The Highly Effective Detective Goes to the Dogs

by Richard Yancey

  “My shift doesn’t end till three.”

  “Oh. Well, maybe I’ll call a cab, then. I think they need the room.”

  “No, no, don’t do that. I’ll make a couple of calls. Give me an hour, okay? I’ll be there.”

  “Okay.”

  I decided to get dressed and hit the john before she arrived. The last thing I wanted—well, not the last in the absolute sense—was her to see me in a hospital gown. I had trouble buttoning my shirt over the bandages protecting my ribs, and pulling up my pants proved a challenge of physical engineering. I hurt like hell after it was over, and double-checked my wallet for the subscription for painkillers the attending physician had written. I was surprised to find my gun in the pocket of my overcoat. You would think a hospital would have tighter security procedures.

  I avoided my reflection in the bathroom mirror, but the little glances I shot that way were not encouraging. Both eyes had shiners, giving me a raccoonlike appearance. I wondered if my nose would come out crooked after the bandages came off, and what that would do to my overall appearance. Might it give my otherwise bland features some character? Well, I thought, at least my basic optimism is still intact.

  I sat in the chair by the bed and tried to gather my thoughts, though the effects of the Demerol still lingered. A thought would dash across my mind and I would chase after it, like Alice after the rabbit, until it hopped down my cerebral hole and was gone.

  There could be only one reason I was jumped the night before. Like Meredith said, it was a huge risk, and the only thing that made the risk worth taking was a name on the list I promised Unknown Caller I had. At some point, from the time I set up the rendezvous and last night, this guy found out about me and the list and decided he didn’t have a choice but to try to warn me off the case.

  I had accomplished that, at least: narrowing his options. That spawned another half-formed thought, or more of an emotion struggling to become a thought, and that emotion felt a lot like fear.

  I was still chasing rabbits when Amanda walked into the room, took one look at my smashed-up face, and brought a hand to her mouth.

  “It looks worse than it feels,” I told her.

  “Lean on me,” she said.

  “The doctor says I might need to use a cane for a few weeks.”

  “This has something to do with the dead guy in the alley, doesn’t it?”

  I nodded. “He’s running out of options,” I said. During the elevator ride and the long, slow walk to the parking lot, with my big self draped over her skinny frame, I told her about the list and Unknown Caller.

  “And now I’ve got a bad feeling,” I said, as she helped me lower myself into the passenger seat of the Monte Carlo.

  “I bet you do,” she said.

  I shifted in my seat as she drove, trying to find a comfortable position. That had been a problem of mine for some time. I said, “I mean, about her. He can’t trust her now.”

  “You think he’ll hurt her?”

  “I’m just wondering if the reason I didn’t see her last night was because she wouldn’t come, or if it was because she couldn’t come.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “But it’s one of those things where there’s nothing you can do. I’ve been faced with that a lot lately. From Jack in that alley to Eunice Shriver, even to Archie, with all that angst-ridden staring.”

  “I don’t think dogs suffer from angst, Ruzak.”

  “Well. The point is, fear is a very useful emotion. We’re capable of it for a reason. It’s supposed to spur us to action, the flight-or-flight thing, but I’ve got nothing to fight and nothing to fly from, really. There’s no way to find her. All I can do is pray she’s safe.”

  “Maybe she’ll call again.”

  “I doubt it. She’s afraid, too. She was afraid before, obviously, but now she’s very afraid. Now she’s terrified.”

  I asked her to swing through the Buddy’s Barbeque drive-thru on Kingston Pike; I was starving. I had a pulled-pork sandwich and side of coleslaw. Amanda ordered a hot-fudge cake.

  “I live on these things,” she confided.

  “Don’t you worry about things like proper nutrition, saturated fat content, and stuff like that?”

  “No more than you,” she said, eying my sandwich.

  In the lobby of the Sterchi, we passed a man whose name I knew only as Whittaker. Whittaker was the assistant apartment manager.

  “Ruzak?” he asked.

  “I had a little accident,” I said.

  “Looks slightly larger than little. I need to talk to you. I got a report that you’ve violated your lease.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re aware we’re a pet-free facility?”

  “I think I remember something about that.”

  “We’ve had reports, Mr. Ruzak.”

  “Look, he’s been seriously injured,” Amanda said. “He needs to get off his feet.”

  Whittaker ignored her. “Are you denying you’ve taken a dog into this building?”

  “I was affirming that I knew I couldn’t keep a pet.”

  “Are you?”

  “I just did.”

  “No, are you denying you have a dog?” he asked, his voice rising.

  “I do not currently have a dog, no,” I said carefully.

  Amanda edged us toward the elevator. Whittaker trailed behind, hot on the scent.

  “You do know, as the assistant manager of this facility, that I have the right to enter your apartment at any time to conduct an inspection of compliance with your lease agreement?”

  “I wasn’t specifically aware of that, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I’ll be happy to supply you with a copy,” Whittaker said. “We take enforcement very seriously here at the Sterchi, Mr. Ruzak.”

  “Oh, I’m a firm believer in enforcement,” I replied. “But as of this moment, I don’t have a dog.”

  The elevator doors slid closed, and we left Mr. Something Whittaker or Mr. Whittaker Something behind.

  “You got rid of Arch?” Amanda asked.

  “Felicia took him. But I have to get him back.”

  “Felicia of the pleasant knees.”

  She walked me to the sofa.

  “Comfy?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Maybe you should lie down in the bed.”

  “I’ll get used to it.”

  “We should have got you a cane. Or a walker, like old ladies use.”

  I asked her to fetch me the cordless. There were no new calls and no messages.

  “Seriously, Ruzak, tell me what else you need.”

  “I did forget this,” I said, showing her the prescription.

  “I’ll go get it filled,” she said, snatching it from my hand. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “It’s no big deal,” she said, and headed for the door. “There’s a Walgreens right on Gay Street.”

  Then she was gone. I sat on my sofa and thought I’d never seen her so animated. Sometimes all we need to feel alive is to feel useful.

  After fifteen minutes of me staring at the TV remote lying on the coffee table, trying to work up the energy to get up and grab it, the phone rang. The number that popped up looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “Ruzak!” Vernon Shriver barked at me. “Where is my mother?”

  “I haven’t seen her,” I said. “I just got home from the hospital.”

  “Why were you in the hospital?”

  “Somebody beat me up.”

  “That don’t surprise me. Well, she isn’t home and she isn’t here and she isn’t at the church. What do you think?”

  I told him I had no idea what I thought, but promised to call if I heard from her. He called me a name and hung up.

  Another forty-five minutes went by, and still no sign of Amanda. I wondered if Walgreens was giving her a hard time about the prescription because, obviously, she didn’t look like somebody whose name could be Theodore Ruzak.

&nb
sp; Felicia called to ask if I got home okay.

  “Did you take a cab?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I took Amanda. I mean, Amanda gave me a ride. I mean, she drove me home.”

  “Amanda,” she said.“Well, you know what this means.”

  “What?”

  “She’s got a real thing for you, Ruzak. I just don’t understand your reluctance.”

  “I’m not the any-port-in-a-storm kind of guy.”

  “It’s her knees, isn’t it?”

  “They do have a certain knobby quality.”

  Another half hour went by before Amanda finally returned, the white paper Walgreens’ drug sack in one hand and a small duffel in the other.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “I decided to run by my place and grab a few things. You’re gonna need some help until you get back on your feet.”

  “You’re moving in?”

  “Just for a few days. Is that a problem?”

  I sat very still, trying to think of one way in which it might be. She laughed.

  “Don’t worry, Ruzak. You’re in no condition to hanky-panky, even if you wanted to. I’ll bunk out here on the sofa.”

  She dropped her duffel to the floor and commenced to rummaging through my pantry. She was wearing stretchy black pants that accentuated her glutes as she bent over.

  “You must eat out a lot,” she called over her shoulder. She leaned on the kitchen counter, unwrapping a Twinkie. I wasn’t sure, but it may have been my last Twinkie.

  “There’s no tree,” she said, looking around. “Don’t you celebrate Christmas?”

  “I used to put up a tree for Mom,” I said. “This is my first Christmas without her.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” Amanda said. “A Freudian element.”

  “I’d hate to think so.”

  “All I’m saying is, maybe older women turn you on.”

  “Well,” I said. “I watch a lot of old movies, and I always had a thing for Sophia Loren.”

  “Oh God, Ruzak, she’s nearly as old as Eunice Shriver.”

  “I think that’s why I’ve been so indulgent,” I said. “Not because of Sophia Loren, but because Eunice showed up right after my mom died.”

  “Do you do that a lot?” she asked, finishing off the Twinkie and licking the white cream from her fingertips. What the hell was in that cream, anyway? “All the navel gazing?”

  “More than I should,” I admitted. “Probably I’m trying to keep the cosmic scales balanced against the people who should, but don’t.”

  DECEMBER 20

  FORTY-TWO

  My first impression of Reggie Matthews through the bulletproof pane was how much better his looks had improved since his incarceration: neatly shaved, his hair shorter and thicker looking, calm and well rested. More than poor diet or lack of exercise, it’s fear and anxiety that tear our appearances apart. Reggie didn’t have to worry anymore where his next meal was coming from, or if he’d find a warm place to sleep for the night. Or if he was doomed to suffer a useless, unjust death at the hands of a punk.

  “Reggie,” I said into the telephone receiver. “You look terrific.”

  “You don’t. He really did a number on you, Ruzak.”

  “It’s reached that point where it looks worse than it feels.”

  “That’s the point to get to, all right.”

  “Reggie,” I said. “They’re finished with the list.”

  He wet his lips. “They caught ‘em all?”

  “They caught nobody. Reggie, the list didn’t pan out. Every guy on it had an alibi or didn’t fit the descriptions you gave.”

  “So?”

  “So I told Detective Black it didn’t change the fact that I was attacked by somebody who warned me off this case. That this girl calling me and that guy jumping me could only point to your innocence.”

  He nodded. “And what’d she say?”

  “She said I’d make a terrific witness for the defense.”

  “Well, sure.”

  “Reggie, here’s the bottom line: You’re going to trial next month for a murder we both know you didn’t commit. Now, the Knoxville PD is playing this close to the vest—Meredith won’t say what she’ll do—but my guess is they’ll fold their hands if you recant now. They don’t have anything of any substance except your confession.”

  “I ain’t recanting, Ruzak.”

  “How about Johnson City?” I asked. “You must have felt reasonably safe there.”

  “Are you kidding me?” he said with a laugh. “You hear from my boy?”

  I nodded. “I told him you were doing just fine, but he asked to talk to you and I had to lie.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I told him you were walking my dog. What’re you going to do when he decides to drive down for a little visit? Or he picks up the paper and reads about your trial?”

  “Did you give him that money?”

  “I did.”

  “Then he don’t have any reason to come down. He never wanted much to do with me, Ruzak, even when he was little. You wanna know somethin’? I’m feelin’ the best I have in years. Even gone off my medicine. I got a whole month to let this thing work itself out.”

  “These kind of things don’t just work themselves out, Reggie. Maybe you should factor this into your decision: she hasn’t called me since the attack, and the list is a dead end.”

  His eyes narrowed at me. “So?”

  “So there’s nothing the police can do and, more important, there’s nothing more I can do. The only option left is for you to recant.”

  “Not yet.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “What are you waiting for, Reggie? The police think they have Jack’s killer, so they’re not looking. I’ve got no leads, so I’m not looking. And I sincerely doubt these guys are going to waltz into the station and confess. You’re betting the police will have to let you go if you recant at the eleventh hour, but you don’t know that for sure. They still may take you to trial, and men have been sent to the death chamber on less in this state.”

  “Ah, come on, Ruzak, what’s the matter with you? It’s almost Christmas. Don’t you believe in miracles?”

  I gave up after that. He seemed awfully cocksure for somebody whose fate hung by a thread. I left the prison, hobbling across the parking lot, leaning on the cane Amanda had bought me, carved from hickory with a gold handle in the shape of a duck’s head. Bunting hung from the lampposts, bronze horns on a green background with HAPPY HOLIDAYS written in red beneath them. Somebody had thrown a few strands of Christmas lights around the evergreens by the entrance, the kind with the fat, multicolored bulbs, which was the only kind of lights I could remember from childhood; I think my childhood predated the minilights.

  The overcast sky was spitting a fitful snow, and I walked slowly to my car, planting my feet carefully on the slick pavement. To the west, on the other side of the river, seven-foot-tall Christmas trees, red, green and white, glimmered on the roof of the First Tennessee Bank building, the tallest structure downtown.

  I leaned the cane against the passenger seat and started the car. I felt heavy, weighed down. Foolish, too, to put so much stock into the list from Professor Heifitz. I wasn’t attacked because a name was on a list; I was attacked because he must have found out she had talked to me and I deserved a stern warning.

  It took over forty minutes on the Pike to get to West Town Mall and another ten to find a parking place, and that one tucked in the farthest corner. Driving was not a painless exercise, and Amanda had offered to chauffer me, but I told her my independence was about all I had left. She seemed to understand. I had hoped that that would lead to a discussion about her moving out. It didn’t.

  I had lived alone for so long, her being in my apartment was both comforting and disconcerting. She was gone most of the day; the semester was over, but she had picked up more hours at the Humane Society. I discovered Amanda was a night owl. I’d wake up in the middle of the night
to the sound of her raucous laughter on the phone, and she spent a lot of time on her laptop, crafting her MySpace. Archie enjoyed having her around, though. She was an old friend from his pound days, and it took his mind off whatever it was about me that troubled him.

  Two days after I left the hospital, Vernon Shriver called me.

  “We found her,” he said without even saying hello.

  “Where was she?”

  “Hiding out at her preacher’s house. I got her safe now. Put her in that home on Middlebrook Pike, you know the one?”

  “I think I’ve heard of it. Wasn’t that the one where the old guy killed himself a couple years back?”

  “That’s the one. Killed his wife, too. Think she had terminal cancer.”

  So Eunice Shriver was safely tucked away in a rest home, only they don’t call them rest homes anymore for politically correct reasons that were hard for me to discern. Still, if anybody needed a rest, it was Eunice. I’d read somewhere that dementia wasn’t a matter of if but when. You live long enough, you get it. Those ninety-year-olds with the minds sharp as tacks, they’re doomed, too, if they beat the odds and make it another ten years. All the advances in medical science can’t change the fact that the human body is designed to last for only so long. And still, in the twenty-first century, nobody can say for sure why we die, what makes our cells eventually stop doing what they’re designed to do. Maybe this is the root cause of our sense of outrage and betrayal when the inevitable comes.

  Felicia was waiting for me in the food court, wearing a red scarf and dangly ruby earrings, her hair pulled back into a cascade of blondness that fell to the middle of her back. She had colored her hair again. She smelled like cinnamon, though I might have been picking up the rolls from the Cinnabon place four tables away.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t find a spot.”

  “You should have used a handicapped one.”

  “I don’t have a sticker.”

  “Ruzak, half the people parked in them don’t, either, and half of those who do, shouldn’t.”

  “Integrity begins as a personal issue,” I said.

  “You know, sometimes you say things that sound very smart but, if you really think about them, they kind of crumble apart like old cake.”