by Nancy Skopin
The killer pulled back onto the frontage road and drove to his own ‘secure building’, relishing the anticipation of his next objective.
Chapter 16
When my Dream Machine woke me on Thursday morning the first thing I thought of was Buddy. It was a surprisingly happy thought, considering how I’d avoided having a pet since the loss of my English Mastiff three years ago.
I hadn’t slept well the night before, in spite of exhausting myself reading and summarizing the accident report. I brewed a pot of Kona and sat at the galley counter wondering if my sailboat would be too confining for a big dog. Rocky seemed okay on Frank’s boat. Of course, I couldn’t leave Buddy alone while I was working. Dogs are pack animals, and he’d probably develop separation anxiety and eat the settee cushions or something. I wondered if he was still teething. The woman at the pound had said he was about six months old. I’d have to get him some chew toys.
I realized I was thinking of Buddy as mine—thinking long term. I’d posted the photos of him around the marina two days ago and no one had called yet. What if his family had already claimed him? I hadn’t been to the pound since Tuesday. The realization that he might be gone shocked me. I’d assumed that he would be waiting for me to come and get him. I glanced at my watch. It was 6:15.
Thirty minutes later I was showered and dressed and knocking on Elizabeth’s door. She slid it open and squinted out at the daylight. “It’s early,” she said.
“I know. Sorry. I want to be there when they open.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh my God,” she said. “You’re afraid someone else is going to adopt him, aren’t you?”
“Shut up.”
She grinned at me. “Come inside while I get dressed.”
I climbed the dock steps, went inside, and closed the door behind me.
“I haven’t made breakfast yet,” Elizabeth called out from the stateroom. “Are you hungry?”
“A little. But we can eat after we pick him up.”
“You are so funny,” she said.
“Shut up!”
I heard soft chuckling coming from the stateroom as I paced around the galley. I was in a hurry to get to the Humane Society, which probably wouldn’t be open for at least another hour.
We arrived in Burlingame at 7:30. The sign on the locked door stated that adoption hours were from 11:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m.
“Crap!” I shouted, apparently loud enough to start the dogs barking. I wondered if Buddy recognized my voice. I peered through the glass doors, hoping there might be a benevolent employee inside who would allow me to adopt outside of the posted hours. I didn’t see anyone, and the lights weren’t on. Crap, crap, crap!
“What do you want to do?” Elizabeth asked.
“Let’s head over to Burlingame Avenue and grab some breakfast. They should be open by the time we get back. Maybe I can convince them to let me adopt Buddy before eleven. I have to meet Sam at twelve.”
We settled on Alana’s Café, which opened at 7:00. A window table was available, so we dropped our purses and jackets, then I snagged menus from the waitress behind the counter. I ordered scrambled eggs with shrimp, and coffee, of course. Elizabeth requested a Swiss cheese and mushroom omelet. The food at Alana’s was good, the prices reasonable, and the atmosphere friendly. I tried to relax and enjoy my breakfast, but I was anxious both about the adoption and about getting back to work on Paul’s case.
We pulled into the Humane Society lot at 8:45. The doors were now unlocked and the overhead lights were on. There was a petite blonde woman behind the counter. Her nametag read Karen. She wore her hair in a ponytail and was dressed in a pink polo shirt and tan jeans.
“I’m here to adopt Buddy,” I blurted out, as soon as I was inside. “My name is Nicoli Hunter. I called the day he was brought in and left my name and number in case his family didn’t claim him. Is he still here?”
Elizabeth put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Breathe.”
“Yeah, he’s here,” Karen said, smiling. “You need to fill out some paperwork. We can get the process started, but you’ll have to come back after eleven to pick him up.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you would let me complete the process and take him with me this morning. I have an appointment at 12:00 today.”
Karen gave me a clipboard with a short stack of forms and a pen, then said, “I’m sorry, but our policy is to only allow adoptions between eleven and seven. Maybe you can come back after your appointment.”
I stood at the counter to fill out the forms, not wanting anyone to get in line ahead of me. I rushed through the paperwork, slowing when I got to the section that asked about my living situation. I didn’t imagine many of the individuals adopting dogs lived aboard boats. I didn’t want to risk being turned down for the adoption, but I didn’t want to lie either. I listed the Cheoy Lee’s dimensions and included information about the wildlife refuge across the street and the park-like grounds of the marina. I also noted the many other dogs who lived aboard who would be Buddy’s friends, and my neighbors who would look after him when I was unable to be at home or to have him with me while I was working.
When I was finished I handed the forms back to Karen and she called someone to bring Buddy inside. She asked us to wait in a small room just off the lobby, saying she wanted to ask me a few questions and observe my interaction with the dog. I’d had no idea the Humane Society was so thorough. It was reassuring to know that they wouldn’t give a dog to just anyone who walked in off the street.
The room in which we were seated was equipped with three white plastic chairs, two tennis balls, a rope chew toy, and a blue beanbag chair. We waited a couple of minutes before Karen brought Buddy in on a green nylon leash. I noticed immediately that his demeanor had changed since I’d first met him. His tail was between his legs and his head was held low, as though he was afraid of being hit. It broke my heart to see him like this. Then he raised his eyes and saw me, or maybe he smelled me. His head came up and his tail started wagging frantically. A sound I can only describe as a moan escaped his lips as he strained against the leash. Karen let go and Buddy launched himself into my lap. I started laughing but there were tears in my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I hugged him and he licked my hands and face and then burrowed under my arm with a sigh.
Elizabeth pulled a tissue out of her purse and handed it to me.
Karen asked me questions about my job and my living situation, how often I would walk Buddy, and what I planned to feed him. She gave me tags for his collar, and I let her install one of those electronic chips between his shoulder blades, so if the license on his collar came off any vet could scan him like a grocery item and access my name, address, and phone number. I looked over Buddy’s paperwork while Karen was injecting the chip. Apparently the Humane Society vet had decided he was a mixture of Golden Retriever and Rhodesian Ridgeback.
After I’d paid the fee Elizabeth and I walked Buddy into the pet store at the front of the building. I bought him a leather collar and matching leash, a pinch collar, food and water dishes, organic kibble, and medicated shampoo. I also let him pick out his own toys and tennis balls. He selected a stuffed orange dragon that squeaked when you squeezed it, and a hedgehog that honked.
By the time we’d finished shopping it was 10:45. Once again I appealed to Karen, asking her to break policy by only fifteen minutes, and this time she relented. We all scampered out to the parking lot where Buddy watered a couple of bushes and then happily climbed into the back seat of the BMW.
We drove back to the marina and walked Buddy around the grounds. My original plan had been to leave the pup with Elizabeth, but now that I had him, I didn’t want to leave him behind. I made a quick call to Sam, informing him that I’d be arriving with my new four-legged friend in tow. I warned him that Buddy might be a little shy at first. Sam grunted in respon
se.
Buddy and I arrived at Sam’s office a few minutes before noon. I knocked on the door and shortened Buddy’s leash. Sam is a big man with a powerful presence, so I didn’t know how Buddy might react to him.
“It’s open,” he called out.
I pushed open the door and let Buddy drag me inside. He pulled me into every corner of the front office before aiming his nose down the hall toward Sam’s private domain.
Sam was seated in the visitor’s chair in front of his desk when we entered. He had his hands on his knees, knuckles out, and he didn’t move when Buddy entered the room.
“Hello, boy,” he said softly.
Buddy stopped in his tracks and his hackles went up. He sniffed the air between himself and Sam, then lowered his head and leaned in, sniffing Sam’s shoes. He wagged his tail one time and took a single step forward. He sniffed Sam’s left hand, then his right, and wagged some more. Finally he turned around and sat down on Sam’s feet.
Sam grinned and rubbed the top of Buddy’s head.
“Hi, Sam,” I said. “I didn’t know you spoke doglish.”
He chuckled, looking down at Buddy. “He’s a good dog,” he said.
Eventually Sam stood up, dislodging Buddy, who turned and licked his hand. Sam shuffled around behind his desk.
“So, Nicoli. What have you learned?”
I felt like the aspiring pupil I had once been.
“I have learned, Sensei, that Martin Wallace is a control freak, a voyeur, and an asshole. Have you eaten?”
“I grabbed a burger. Let’s go talk to Boscalo’s neighbors.”
Gary Boscalo lived on Vanessa Drive in San Mateo. Sam and I took separate cars because I didn’t want Buddy to shed all over Sam’s interior and because I thought being in an unfamiliar car might make him insecure. Although he’d adapted to my little Bimmer pretty quickly.
Vanessa Drive is a middleclass residential neighborhood between Delaware Street and Highway 101. Sam got there before I did, but just barely. When I pulled up he was standing on the sidewalk across from Boscalo’s house. I parked the 2002, hooked Buddy’s leash to his collar, and walked over to Sam.
As I approached, he turned to face me. “You’re not planning on bringing the dog along are you?”
“Yes, I am. I don’t want to lock him up in the car. He’ll be good.”
“I’m not disputing that, Nicoli. But some people don’t like dogs.”
“I’m bringing him.”
“Fine.” Sam turned away from me and it looked like his shoulders were shaking. Was he laughing at me?
I followed him to the house directly across the street from Boscalo’s. As we approached the front door we could hear the blare of a TV coming from inside the house, blasting out cartoons. I knocked on the door. A minute passed and no one answered, so I rang the bell. It was another minute before a woman in her late twenties opened the door. She was dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt. Behind her were two toddlers of indeterminate gender, both of whom immediately began squealing, “Gawgie!” at the sight of Buddy.
I shortened the leash and the woman tried to grab hold of her kids, but they were too fast for her. In that instant I could foresee an endless stream of lawsuits that would drain my bank account for the rest of my life. Then Buddy began licking their grimy little faces and my fears vanished. The kids ran their hands over his head and back as Buddy washed any exposed flesh he could find.
“Can I help you?” the mother asked, keeping an eye on her kids.
I was caught up in the joy of children with a dog. I didn’t want to spoil the moment by telling her why we were there, but I did anyway.
“My name is Nicoli Hunter and this is Sam Pettigrew. We’re conducting an investigation.”
She looked at me for a moment and then a light snapped on in her eyes. “Oh,” she said. “Is this about Gary’s wife and daughter? I heard about it from Janice.” She nodded toward the house adjacent to Boscalo’s. “Terrible,” she murmured, shaking her head.
“May we come in?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Of course.”
She stepped back and allowed me to enter, towing Buddy and her two children. Sam brought up the rear.
“The house is a mess,” she said apologetically. “The house is always a mess.”
We all trooped into the living room and she lowered the volume on the TV. It’s possible she was afraid she might have a riot on her hands if she turned it off completely. I sat down on the couch and Sam settled into an armchair.
“I didn’t catch your name,” I said.
“Arleen Thomas.”
She stood up briefly and shook my hand and then Sam’s. Her hand was warm and dry, and her grip was firm.
“What were your names again?” she asked.
“I’m Nicoli Hunter,” I said.
“Sam Pettigrew,” said Sam, smiling benevolently at the harried young mother.
Arleen looked from one of us to the other and her gaze settled on me.
“We need to know anything you can tell us about Gary’s relationships with his wife and daughter.” I glanced down at the printout I’d brought along. “Jennifer and Melanie?”
That went over like a lead balloon. Arleen looked down at the coffee table, then she looked at the TV, and at her two toddlers who were still enthusiastically petting Buddy. “Kids, why don’t you go to your room and see if you can find a toy for the nice doggy to play with.”
Getting her kids out of earshot. This might be promising. When they were gone she said, “Is this going to get Gary in some kind of trouble? Because God knows that man has enough problems already.”
“It’s just background information,” I said. “No one wants to get Gary in trouble.”
She stared at me for a moment and then said, “He kind of has a temper. He was arrested for beating Jennifer up once. I used to worry about little Melanie. You know, kids can’t defend themselves. But I never heard anything about him hitting Melanie.”
I looked at Sam.
“Arleen,” he began. “We’d like to ask you some more questions about Gary, but it’s important that you keep this conversation to yourself. Can you promise to do that?”
“I’ll have to tell my husband,” she said. “I tell John everything.”
“That would be fine,” Sam said. “What we need to know is if you’ve noticed Gary going out in the middle of the night, or very early in the morning.”
She turned to me as though I was going to give her the answer. “What’s this really about?” she asked.
“We’re researching the background of each passenger to determine their potential life insurance value.”
She shook her head. “That’s not a routine question,” she said.
“No, but it’s important.”
She glanced at Sam, then back to me again. Finally she said, “Once or twice, maybe. I just thought he was going for long drives because he couldn’t sleep.”
I felt an adrenaline rush. “Any chance you can remember the dates?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think so.”
“How about the days of the week?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it.”
The two kids stormed back into the room, each carrying a stuffed animal. The blond had a bunny and the brunette had a fuzzy yellow duck. They descended on Buddy, who was more than happy to chew on their toys, rolling onto his back and holding the bunny in his mouth and the duck between his paws. The toddlers giggled hysterically at his antics and I would have sworn he was smiling.
I couldn’t think of anything else to ask, so I took out my wallet and handed Arleen one of my business cards. “Please call me if you remember any details,” I said. “And please ask your husband not to
discuss this with anyone, especially Gary.”
When we were outside and Arleen’s door was closed, we could hear the kids screaming for the gawgie to come back.
“You still think it might be a problem to have the dog along on interviews?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. Sam was so used to being right.
He looked at me sideways and said, “Humph.”
Chapter 17
We knocked on four more doors that afternoon, but no one else was home. I wasn’t surprised. Considering the neighborhood, everyone was probably at work.
We drove back to Sam’s office and I found a soup bowl in his kitchen, which I filled with water for Buddy. He drained the bowl quickly, so I refilled it before settling into a visitor’s chair across from Sam. I checked my watch. It was only 1:45.
“I think I’ll go check out the businesses around Wallace’s office. Will you be in the office later today, so we can go over everything we’ve learned?”
“Hard to say. Give me a call.”
I walked Buddy out to the parking lot and he jumped back into the 2002. I rolled the windows down far enough to provide the puppy with airflow and scents, but not enough to allow him to fit his head through the gap.
When we arrived in Belmont I parked down the street from Wallace’s office and considered my options. There was a Thai restaurant across the street, a bank behind his office on a side street, and a pawnshop next door.
I hooked Buddy’s leash to his collar, quickly skirted past Wallace’s office, and approached the pawnshop. The sign on the door indicated that they were closed. I shaded my eyes and looked through the window. The lights were on inside and there was a tall, bearded man behind a counter in the back of the store. He was seated on a stool next to an open gun safe, and he appeared to be cleaning an assault rifle. I quickly stepped back from the door, but it was too late. He’d seen me.