Pursuits Unknown

by Ellen Clary

  Rock looked sharply up at him. “Really?”

  “Yes, so since we had this conversation, I don’t need a DNA sample from you.”

  Rock exhaled in relief. “And you won’t have to tell anyone?”

  “Not yet. But you know there is a catch,” Steve smiled. “When we catch the perpetrator, and if it goes to trial, a defense attorney might insist on DNA tests for all those in the investigation.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Rock said.

  Steve stood up and indicated that Rock could stay seated, walked around and clamped him on the shoulder. “Let’s hope so indeed. Enjoy your sandwich, and consider telling your girlfriend. You might be surprised.”

  Rock patted Steve’s hand. “I’ll think about it.”

  CHAPTER 12:

  Sam the Radiologist

  AMY, YOLANDA, Lars, and Gimli walked out to the car. Amy opened the back door so that Lars and Gimli could get settled into their respective travel crates. While they had a much larger vehicle that could hold up to six dogs in crates, they chose the smaller van that Yolanda called the two-and-a-half-dog model, referring to the two large crates and a much smaller one that would fit a corgi.

  Looking at Gimli’s smaller crate, Yolanda said, “Steve keeps saying we should use Chihuahuas since they could sneak into anything.”

  “Sneaking requires being quiet,” Amy replied.

  “Details.”

  Amy closed Lars’s crate door and said, “And has a Chihuahua ever talked to a person? I can’t think of one.”

  “Well, there’s always someone who claims so, but it’s more about ‘feed me dinner’ and ‘I love you’ and ‘intruder!’”

  Getting into the driver’s seat, Amy said, “I want to see one in your demos.”

  Yolanda smiled, giving her a wry look. “A herding demo? Demo what? Chasing cats? Barking at ghosts?”

  “Mmm, something like that.”

  “Dachshunds would be better.”

  “I’ve heard of a couple of those working somewhere else.”

  “Speaking of sneaking, not to diss Harris’s fake pigeon, but cats or real birds would work well as surveillance.” Yolanda said, “The military has used cats, but I’m sure they won’t talk to a person beyond giving them orders.”

  “Human. Get thee my dinner,” Amy said, and took out her handheld, looking over the details. “Our Gaultier Mountaineer owner is Sam Mayfield, radiologist at Anandale Hospital and DNA privacy advocate. He is against automatically collecting DNA from a suspect and published a document on how to control where someone’s DNA is left. He’s one of those who wipes down drinking glasses while at a restaurant and is careful about who he shakes hands with and what he touches. He recommends that if you sneeze, you wipe down and sanitize your hands, which is great to control spread of disease but seems a touch paranoid.”

  Yolanda laughed. “Paranoid doesn’t even begin cover it. You leave DNA everywhere you touch, and those guidelines were written when our detection tools weren’t as good.”

  Amy continued, “He’s active in the Control Your DNA Information movement. It was the movement that stopped the automatic collection of DNA from every person who is born at a local medical facility, and they are the ones who made it possible for you to get back or insist on the destruction of any samples taken from your body. They got DNA included under the privacy act. If you collect DNA, you have to get that person’s release unless there is a criminal investigation in progress.”

  “Or unless you leave it behind in public, which happens all the time,” Yolanda said.

  “So how are we going to approach him?”

  “Not good cop/bad cop,” Yolanda said.

  “Well that’s easy, since we’re not strictly cops.”

  “No good/bad anything?”

  “Works for me—should we try the reasonable approach first? That we have this ongoing investigation and we want to eliminate the obvious non-suspects.”

  Yolanda leaned the side of her head down on a propped-up hand. “That sounds sweet, but you know he’s not going to buy it.”

  “Well, let’s just try that first.”

  “And when that doesn’t work?”

  “Start with breaking his left little finger?”

  Yolanda brightened. “Oooo, start the day off right with a little law-breaking. Off or on camera?”

  “On, of course.”

  “Just for that tour of a jail cell?”

  “Be a change in scenery.”

  Yolanda held up a hand in mock surrender. “Okay, so we act reasonable, but really—then what?”

  Tapping the door, Amy said, “I guess we tell him the truth. We can skip him for now, but we might come back with a court order.”

  Looking out the window, Yolanda said, “Oh, he’s going to love that.”

  “We should have brought Steve to let him try the asking for a date approach.”

  Laughing, Yolanda said, “Skipping right over that bit about Sam being married to a woman and having kids.”

  Considering for a second, Amy said, “Yeah, it’s better we didn’t bring Steve. I’d rather not have any guilt or bloodshed.”

  Yolanda thought for a second, “Wait, wasn’t Steve asked out on a date when he was pretending to be a bad cop?”

  Amy laughed. “Yeah, those things can work out entirely differently than you planned. Steve might be buff, but he’s really not very scary and he’s kind of appealing when he’s trying to be.”

  “Scary? Ha. Big, not so scary bear.” Yolanda, still looking introspective, added, “You know, he never did say if he did go on a date with that guy.”

  The car pulled into the driveway of Anandale Hospital: a remarkably nice-looking, recently built structure with arched, curving lines that drew the eye up and made it look taller than it really was. Green tile highlighted the edges of the windows, and it even had the occasional, simplified, incongruous, almost friendly-looking gargoyle in the eaves.

  “Fine, we’ll just wing it,” Amy said.

  “Wait, do we bring the dogs in?”

  “Does he like dogs? What did Harris say?”

  “He didn’t say anything about it.”

  “Hmmm, usually that means start off without them.”

  Amy said to Lars and Gimli, “Okay guys, you get to hang here.” Amy programmed the car to keep the internal temperature cool. Both Lars and Gimli looked disappointed. “Later we’ll go out on that nice grass.” Lars laid back down with a pointed thunk.

  At the desk, they showed their badges and identified themselves to a busy but attentive receptionist. He gave them directions to Radiology and said he’d call down and let them know they were coming.

  They headed down the white-tiled hallway with the striped patterns guiding the way to various departments, including Emergency and Intensive Care. Someone had carefully placed larger scenic paintings to give more space to the narrow hallway. In some of the turns of the hallway, a statue of a man or woman appeared in the corner, looking strong yet accessible; they stood with a purposeful, faraway look into a distance that no one else could see, yet somehow managed not to look like any famous dictators of the past.

  They entered Radiology, and the person at the desk, wearing a blue hospital scrub shirt and a name tag reading “Alex,” greeted them. Amy explained who they were and they both presented their IDs. Alex pressed a button and said, “Hello Sam, the investigators are here now.”

  “Bring them in,” said the disembodied voice.

  Alex pushed back from the desk and stood up. “Right this way.” They followed him down a smaller, shorter hallway to a door that said, RADIOLOGY: DR. SAM MAYFIELD, M.D.

  Alex knocked lightly. The door opened and a trim, tallish man with engaging green eyes, bronze skin, and a mop of short, curly, golden-brown hair extended his hand in greeting. “Hello, please come in.” They shook hands and stepped in; Alex took his leave.

  Motioning with his arm, Sam said, “Please sit. I don’t get a lot of visitors, e
specially those who are not in a panic about a scan.”

  Without going into a lot of detail, Amy explained that the cops had received a phone call making monetary demands over some stolen property, that they had traced the source and time to Quincy Park, and that they had found the path of the perpetrator, who had gotten into a car. Video evidence narrowed it down to one of four vehicles, one of which was Sam’s Galtier Mountaineer. Seeing Sam’s jaw tighten, Amy held up her hand and gave him the best reassuring look she could. “Our hope is to eliminate those who are obviously not involved.”

  Relaxing just a little, Sam carefully said, “And how are you going to do that?”

  Amy took a breath and sent some hopes skyward.

  “We found a phone in a trashcan at the scene that was used to make the phone call. It has the caller’s DNA on it.”

  Sam gave a knowing smile. “And you would like a DNA sample to eliminate me?”

  Amy said, “Well, ideally, yes, but we are aware of your work on DNA privacy rights, so we know this is delicate.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the large monitor with an image of a brain on it.

  “Let me ponder this a moment,” he said.

  Noticing Yolanda looking at the image, he pointed to an area. “You see this white spot? We call them plaques, and they can cause all sorts of erratic symptoms: seizures, memory loss, and other cognitive effects. Fortunately, these days, it’s treatable either with stem cells or nanobots.”

  “That’s great news,” Yolanda said.

  “May I ask you something? How did you figure out the path the person took?”

  “One of our dogs followed it.”

  Sam brightened. “You’re the dog people?”

  Amy said, “I guess you could call us that—”

  Yolanda, completely used to such questions, immediately said, “Yes, that’s us.”

  “I’ve always wanted to meet them at one of your demos.”

  Yolanda said, “We have two of them here if you’d like to take a break.”

  Sam was already on his feet and Amy and Yolanda scrambled to follow.

  Back at the car, Yolanda opened the door and introduced Gimli and Lars as she let them out of their crates. Both dogs came right up to a delighted Sam, who petted both of them enthusiastically. “Hi there, puppies.” They licked his face in return.

  Sam stood back up and Lars leapt out of the car as Yolanda carried little Gimli down.

  Sam knelt back down, Lars rubbing his body and thumping his tail against him. Gimli jumped halfway up on his knee and Sam massaged his neck.

  “I just lost my lab, Gatsby, so this is very nice,” Sam said.

  “The dog that found the phone and the trail to the car was a lab named Pearl.”

  Sam’s face brightened. “Oh, what a good dog. Hope she got something good for that.”

  “I’m sure she got her precious tennis ball and some other goodies.”

  Looking down at Gimli, he asked, “What does this guy get?”

  “He tries to insist on hamburgers and bits of steak, though we sneak veggies in there too; he’ll eat anything.”

  “And this guy?” he said, looking at Lars.

  “He’s a little pickier, but he has both toys and treats,” Amy said.

  Sam continued to pet the dogs and chat, and Amy started to get the feeling that he was just stalling. She started considering if an alternative was available.

  Sam’s phone rang. “Hello?” He paused to listen, then he said, “I’ll be right there.” He stood up, running his fingers through his hair to try to straighten out some of the wayward curl.

  “I need to be getting back. I’m so sorry, but I can’t provide a DNA sample.” He took a breath before Yolanda could say anything and raised a hand with his index finger halfway pointing up, but with a relaxed hand. “I know it would help things out, but my readers have an expectation of how I would respond. I always say to follow the law, but don’t offer anything that isn’t specifically required. That they should wait for a court order. I think I should follow my own advice.”

  While this was happening, Amy had taken out her handheld and asked it for the scent they collected at the park.

  /Lars come here,/ she silently said to the kelpie.

  Lars wandered over.

  /Smell this and tell me if it is a match with your new friend Sam here./

  Lars breathed in and started right back over to Sam, wiggling his butt in that “Pet me, Pet me” language that so manipulates humans.

  While Sam scratched Lars’s butt, Lars bent his neck around to Sam’s leg and breathed in deeply enough to make Amy wonder if Sam was going to suspect something was up.

  /No,/ he said.

  /Thanks Lars. Cookie later./

  Amy stood up. “Well, Mr. Mayfield, thank you for your time. Here is our card, please call us if you change your mind. We don’t have any further questions for you, but as you know we may have to come back to you with a court order for a DNA sample.

  “I understand,” Sam said.

  They all shook hands and Sam headed back to the hospital.

  AS SOON as Sam was out of earshot, Yolanda whirled and asked, “You didn’t do something sneaky, did you?”

  “Nothing illegal, but Lars says that Sam’s scent is not the one we collected off the phone.”

  “Score!” Yolanda pumped a fist into the air.

  Amy put her hands up to the sides of her forehead and ducked her head down. “Ssssh. He’ll wonder,” but she was grinning. Amy dug out a couple of treats. “Great work, boys,” she said, and she gave both enthusiastic dogs treats.

  CHAPTER 13:

  Discussion of the First Two Cars

  HARRIS READ over the reports. “So, after all this careful legwork, we have,” he did a drum roll on his desk, “NO DNA SAMPLES.”

  “Well, mine was close,” Steve said.

  “Who gave you an LAI license? You think it was close? You don’t know. He might have been hiding his DNA for other reasons, like he was just making threatening phone calls.”

  Steve gave him a harrumph look. “I’m quite sure he is trans. Born woman, switched to male. No Y chromo—aren’t we looking for someone with a Y chromosome?”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  Steve drew in a breath quickly, “Well, no.”

  Harris had his fingers on his temples, eye closed in apparent divination.

  Steve poked at Harris. “Stop it, you goof.”

  “And,” Harris waved his arm to indicate Yolanda and Amy, “you both have come back saying it’s not him because my doggy says so, which may be just fine for you and me, but isn’t allowed to stand on its own officially. Dog evidence can justify further investigation, but it can’t stand on its own. It needs more rigorous confirmation. You know that.”

  Yolanda said, “Harris, choir here, stop preaching to us.” She folded her hands together in front of her chest, then dropped her hands. “We did the dog thing after he said no multiple times.”

  Amy said, “Oh, and our radiologist friend doesn’t know about the dog sniff bit either, which I’m sure he’d say violates his rights.”

  “Harris gets to do the next trip,” Yolanda said.

  Steve and Amy said in unison, “Hear! Hear!”

  Catherine, the director of Canine LAI, walked to her doorway and leaned on the jamb, smiling. “How much sweet talking to Detective Hanscom am I going to have to do?”

  Steve said, “None, if Harris tracks down car three and finds our caller.”

  Amy could see Catherine getting her patient look as she put her hands together and said, “Remember that we have to do all the same leg work as everyone else. We can’t be perceived as trying to use the dogs as easy short cuts. However, I commend the creativity and possible time savings. We’ll move on to the other cars, but keep in mind that we will likely have to revisit this.”

  CHAPTER 14:

  The Third Car, Randall Curtis

  DIRECTOR CATHERINE announced during their
staff meeting, “We have just heard that the police are already searching for the owner of one of the cars we’re looking for in the nanobot data assault and extortion case.” A photo of a man appeared. “Randall Curtis owns the gray Taylor Boxcar 30 and is wanted for a robbery of a local tech store. He has fled into the Montague mountains and they’ve requested us to help track him.”

  “Yee-haw!” said Steve.

  Catherine looked up from her tablet, that she’d been holding with both hands because of its larger size, and stared right at Steve. Pausing ever so slightly, she said, “He is considered armed and dangerous.”

  “Okay, less yee-haw then,” Steve said.

  Amy was looking at a photo of a twenty-eight-year-old guy with light auburn hair and a clean-shaven face. His face was angular and his deeply tanned skin had harsh lines, either from exposure or from stress, she couldn’t tell which. He had a haunted look.

  The description said he was about 160 pounds and was five feet eight inches and in general good health, as far as anyone knew.

  THE MONTAGUE Mountains were the lower, less rugged siblings to the Dakors that loomed in the distance: more greenery, lots of trees and ferns, and more forgiving weather, though the sun-facing sides could be rocky.

  Randall’s last known position was at a small market just outside the mountains. The theory was that he rode a bicycle to one of the trailheads located off the access road. There were three parking areas, so they decided to divide their efforts: one dog starting from each parking area. Amy and Lars were taking the last one in the line. For the search, they were paired with Art, an armed ranger.

  Art was lanky five foot ten, with wavy dark brown hair. His face had that open, honest look that smiled easily, while still being slightly weathered from being outside a lot. He had a carefully trimmed beard that look incongruous in an outdoors guy. His look said that he loved the outdoors, but also loved talking about it with people. Amy figured that, essentially, he was a public-facing mountain man with grooming and social skills.