizzy?”
She just shook her head. “And when we were all finished at the restaurant, he got a phone call, and then he—”
“Stop,” said the first. “He got a phone call at the end of the meal?”
“And went to take it in private?” said the second.
“But he never came back,” said the first. “Sticking you with the check?”
“Probably said he had an expensive car out front?”
Courtney’s head swiveled back and forth like a tennis fan’s. “How’d you know?”
The detectives put their pens away.
Courtney looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?”
“We’ll need to get you with a sketch artist.”
“What for?”
“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’ve fallen victim to the dating bandit.”
“Dating bandit?”
“He finds his mark and follows her until he can arrange an ‘accidental’ meeting,” said the first.
“Sometimes they go to lunch right then . . .” said the second.
“. . . Sometimes he makes a date for later,” said the first.
“Depending on whether his crew is in position.”
“Crew?” said Courtney.
“He keeps the target occupied until getting the phone call telling him his crew is clear of the residence. Victims all over the state, from Orlando to Miami to Naples and Sarasota.”
Courtney was astonished. “If he’s done it so many times, how come he’s never been caught?”
“The term
“There are dozens of guys working separately,” said the second.
“Usually it’s lonely older women with a lot of jewelry.”
“That’s why we initially didn’t suspect it in this case, because of your age.”
Courtney’s brain raced to process data. “I don’t see any broken windows. How did they get in the house?”
“Probably a ‘bump’ key,” said the first detective.
“What’s that?”
“About twenty brands of locks cover ninety-five percent of the residential market, so they buy blanks to cover the spread . . .”
The other pulled out his own key chain. “See these ridges? They go up and down, high and low . . .
“. . . But on a ‘bump’ key, they’re all at the maximum height. Then they simply match the blank to the lock brand on your house.”
Courtney checked her own keys. “That’s kind of disconcerting. It just opens the door?”
“No, they have to practice,” said the first.
“An accomplice grabs the doorknob and applies torque, trying to turn it . . .”
