by Amy Shojai
Once back on the road, she thumbed her phone to dial the Chicago lab. A long shot, perhaps, but if caught off guard, maybe this Detweiller person would reveal the connection.
“Hello? Who’s this?” A woman answered.
“Uh, is this Clear Choice Labs?”
“Yes, who is this?” Why did her voice sound familiar?
“I’d like to speak with Bradley Detweiller, the owner. Is he there? This is September Day.” She slowed for a traffic light and waited impatiently as whispered conversation with others echoed from the other end of the line.
Finally, the woman came back. “We’d like to speak with him, too. Unfortunately, Mr. Detweiller killed himself.”
September gasped and nearly went through the red light. She tromped on the brake and slid two feet into the intersection before stopping. Angry horns blared displeasure, but she ignored them, frowning at the phone. “Who is this? That’s not funny.”
“You’re right, nothing about this is funny. What business did you have with the deceased? Oh, forgive me.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Officer Tee Teves. We met last summer in Texas. You helped train my K9 partner, Karma.”
MACY YAWNED, STOOD, and stretched, flexing claws into the bedding that still held September’s delightful scent. A distant sound had roused him from slumbers. After checking his food bowl—disappointingly empty—he padded to the latched bedroom door and meowed. When the request failed to bring the desired results, Macy stretched high to paw the lever handle himself, paw-pulled the bottom of the door, and then wound through the narrow opening.
He trotted to the top of the stairs to stare at the dark figure moving about the first floor. Macy’s fur bristled, coffee-colored tail a bottlebrush of alarm. He cautiously sniffed the air, committing the stranger’s signature scent to memory. He flattened himself against the wall and silently slunk down the stairway.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs he spied a glimmer peeking from beneath the closet door. Intrigued, he paw-patted the object, delighted to hear the jangle of metal. Rolling onto his side, he fished beneath the door and dragged the key fob into the entry. Macy sniffed it thoroughly: different than the intruder, but a familiar odor of someone who lived their life in the house. He pawed the keys again, liking the jangly sound. Macy grabbed the attached ribbon, lifted his head high with his prize, and continued to stalk the intruder. The jingle, so loud to cat ears, failed to alert the human’s deficient hearing.
Invisible to the stranger, he paused beneath a chair to observe the man. Noisy. Clumsy, like most people. Angry smell, and the hint of a strange cat. Macy’s whiskers pursed forward with interest piqued. When the tall stranger disappeared into the kitchen, Macy padded after him. When cold air whisper-touched his whiskers, he dropped his jangly new toy on the kitchen floor, creeping close to peer into the door left ajar.
The dank atmosphere made his nose twitch. A cold, silent car waited inside. Ultrasonic squeaks and rustles made his mouth water, and he crouched, instantly intrigued. He stalked over the threshold into the garage, closing on mousy prey one slow paw-step at a time.
Lights came on. Macy dove between nearby shelving, tail a quiver. From his hiding spot, he watched the man ratchet a metal ladder into place. The stranger climbed the ladder to reach the figure hanging over the cold car, swinging to-and-fro from an overhead fixture. He pressed a metal object into one of its dead hands so it made a POP sound.
Macy hissed and scrambled across the cement floor as far away from the scary sound and stranger as he could go.
“My day for cats. Here kitty-kitty-kitty.” He made kissy noises, and Macy froze and hissed again. “You’re just the bait I need. Nothing personal.” The man took a step closer.
Macy spat and licked his lips, poised to dash away. The man shrugged off his coat and took another step. Macy growled, low and long, and flipped his tail, but the man ignored the warning. The coat swooped through the air. Fabric fell heavily on top of him.
Macy’s growls exploded into screams and spits of surprise and fear. He flailed at the fabric, feeling the man’s arms constrict around him to snug the coat into a suffocating bundle.
“Calm down, cat, I don’t want to hurt you. I just don’t want to get bit again.”
When Macy shook off the heavy coat, the man’s gloved hand captured his pistoning rear paws while curling his other hand through his collar.
With a final contortion, Macy chomped hard on the glove and felt satisfaction when the man yelled. Arching his body, Macy twisted and adjusted mid-air for a perfect four-paw landing as his break-away collar tore loose.
Macy dove beneath the nearby car and froze in place, poised, ready to attack should the threat come closer. The stranger stooped to recover his broken collar, then retreated back into the kitchen. The door slammed, locking Macy inside the garage with the dead body swinging overhead.
Chapter 17
OFFICER PILIKEA “TEE” Teves disconnected and replaced the old-fashioned receiver in the cradle. She smoothed the soot-colored curly hair over both ears then rubbed her hazel eyes. The techs had already transported Detweiller’s body and a team continued to investigate the apartment. It looked like suicide. But since his business dealings opened up questions, she and her partner had taken a look at his workspace at Clear Choice Labs. They found the place trashed—based on Detweiller’s suicide note, he’d done the damage himself. But Tee took nothing at face value and was eager to sift through the mess.
After her Texas adventure, she’d taken a forced leave of absence. Once back full time, she’d barely left desk duty. Despite having seen and experienced more than her share of danger in her short tenure, she knew better than to hope for excitement, but boredom ate her nerves raw. So she’d been eager to take this call, despite Detective Redford’s reluctance.
More than twice her age, a foot taller than her own five-feet-four inches, and double her weight, Detective Bobby Redford looked nothing like his namesake. He had another six months to make retirement with a full pension, and planned to coast these final months. So she’d been grateful he believed in the ‘pairing and sharing’ philosophy. By working with a detective on a criminal investigation, she’d learn on the job, get to network with other detectives, gain access to investigative resources, and further her future aspirations. Still, he kept her on a tight rein. Now she knew how Karma felt about her leash. She’d only had the police dog a week, but already felt like they’d been partners forever.
Why would a state-of-the-art lab like Clear Choice rely on an old-fashioned landline? They hadn’t found Detweiller’s cell phone at his apartment and thought it might be here, but nada. Its absence, along with September’s call, added to her sense of unease.
“Interesting timing.” Redford wore his faded winter coat open over a threadbare suit, with damp gloves stuffed in the pockets. “Sounded like you know ‘em.”
“Woman named September Day. I met her last summer during that human trafficking case. She helped train my dog.” Tee rubbed tired eyes then fingered one of the tiny gold turtle earring studs. Her whole body ached. She blamed the icy weather. Ever since nearly dying when locked in the freezer, cold bit twice as hard. “September says she has information bearing on our case.” Shivering, Tee prayed her sore joints wouldn’t morph into the flu. She caught herself pining for the balmy temps of the Islands. To her, Lake Michigan paled in comparison to the ocean back home.
Redford groaned. “Our case? This isn’t your case. You’re just tagging along because you took the call and caught me in a weak moment. And we’re shorthanded.” She would have argued, but he cut her off. “I know you’re itching to make Detective, but you won’t get there faster by pushing so hard.” He waved a hand at the debris. “Detweiller pretty much closed this case himself. Nothing says guilty like suicide.”
“We...I mean, shouldn’t you at least take a look at what September says she found?” Tee didn’t know much about the woman, other than she trained dogs. “She found notes from some old poli
ce investigation by,” she checked her notes, “... Detective Christopher Day.”
“Chris Day? Hell, he’s been dead for two or three years now.” Sudden understanding lit his blue eyes. “Oh sure, I remember. The lady had a funny name, like the month. September, yeah, that’s it. Must have been six or seven years ago, Day worked this weird kidnapping case. He ended up marrying the girl, and got murdered for his trouble.” Redford pointed a finger at her. “There’s a lesson. Keep business separate from personal.”
“Murdered?” She made a mental note to find out more.
“Yeah, the cop-killing scumbag didn’t take kindly to losing his girlfriend. By that time, Detective Day had moved to South Bend. He got shot outside a convenience store. Took a while, but they finally caught the shooter. He’s waiting trial in Texas.”
She wrinkled her nose. Not her favorite place. She’d learned a lot about herself while in Texas. Stretched professionally. And discovered relatives she could definitely live without. Of its own volition, her hand went into her pocket, cupping a half dozen seashells, fingering them like worry beads, the whispery shshsh-sound soothing.
But she gained a best friend with four feet, black fur, and a heart big enough to heal the ills of the world, especially her own hidden pain. The thought made her smile, and she dropped the shells back into her pocket. Karma had been a surprise gift from her half-sister, Lia Corazon. The paperwork was slowly working its way through channels to get Karma official as her K9 partner.
Redford took off his hat to scratch sparse strands of red hair, and reset the cap. “So Day’s widow found something about one of his old investigations? How’s it connected to Detweiller’s death?”
Tee shrugged. “Don’t know. September said the material includes the newspaper article about the recent Clear Choice Labs investigation and indictment, plus some older clippings.” She waved one hand at the phone. “She called the number to find out.”
“Long shot. Probably not worth much after six years.” He shook his head, dismissive. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll take a look when she brings it in.”
“She called from South Bend.”
“So she can scan and email it or something. With Detweiller dead, our timeline just opened up.” He mopped his brow again. “Look, Tee, we got plenty to deal with already. I admire your energy and eagerness, but it’s time to put this case to bed. No need to go snipe hunting for stuff you’ll never catch. Besides, I got a date with the missus and my boy Zach, home for the holidays.” He grinned. “His adoption-day celebration’s bigger than Christmas and birthday combined. We got him a dog. He’s always wanted a Border Collie.” When he spoke of his son, Redford’s face transformed from stoic cop to adoring, proud dad. “I’ve not had a dog since I was a kid. This one’s a rescue, pretty calm for the breed, and mostly white, with a half-and-half face. Looks like an Oreo.” He laughed. “Zach’s gonna do cartwheels. He’s asked for a dog every year since he was five. This’ll be the best Christmas ever.”
Tee didn’t want to think about Christmas. She couldn’t visit her Aunty in California, or go home to the Islands, so Redford’s happiness just left her hollow. “Come on, Redford. How many suicides call the cops in advance? Friends, maybe, or family. But the police? You don’t find that odd?”
He shrugged. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, nothing surprises you. Suicidal people don’t think straight, don’t plan, it can be spur of the moment, especially when they got the means so handy.”
She reflexively rubbed the light scars on her wrists, hidden under the long sleeves of her coat. She knew about that dark abyss that beckoned, and promised a relief to all the pain...Tee blinked rapidly. She’d got beyond that. She concentrated on the Detective’s words.
“Detweiller stood to lose everything. Business, reputation. Not to mention an upcoming sensational trial and probably going away for a long time. Detweiller just filled up one of his syringes at work and took it home with him for a nightcap.” Redford played with the zipper on his coat. “Once they found he falsified one test, every other result gets reviewed and probably tossed. Lawyers will have a field day. I already got Alderman Jacobs on my case to get this wound up tight.”
She’d met Kelly Radcliff Jacobs III only once, late last year, working security at a function celebrating his son’s seventeenth birthday. Tee found Jacobs pretentious, condescending, and entitled. He spent all evening bragging on his business success with his string of pharmacies.
“What’s he complaining about now? He got his way.” For the past year Jacobs had campaigned against aldermen being banned from outside employment. She held up her hands in surrender when Redford would have lectured her yet again on Chicago politics. Sometimes you had to make nice.
Nullifying lab results could impact a host of issues, from convictions to medical diagnoses, prescriptions, and treatments. Tee dreaded the pile of paperwork to come. The public believed cops chased bad guys, foiled conspiracies, and wrote irksome tickets. But she spent an inordinate amount of time filling out tedious reports.
“I got a gut feeling about September’s information.” She held up a hand again. “I know, you don’t want to waste any time. So how about this. I’ve got a couple of days down-time saved up. I’ll do it on my own, off the clock. Take a quick trip down to South Bend, pick up September Day’s info, and poke around.”
He stared at her, started to speak, then blew out a breath. “No, it’ll be on the clock. Detweiller’s bookkeeper is in South Bend, too, so that’ll save me a trip. And it’ll get you out of my hair for a couple of days. But clear it with the Captain first, and keep me informed.”
“You won’t be sorry.” She turned away to hide a grin, thankful she kept a packed to-go bag handy. She’d need to buy a train ticket, and let September know. She wondered if Karma would remember September’s dog, Shadow.
Chapter 18
SHUDDERS WRACKED CHARLIE’S body. Teeth chattered so hard she feared they’d break. Her car had finally stalled and stopped running during the night—not that it had provided much heat. One of the clothing-filled garbage bags in the back seat had burst on impact and the scattered fabric from random sweatshirts had cut the edge off the worst of the cold. She’d fallen in and out of consciousness all night, maybe even slept part of the time. At one point she’d dreamed Sherlock returned, his fur and hot body keeping her warm...Now the cooling engine tick-tick-ticked while sand-like snow peppered the shattered windshield. White drifted in through the open passenger window and piled up against the side of the car.
Her heart thudded when she became fully conscious. She might still survive. Something hurt deep inside, making it difficult to catch her to breath. Charlie swallowed. Her saliva tasted metallic. She spat, and her eyes widened at the crimson spatter now visible with the morning’s light. Her breath quickened, and shallow quick gasps steamed from her numb lips.
With no seatbelt to stop the impact, Charlie left a second head-size dent in the windshield. The steering wheel bruised her chest, and maybe shattered a rib. She lifted a hand to feel the lump on her forehead. Charlie screamed when bone grated upon bone. Her shoulder unhinged in a bizarre way. Gasping, she squeezed shut her eyes, and bit her lip, riding the wave of pain until it eased from shriek-level to dull roar.
The space offered a windbreak that barely made a degree or two difference. Her thin clothing and other random attire did little to shield Charlie from the biting temperature. How long until she froze? Her light gray vehicle, coated with white, would fade to invisibility against the snowy field. Nobody would find her. Getting to the road offered only a slim chance for rescue, but it was better than none. She had to get out of the car.
Charlie slowly, carefully twisted her neck one way and then the other, braced for the next unexpected stab of pain. Her head throbbed, but she felt gratified something worked. She examined the tiny space. The car canted on one side, nearly upside down. The driver’s side window pressed against spent corn stalks. The door, now a shivery surface up
on which she rested, offered no way out. She’d landed on her left side with her arm pinned beneath her.
She had to get out! The open passenger window beckoned overhead, an impossible distance away. The remains of the cardboard cover blew to-and-fro in the wind, a monster’s lip-smacking dare to breach the opening. Right arm useless, Charlie had to perform a one-arm push-up with her left, and somehow drag her battered body up and out.
Gingerly flexing her right leg produced a sickening grating sound as her pelvis shifted. Oddly, she felt no pain, and wondered if the cold finally worked in her favor, numbing her extremities. Her shivers had abated, but Charlie knew the car hadn’t gotten warmer. Did shock make you stop shivering? If she lived, maybe she’d look it up. Right now, it didn’t matter.
Bracing herself for the pain to come, Charlie held her injured right arm tight to her body, while she flexed her left leg and pressed up with the corresponding elbow. Any fitness instructor would be proud of the plank she managed. But Charlie held it barely a minute before she collapsed into a near seated position.
The tiny world inside the car spun, and Charlie struggled to stay conscious. Her effort brought renewed warmth to her body. Her stomach flip-flopped, suddenly queasy, and she fought the urge to vomit, fearing that would tear up her insides even worse. It was no use; with only one good arm she couldn’t raise herself high enough to get out of the window. Even if she could, she doubted she could crawl the distance from her car to the road.
Snow completely covered the windshield. Charlie imagined the featureless lump of the car, a snowy speedbump in the field of white that wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention until long after the snow melted. She couldn’t get out of the car, but how about making it more noticeable?