by Diane Rapp
“You both realize, I’m sitting right here?” Tamara asked. “I’m capable of making my own decisions.” Seeing the determined expressions on their faces, she shrugged and dropped her gaze. “Okay, I’m outnumbered and the plan sounds good so far. What do we do next?”
Paxton laughed when Bentley issued a small woof. “I will join my team at the Board of Realtors office. Do you care to come along and conduct the tedious job of combing through records, Tamara?”
She picked up her overnight bag and headed toward the guest room. “I’ll stow this in my room and be with you in five minutes.”
“Do you think she’ll be all right?” Jessica asked after her niece left the room. “It was a harrowing ordeal.”
“She’s clever and strong. Outwitting the culprit took courage, so I believe she’ll be just fine.” Paxton placed his arm over Jessica’s shoulder and squeezed. “I won’t let anything happen to her, and Bentley is on the job, too. Thanks for helping to get Tamara to remember more details for us. It should help the investigation.”
“I’m happy to be nosy, but you must get back to work now. You’ll both be back in time for dinner.” Her tone made it an order, not a request. “I plan to serve lasagna with a green salad promptly at seven. I haven’t decided on the dessert just yet.” She opened the door to the elevator and waited.
Tamara appeared with Bentley hugging her heels. “I found a cellphone plugged into a charger in my room. Is it yours, Aunt Jess?”
“Of course not!” She held up her own smartphone. “That one is yours. When you called from a strange number and told me the culprit destroyed your phone, I sent Edith down to the Verizon store. She secured a replacement for yours with a number the criminal doesn’t know about. I’ve already programed the new number into my phone.”
Both Tamara and Paxton stood with their mouths hanging open. “Don’t look so surprised. Even old ladies can report a stolen or damaged phone. You need to call in to verify your PIN before they activate the instrument on your account.”
Jessica stood with her arms crossed and watched until they entered the elevator. Tamara poked her head out and said, “Thanks, auntie. This was very thoughtful of you. I’ll give you a call later and let you know what’s happening.”
After they climbed into the car, Tamara connected with Verizon support and activated her new phone. “I’ll need to program all my contact numbers again, what a bother.”
Paxton shook his head. “Newer phones back up to the cloud, so you can probably download all the information and photos stored in your old one.”
“Really? I was afraid I had lost all the pictures of Jeff when the jerk destroyed my phone,” she said, smiling.
Paxton touched the car’s GPS screen and said, “Directions to the Board of Realtors, Santa Barbara.” The screen lit up with a map and a computer voice told him to turn left at the next street. He cast Tamara a sideways glance, happy to see she was feeling more cheerful. “Click on Contacts, then touch those three little dots and touch Cloud on the pull-down menu. You should be able to download from there.”
Chapter 10 — A Needle in a Stack of Needles
The drive to the Board of Realtors office took only ten minutes from Brinkerhoff Street. When they entered the office the receptionist frowned at Bentley. “You can’t bring a dog in here,” she said curtly.
Paxton pointed at the “service dog” label attached to his harness. “Sorry, you can’t deny entrance to a service animal by state law.”
“But she’s not disabled,” the woman tried to object as she pointed at Tamara.
“He’s an official protection dog, working on the kidnapping case. He must come with us to protect our key witness.” Paxton flashed his badge and the woman’s face turned crimson.
“Your team took a bunch of files into the conference room. Sorry, Mrs. Owens. I didn’t realize. Is this the dog who scared off the kidnapper?” She gave Bentley a respectful glance as Tamara nodded. “Do you need a bowl of water for him?”
Tamara said, “Thanks, it would be really nice of you. He’s been riding around in the car and gets pretty thirsty. Rest assured, he’s house broken, so he won’t have any accidents inside.”
Paxton introduced the four members of his team after entering the conference room, “Tamara Owens, I’d like you to meet Jerry, Paula, Troy, and Shirley. They are all working this case with me. Everyone, Tamara and Bentley gave us our best leads in the case to date.”
The group grinned at her but kept sorting through files. Shirley immediately spoke up first, “Boss, we’ve got three separate piles: people who have been with the board for over two years, those who joined recently, and owners of real estate offices in the other cities where the kidnapper struck. There are a few who overlap.”
Tamara eyed the short stack. “Can I look at the ones in the third group?” she asked Paxton.
“It’s a good idea. You might recognize our man right away.” Paxton gestured for her to sit at the table and slid the shortest stack of files over to her. He turned to Jerry. “Did you park my car safely in the garage?”
“Safe as a babe in a crib, boss. She’s a real sweet ride.” Jerry’s spikey red hair and baggy clothes gave him a scruffy appearance, probably by design. He grinned at Tamara and winked. She got the impression Jerry was Paxton’s second in command, and his keen brown eyes never missed a clue.
Paxton held out his hand, and Jerry put the car keys into his palm. Paxton asked the group, “Did you figure out how easy it was for people to look at these files?”
Paula was an attractive brunette in her late thirties, dressed in a blue business jacket and skirt. Tamara noticed a shiny pistol and set of lock picks in the designer purse when Paula reached inside to grab a new pen. Tamara gazed around the room and saw handguns in shoulder holsters or clipped onto belts. Where did Paxton keep his weapon?
Paula announced, “The security in this office is pitiful. Almost anyone could get into those files if they pretended to visit a restroom down the hall. I could open any of the window locks in ten seconds and slip inside unseen, but the security lock on the main door might take me a full minute to breach.” She cast a sly smile at Tamara and latched her purse shut.
“Yeah, and there’s a pile of letterhead paper stacked next to the copy machine in the hallway,” Troy added. He was short with dark curly hair and looked much younger than the others on the team. Tamara realized his youthful appearance could be a distinct advantage during undercover operations. He wore cargo pants with large pockets and a T-shirt with skateboarders on the front. He said, “Our perp could do research and grab supplies all in one visit.”
Rubbing her forehead Tamara said, “In addition, every real estate office in town posts photos and lists the names of their agents on their websites. Agents need to attract new clients and make it too easy for criminals to gather information, I’m afraid.”
Shirley said, “Nobody thinks about security when it comes to the net.” Her brown hair was cut in a short but stylish bob, and she pushed her large eyeglasses up a freckled nose as she intensely stared at the computer screen. Tamara felt amazed at how fast Shirley’s fingers flew across the keyboard. Her laptop was also the most expensive piece of equipment in the entire building. Shirley regularly saved information on thumb-drives resembling small toys, a frog, a robot, a tiny racecar, or an alligator. Shirley stowed the memory sticks in the labeled pockets of a leather computer bag on the floor.
Suddenly aware of Tamara staring at her, Shirley asked, “Do those real estate websites list the addresses of houses for sale?”
“Of course! We also post a weekly schedule of open houses,” Tamara replied. She averted her gaze from the woman’s bright green eyes. “In Multiple Listing books, the agents warn if a house is occupied and needs an appointment to be shown.”
“So vacant houses are obvious.” Shirley rolled her eyes and turned to Paxton. “This is a security nightmare! Women work alone showing vacant houses, or people can just walk through the door of
an open house without being screened. Everything is advertised for potential crooks. I’ll print you a list of advertised open houses for this weekend.” Her fingers sped across the keyboard and the printer spit out another sheet of paper.
Max sat in the passenger seat of the burgundy van, watching people enter the large home perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. He planned to live in a place like this one after collecting his share of the next score, but his house would be in South America. The cops couldn’t touch him down there.
Growing bored he asked, “How long you figure we need to wait?”
Travis Jenkins stopped thumbing through the MLS book and shrugged. “In my experience traffic to an open house thins out in the middle of the afternoon. There will be a lull soon.”
Max popped more aspirin and took a swallow of iced tea to wash them down. It didn’t pay to drink alcohol before a job, even one as easy as this. He glanced over at the real estate broker and wondered what kind of dirt the Boss had on the guy. Jenkins had enough money, so it wasn’t the dough.
There was a fancy gold ring on the man’s hand with diamonds set into the band. Max would bet the Boss had juicy blackmail information to force compliance with the scheme. It didn’t really matter.
Twenty minutes later, Travis started the motor and the van rolled down the empty street. Max grinned. The new broad would have no way to escape today. “Pull up near the front door. We don’t want no witnesses seeing us dragging the woman out of the house.”
Jenkins shrugged but parked with the van’s sliding door as close as possible. He climbed out, buttoned his dark Armani suit, and adjusted his silk tie. Max admired the clothes and wondered how much they had cost. The guy really knew how to dress.
For the first time Max felt self-conscious as he walked beside Jenkins toward the door. He glanced back and noticed a skinny guy riding a bicycle into the garage across the street, hoping the guy wouldn’t pay too much attention.
When the woman opened the front door, she recognized Travis and shook his hand in welcome. Max eyed the broad, thinking she was pretty enough, but he preferred the smoky eyes and trim figure of their first choice for Suzanne. Maybe he’d pay her another visit in a few months.
His grin caused the new Suzanne to frown, but she led them into the kitchen spouting information about the mansion. Max grabbed a bar stool and sat down at the marble-topped counter, feeling extremely tired for the middle of the day. The broad offered him a muffin and cup of tea, but he shook his head. He really needed a Vicodin about now.
Jenkins took control, injecting the broad with Ketamine and grabbing her before she fell on the floor. “Get moving, Max. Help me walk her outside before anyone else shows up to view the house.”
The guy was getting on his nerves, giving him orders like he was in charge. Max grunted and slid his good hand under the woman’s armpit, copping a feel in the process. This was better! The snatch might turn out okay after all.
When Jenkins sneered at him and snapped, “The Boss said to keep your hands off her. Beside we don’t have time for you to play around with pictures today. Let’s move her into the van.”
Max ground his teeth. Someday he’d make Jenkins sorry for crossing him, but he didn’t dare make the Boss angry again. They practically carried the woman down the hall and across the foyer, making sweat bead on his forehead. After today, Max needed to spend time in bed and let his wounds heal up.
Outside, the two men lifted the new Suzanne through the sliding door of the van and climbed inside. Max breathed a sigh of relief until he saw the nosy neighbor staring at them from inside the garage. He leaned on the window and raised his bandaged hand to cover his face while Jenkins drove slowly out of Hope Ranch.
Inside the conference room of the Board of Realtors, Paxton’s phone buzzed. Soon the phones of the other team members buzzed and they all looked at the message. Frowning, Paxton told Tamara, “Another woman has gone missing from an open house this afternoon.” He gestured at the files on the table. “We’ve already got a CSI team at the crime scene, so you four keep working on the files. Tamara and Bentley will accompany me, and I hope Bentley can pick up the scent of the perp.”
They rushed to the parking lot and climbed into the car. As she buckled her seatbelt, Tamara asked, “Who was kidnapped?”
Paxton replied, “Phyllis Rodriguez. She works for a place called The Real Estate Shoppe. Do you know her?”
Tamara’s face drained of color as she nodded. “Phyllis welcomed me on my first day as an agent. She’s very beautiful with dark hair and trim figure. We don’t really look alike, but…”
“She probably fits the profile as much as you do.” Paxton’s jaw tightened. “If I’d been faster getting to your crime scene, I could’ve caught the perp! We wouldn’t have another victim on our roles.”
They drove in silence to a home located in an upscale subdivision called Hope Ranch. The high-priced house overlooked the ocean. Police tape was strung across the driveway vibrating in a stiff breeze, and uniformed officers roamed the immaculate grounds searching for clues.
Paxton seemed concerned and asked, “Tamara, do you think Bentley will search for scents?”
“Yes, Jeff and I used to play games in the park to practice scent discrimination. One of us would hide and the other would tell Bentley to find them. He loved to follow the scent until he found his quarry.”
As Tamara clipped a leash onto Bentley’s harness, she said, “Go find the bad man.” The dog issued a low growl. He jumped out of the car when given the “okay” command with his nose lifted to drink in scents on the breeze. He literally vacuumed the ground as he pulled Tamara up the driveway.
Paxton laughed. “He seems eager to get to work.” Displaying his badge to uniformed officers guarding the driveway, he helped Tamara and Bentley duck under the crime scene tape before they walked toward the front door.
Bentley was intently sniffing every inch of the driveway. The pompom on his tail stuck straight up, and he issued small woofing sounds as he followed the invisible trail. Abruptly he sat and stared into the bushes near the front door.
Paxton meticulously searched under plants to discover what Bentley had found. “There’s something under here,” he said.
“Good boy!” Tamara patted Bentley’s head as Paxton stretched plastic gloves over his hands and retrieved a hypodermic sitting under a broad-leafed bush.
Bentley whimpered with excitement as he watched the shiny item drop into an evidence bag. A breeze ruffled his fur, carrying a scent that attracted the dog’s attention. He pulled Tamara forward and investigated the new smell.
Paxton watched the dog follow small droplets of blood across the concrete. The trail of blood stopped abruptly, but Bentley continued sniffing around the area. Finally he sat and stared at the ridges of a faint shoe imprint.
“Get a photographer over here,” Paxton told the CSI team, who took samples of the blood droplets. “Take a picture of this shoe print.”
“What shoe print?” a photographer asked, peering at the concrete.
Paxton laughed. “Watch where the dog is staring intently. Move slightly to the side and you should see wavy lines in the shape of shoe treads.”
“I can see it now, thanks,” the photographer said before snapping a series of photos.
Tamara ruffled Bentley’s ears and praised him, while Paxton beamed with pride at the clever dog. Tamara asked, “Should we take him inside the house? He might find more evidence.”
Paxton nodded and led them through the front door. Evidence technicians brushed dark powder over surfaces which might contain fingerprints. Tamara told Bentley to find the man again. He sneezed after sniffing the smelly powder, but caught a scent trail across the thick carpeting. When he reached the kitchen, Bentley sat next to a wooden stool at the island. His stare shifted from the wooden stool to the white kitchen countertop.
The stool sat ajar, not lining up with the others placed at the bar. Paxton called a female technician to dust the spot. �
��Fingerprint the seat base of this wooden stool and also the countertop of the island.” He pointed at Bentley. “Our scent inspector found several spots the perp might have touched.”
Bentley retreated to Tamara’s side as the technician spread smelly black powder across the smooth surface of the island and stool. She nodded as fingerprints became visible. Carefully lifting the evidence with pieces of sticky tape, she said, “Looks like your dog found some really good prints, two clear sets.”
As the technician walked toward Bentley, he slid to the floor and rolled onto his back, begging for a tummy rub. She chuckled and gave the dog his reward. She asked, “Is this a new member of your team, Lieutenant Johnson?”
“Sure and he works cheap, just takes biscuits and petting.” Paxton grinned at Tamara. “He’s also a trained guard dog, the one who protected our main witness from the perp.”
“Wow! We should get him to work for our department. We might have wasted the whole afternoon checking this house for viable prints, but he found them in two minutes flat.” Glancing up, the technician stiffened and turned back to her work.
A plain-clothes officer barged into the kitchen. “Why did you bring a dog into our crime scene, Johnson? He’s contaminating the evidence,” the man snapped.
Paxton stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “Nice to meet you, Captain Sterling. Let me introduce Tamara Owens and her protection dog, Bentley.” He waited until the officer shook Tamara’s hand. “This dog just discovered several pieces of valuable evidence in short order.”
“How’d he do that?” Sterling sputtered.
Paxton replied, “Scent discrimination, sir. Bentley foiled the kidnapping attempt against Ms. Owens on Saturday evening. Today, he recognized the scent of the perpetrator outside the front door and right here at the island counter.”