"It doesn't make sense that the perp did it. You said they were off before he got here."
I nodded an agreement. Then I had an idea. "Maybe the refrigerator is on a separate circuit breaker!" Jackson didn't comment. He'd either already checked or was embarrassed that he hadn't.
Instead, he continued in another direction. "The perp did a quick job of searching the house before we got here. He didn't have anything on him after we put him down so I guess he didn't find what he was looking for." I spread my arms in a shrug gesture while he sorted his notes some more.
"It's perplexing. This guy drives up, no lights, sees a car in the driveway so he must realize someone is home. He breaks in anyway, with a knife in his hand. That sort of tells me his intention wasn't healthy for whoever he found inside." He looked for my reaction. More shrugging didn't seem to be enough.
"It makes sense but maybe he got the wrong house," I offered.
"That's possible but I can't wait to hear what your buddy Howie has to say about it. He should put you on his Christmas card list; you took a knife and a beating on his behalf as far as I can see." I didn't have a good come-back to that observation.
Jackson flipped pages in his note book. "I got a name for you; your assailant."
I waited to hear John Luke Grasso, and steeled myself to pretend I didn't recognize the name. "Owen Bryce," he said instead.
Keene, New Hampshire. That was certainly a surprising turn of events! I came to call on Mr. Abbott and had carefully shut off his power and was ready to visit when what do I see but he has company. Always cautious, I stop, watch and listen. Then, low and behold, another visitor arrives to call on the popular gentleman! Soon the place is swarmed with siren screaming representatives of the law enforcement community, and I hear a gunshot! Everyone is gaggling about like chicks at feed time! Someone broke into this house of one of my targets and some sort of mayhem followed. Did the culprit do my work for me or simply get in my way? Am I to thank him or curse him? In any event, someone is permanently finished doing anything. I watched as they removed him, a sheet over his body in a clear indication of his lack of immortality. Or was it the corpse of Mr. Abbott?
I'm baffled and I don't travel well in the state of confusion. Was this break in and shooting a coincidental event or might someone else have been as clever as I at tracking down this nefarious tipster? Perhaps the culprit was the person who beat me to the publisher in Vermont, the sponsor of that idiotic contest!