We turned ourselves sideways on either side of the doorframe, making ourselves smaller targets just in case the woman was pulling a fast one. There was a thud as she apparently threw herself against the door on the other side, then a shlick as the bolt slid aside. She opened the door wide and kept one hand on it while resting the other on the frame. “Hello,” she croaked, following her words with a throat-clearing cough.

“We’re looking for Arthur Scheck,” the detective said.

The woman glanced over at a mantle clock on the fireplace: 2:07. “You just missed him. He leaves for work at one thirty. What’s this about?”

“Who are you?” Jackson asked, ignoring the woman’s question.

“His wife,” the woman said.

Jackson’s eyes roamed over the living room. “Anybody else live here with you two?”

“No. Only me and Arthur.”

“You look like you were sleeping.” I pointed to the television. “Why is the TV on if you were in bed and your husband’s not home?” Could it be that she was lying to us and he was actually hiding somewhere in the house?

“For safety reasons,” she said. “I work nights and sleep during the day. We keep the television on so it sounds like someone’s home.”

Her explanation sounded reasonable. She’d also offered it without hesitation, a sign that it was the truth.

“Where does Arthur work?” Jackson asked.

“He’s a bus driver for the Fort Worth school district.”

That explained the commercial driver’s license.

I chimed in again. “When did you go to sleep?”

She raised a shoulder. “’Bout seven this morning.’”

“Have you been asleep since then?”

“I was asleep until you knocked on the door,” she said, impatience creeping into her voice now.

Jackson picked up my line of questioning. “So you can’t verify for certain whether your husband was actually here during the morning hours and whether he just left for work.”

The woman crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. Rather than respond to Jackson’s statement directly, she asked, “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the detective replied.

Scheck’s wife sighed. “He’s out on his route by now, and he’s not allowed to use his cell phone while he’s driving the kids. Best I can tell you is to call the school bus depot. They can get in touch with him by radio.”

I jotted down the number for the depot as she rattled it off.

“One last question,” Jackson said, gesturing for me to pull out my phone. “Do you know what this is?”

I pulled up the pic of the plastic funnel-shape piece and held it at eye level for Mrs. Scheck.

She stared at the screen for a moment, but there was no flicker of recognition. She raised a shoulder. “Is it a mouthpiece for some type of musical instrument? Maybe a trumpet?”

Given the flimsy plastic material, I doubted it was substantial enough for a real instrument. But I supposed it could belong on a toy. Could the robbers have young children?

We thanked the woman for her time and returned to my cruiser. While Jackson called the school district’s bus depot, I let Brigit out of the car to relieve herself and gave her a fresh drink of water. “There you go, partner.”

Once we were back in our places, Jackson turned to me. “He’s already out on his route, but his supervisor gave me a list of the stops. We should be able to catch him.”

She directed me to drive to the Ryan Place neighborhood, where we parked and waited at a corner. Brigit stood in her enclosure in the back, watching out the window as two frisky squirrels chased each other round a yard and up a tree. She gave a soft whine.

“Sorry, Brig,” I told her. “No squirrels for you today.” Or any day for that matter. I knew the dog had predatory instincts, but that didn’t mean I had to let her terrorize innocent squirrels.

A few minutes later, a big yellow school bus lumbered around a corner a couple blocks down and headed our way.

Jackson put her hand on the inside door handle. “Let’s roll.”

I climbed out of the car and followed her. The two of us stood waiting to the side as the bus pulled to a stop, the air brakes giving off a loud hiss. The tall door swung open with a squeak and five high school kids climbed off. Before Scheck could close the door, Detective Jackson put a foot on the bottom step and looked up at the driver. “Come on out here a moment, Mr. Scheck.” She waved him down with her hand.

A moment later a man in his early thirties climbed down the steps and onto the curb. He wore rubber-soled loafers, khaki pants worn thin from numerous washings, and a faded green button-down shirt. The button on the left side of the collar was chipped. His brown hair was cut short and his face was clean shaven. Despite the bright sunshine, he wore no sunglasses. Hmm …

Dozens of pimpled faces pressed to the bus windows as Scheck looked from the detective to me and back again. “What’s this about?”

“We have a few questions for you,” Jackson asked. “Can you tell me where you’ve been today?”

“Today?” he repeated. “Well, I ran my usual bus rounds this morning. Finished up around nine thirty and went on back home. Stayed there until it was time for me to get back to my afternoon bus rounds.”

Several clicks sounded as students released the window latches, followed by the shhht of windows being slid down. A number of teens leaned out the windows, hoping to eavesdrop on our conversation. I shook my head and motioned upward with my hand. Most of them pulled their windows closed again. The few who didn’t scrambled to close theirs when I took a warning step closer to the bus.

“You didn’t go anywhere else?” Jackson asked Scheck once we could speak privately again.

“No.” His eyes narrowed and a vein popped out in his neck. “Why?”

Jackson paused a moment, probably debating how much to tell the man. “There was an incident at a bank today. We’re trying to figure out who might have been behind it. One of the tellers indicated you two had a run-in recently.”

“A run-in?” Scheck snorted. “Are you talking about that pompous prick at Cowtown Bank who shorted me a hundred bucks?”

Jackson nodded.

“I don’t know what he told you,” Scheck said, “but he’s full of shit. The bank manager, too. They claimed his drawer balanced but I think the two of them are in cahoots together. They probably pocketed the money for themselves.”

Scheck’s speculation got me wondering. Had Dawson actually shorted Scheck, hoping the man wouldn’t notice and that he’d be able to pocket the cash before closing his till for the day? If so, would Dawson be willing to take things a step further and set up a robbery?

“Any chance there’s anyone who can vouch for you?” Jackson asked Scheck. “Anyone who can verify that you were home this morning?”

“My wife can,” Scheck said. “She was home the whole time.”

“We’ve already talked to her,” Jackson said. “She said she was asleep all morning.”

“Jesus.” Scheck shook his head, incredulous, and glanced back at his bus. “Look. I’ve got to get these kids home. Let’s cut to the chase. What, exactly, are you accusing me of?”

“We’re just wondering if you might know anything about this morning’s robbery at Cowtown bank.”

Scheck’s brows drew inward, forming an angry V. “A bank robbery? Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Jackson said. “We know you’ve been arrested for a theft crime before.”

“And the charges were dropped!” he spat. He crossed his arms over his chest now, just as his wife had done not long before. “I’m not saying anything else to you two. Not without a lawyer.”

Scheck was within his rights to be silent, and we had too little evidence to arrest him. We had no choice but to let him go.

Jackson took a step back. “All right, Mr. Scheck. We’ll let you be on your way.”