by Julie Kramer
“Hmmm.” I rooted through the heap until I found the torn baby name page and confirmed Garnett’s surmise. Susan. Zsa Zsa. Clue or red herring? Susan Redding? Mayor Skubic? The coincidences piled up.
Under the pickup truck, I opened my eyes. I kept my breathing soft and shallow to stay quiet, and because of the heavy, unpleasant air. I smelled sweat, but realized that might be me. I smelled urine, but even though I was scared, I knew I had not peed my pants.
I considered moving closer to the mall entrance, but heard footsteps. The shadow’s feet crunched closer. Then farther away. Then closer again until they stopped near the front tires, about four feet from my face. I held my breath. A shadow bent down and peered under the pickup.
“He’s gone,” Garnett said.
GARNETT OPENED MY refrigerator and grabbed a beer. I didn’t want anything to drink. Not alcohol to dull my senses; not caffeine to sharpen them, either. I just wanted to feel normal.
Most of the petals from the dog flowers lay wilted around the bottom of the vase. The stems looked naked, more embarrassed than sinister.
Perhaps we had overreacted, but the photo from the surveillance video of the shadow gave me chills. About average height. About average weight. Caucasian. The man wore fashionable black. His hat tilted to hide his face. A nylon stocking pulled over his head. The camera unable to get an identifiable shot. The freeze-frame reminded me of the state’s most prolific bank robber—dubbed the “fishing hat bandit” because during twenty-three robberies he successfully shielded his face from the security cameras. I turned the photo upside down and set it on the kitchen table.
Garnett was just suggesting I have my boss call his former boss and request additional patrols for my neighborhood when the doorbell rang. I recoiled, still jumpy from the parking ramp shadow.
“Bad guys don’t ring doorbells,” Garnett said. “They either pick the lock or crash through the door.”
“Don’t let anyone in,” I said. I’d thrown my clothes in the garbage can the minute I got home and was wearing a shabby bathrobe only close friends were allowed to see. I wanted Garnett to shove off so I could take a shower, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. I figured he didn’t want to leave me unguarded, but later pondered whether he was hoping to see me in a towel.
Garnett opened the door to a menagerie. Toby Elness stood on the porch with Blackie, Husky, and Shep. I glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight.
“I’m sorry it’s so late. But I saw your light on and we wanted to thank you in person.”
Toby peered around Garnett and the dogs peered around both of them. No barking or growling, but plenty of panting. I let them inside reluctantly, not wanting scratches on my wood floors or dog drool on my couch.
“Now really isn’t a good time for company,” I said.
“We won’t stay long.”
The dogs reacted to my parking ramp smell like a canine love potion. Shep was especially enthralled by the odor.
“Come on, stop sniffing,” I told him. “That’s not polite.”
“Down Shep,” Toby said. “Over here. Leave her alone.”
“Bad dog,” I said.
Garnett laughed as he shut the front door.
“I didn’t think the circus made house calls.”
“She’s our hero.” Toby beamed. “Isn’t she, boys?”
As if on cue, the three seemed to nod and slobber in unison. Shep even tried to thank me by smelling my butt.
“Could I have some water?” Toby asked.
“No, Toby. You can go home. It’s the middle of the night. I’m sure the dogs need their rest.”
“The water’s not for me. It’s for Blackie, Husky, and Shep.”
Oh well, if it’s for Blackie, Husky, and Shep. I am such a chump, I thought to myself, as I filled a mixing bowl from the faucet and set it on the floor. The dogs slurped water. Garnett slurped beer. Toby pulled a chair up to the table and began humming The Addams Family theme song.
I threw a bag of chips at them and told them to make themselves at home while I took a shower.
When I came back downstairs, Blackie was licking potato chips off the floor; Husky had scattered the Suicide Susan papers across the room and was chewing on the box. Toby sipped hot tea and held the Man in Black photo.
“Do you think it might be Dr. Petit?” he asked Garnett.
“He’d certainly make the short list.”
“Knock it off, guys,” I said. “You’re interfering with my sleep. Remember I work in TV? I need to look good in the morning. You are getting in the way of me earning a living, so beat it. All five of you.” I opened the front door and pointed into the night. “Outside.”
“Actually, Toby and I have been talking about your problem and he has a solution. I think you should listen.”
“Listen? To Toby? He has a solution? Right now you guys are a big part of the problem.”
Garnett closed the door and steered me back to the table. “I know it’s easier not to think about it, but you’ve got bigger problems than us, and I’m uncomfortable with your being alone.”
“So Shep’s going to stay here a few days,” Toby explained. “I already talked to him about it and he’s fine.” Indeed, a hundred pounds of German shepherd sprawled across my couch, asleep.
“That’s not necessary.” I tried shaking the dog awake. Instead he curled up in a ball. “Come on Shep. Be a good dog.”
“See, he wants to stay,” Toby said. “He likes it here.”
“I’m just not convinced he’s going to be much protection.”
Shep buried his face under his paws and started to snore.
“He’s all relaxed now, ’cause there’s no danger. But if he smells danger, look out, he’s a different dog.”
“Makes sense,” Garnett agreed. “I’m the same way.”
“Sure it makes sense,” I replied. “If you live in the twilight zone.”
“If you’d feel safer,” Toby said, “you can have Blackie and Husky, too.”
“One’s plenty,” I said.
Toby brought in a leash and some dog food and went over the rules. I was supposed to let Shep out in the morning and at night. He’d stop by in the afternoons and walk him. We’d reevaluate the plan after a couple of days. I showed Toby where I kept a spare house key in the bottom of the bird feeder. I figured him harmless and also figured some in-and-out traffic might keep my obscure stalker off guard.
The next morning I woke up to the sound of Shep drinking out of the toilet.
CHAPTER 26
Last night’s game of hide-and-seek worried Noreen.
She took Garnett’s advice and called Chief Capacasa and asked that extra patrols be added to my street. He agreed and also offered to have the city’s emergency dispatch center set up their computer system so that if any 911 call came from my home phone number, they’d dispatch a squad car first and ask questions later. He was so cooperative, I wondered if he might have his own reasons for wanting to keep tabs on me.
Meanwhile, the parking ramp shadow’s surveillance photo was now pinned at the station security desk next to Dr. Petit’s picture. There was a certain resemblance. But to be fair, I could say that about a lot of men, even Garnett.
I drove by Petit’s vet clinic on my way to work and found an empty parking lot. A CLOSED sign hung on the door. At nearly half past nine, these should have been prime office hours. If he wasn’t here, where was he? And where had he been last night?
Petit wasn’t the only suspect. He wasn’t even the scariest. Pedophile Paul Friendly was still loose, and probably held a grudge. Mayor Skubic also deserved a place on the list. No word from him since I’d mailed the battered Susan picture. But the most frightening possibility didn’t have a name. If the shadow was the Susan killer, his average, nondescript build meant I had to be wary of just about every man except those playing for the Minnesota Timber-wolves.
“No walking alone,” Noreen said. “And I want you parking in the station ramp until this settles do
wn.”
Channel 3 had a small underground ramp with just enough space for the news vans, live trucks, and station execs’ cars. The rest of us parked wherever we could. Expensive and inconvenient. Noreen’s generosity surprised and affected me.
“Well, thanks for your space. I won’t forget this.”
“No, not my space. Take the employee-of-the-month spot. Tell them it’s just temporary.”
That would make me real popular among my colleagues, especially the current employee-of-the-month. “How about if I just ride with Malik?”
“Fine. I don’t suppose you have a home security system?”
“No, but last night I got a dog.”
“Really? Oh, fabulous! What kind?”
For the next five minutes she gushed about her dalmatian, Freckles, and how we should get them both together for a doggie play-date. I kept my mouth shut, but contemplated setting her up on a blind date with Toby Elness.
MALIK HAD NO problem being my chauffeur as long as I had no problem doing most of the driving while he slept.
“She’s not expecting me to protect you, right? I’m just transportation, right?”
“She’s met you, Malik. She knows you shoot video, not bullets.”
“Just checking. Want to be clear on my responsibilities.”
“Admirable. Now keep your eyes open, his place is just around the corner.”
I could make out lilies sticking up through fallen leaves, but couldn’t tell if any were missing from the yard of Tim Moreno, father of the third dead Susan. The other lawns on the street were better groomed. I considered stopping at a hardware store and buying a rake but Malik grumbled.
“I’m like Moreno,” he said. “Don’t like raking until the trees are empty. Besides, what if he comes out and catches us?”
“I think you’re more afraid of a few calluses,” I said. “If Moreno’s home we’ll just tell him he’s our good deed for the day.”
Malik held his palms outward. “I do have the hands of an artist. Thanks for noticing, Riley. Besides, these leaves will take the rest of the morning and you told me you wanted to track down Dr. Petit before noon. Which is it going to be?”
Just then I noticed a teenage girl putting the flag up at a mailbox on the far end of the block. “Hey, how’d you like to earn forty bucks?” I called to her.
She didn’t reply, and I realized she’d probably been taught not to approach strange vehicles, especially vans offering candy or money.
“I just want you to rake the leaves on that yard.” I held two crisp bills out the car window. “Don’t tell anyone I paid you. If the owner asks, say you’re doing the work of the Lord.”
More likely it was the sight of the twenties and not the mention of God, but we made a deal and I made a mental note to come back and check the lilies later.
“I THINK WE should shoot from inside the van,” Malik said. “What if he pulls out his stun gun again?”
“Oh. I forgot about that.” He had a point. I didn’t want to replay my last encounter with Dr. Petit.
“How could you forget something like that? You must have lost some brain cells the last time we tangled with him.”
“I think I just prefer not to dwell on bad experiences.”
Dr. Petit’s garage door was shut. The house was dark. Two newspapers lay on the front steps. Unfortunately, his suburban street was empty, so parking and waiting in an unfamiliar van could attract unwanted attention. We’d been busted on stakeout before after being ratted out by nosy neighbors. On the other hand, anyone who’d seen our story might not be feeling particularly neighborly toward Dr. Petit.
“I’m going to circle the block once more. See if you spot any movement through the windows.”
All remained still.
The phone book listed this as Petit’s home address, but when Xiong had checked property records, a different name appeared, but without homestead status. That meant Dr. Petit rented. Same thing for his clinic, where he wasn’t listed as the taxpayer. That would keep things simpler if he ever had to leave town in a hurry.
“I’m going to knock on the door.” I clipped on a wireless microphone. “If he answers, keep rolling. I’m betting he doesn’t carry the stun gun around at home.”
If our veterinarian was inside, he was laying low.
I found out why when I checked my voice mail on the drive back. Four messages. The first, from the Minnesota attorney general’s consumer fraud investigator, alerting me that they’d executed a search warrant at Petit’s office. I could already hear the promo for tonight’s story.
AUTHORITIES SEIZE
EVIDENCE IN CREMATION
FRAUD CASE…
VETERINARIAN ON THE
RUN.
The next two calls came from viewers whose deceased pets were former patients. They had suspicions about the contents of their urns and what they had to say about the vet we couldn’t air. That FCC rule again.
MORE VICTIMS COME
FORWARD IN PET
CREMAINS SCANDAL…
CALL VET A
REAL “ASH.”
Okay, a reporter can dream.
Brent Redding had left the last message. This was the first time he had called himself “Brent” instead of “Doctor.” Presumably he wanted me to do the same. He hoped to resume our conversation from the other day. Fine with me, but he needed to cut to the chase about Mayor Skubic. Therapists might be willing to wait session after session for a patient to get to the good stuff, but journalists don’t have that kind of patience.
I also had mixed feelings about our “friends” talk the other day and hoped he didn’t envision anything beyond friendship. I left him a message to stop by my house later, much later. First I had to pick up the search warrant, grab a sound bite from the AG’s office, interview a couple of outraged pet owners, and shoot a stand-up.
Geographically, Malik and I could make it back in time for the late news, but we’d have to race. I noticed an elderly man staring at us through the window blinds of the house next door to Dr. Petit’s. I rang the doorbell and he answered. I gave him my business card and asked him to call me if his neighbor came home.
“I sure will,” he said. “Not surprised to hear he’s a bad vet. Last summer at our block party he kicked Rufus for getting too close to the buffet table.”
“Rufus?”
The man whistled and a plump, pug-faced dog wobbled around the corner. “You was just smelling the brats weren’t you, Rufus? Sure I’ll call if that jerk shows up. I’ll get Mrs. Oster on the other side to help, too. He pulled her kitty’s tail for digging in his flower bed.”
Rush hour was under way on our trip back, but at least we were heading in the right direction. The other side of the freeway was choked with traffic. Malik drove while I scribbled a script. Out in the field I always keep a somewhat outdated mini tape recorder in my pocket so I can roll audio on any interviews we might have to edit on deadline. That way I can save time by not having to wait until we get back to the station to pull sound bites.
For cover we had pictures of a beagle, a golden retriever, and video of their urns. I wished the AG had called earlier so we could have videotaped the investigators carrying boxes out of Dr. Petit’s clinic. Malik shot my stand-up at the clinic with the CLOSED sign in the background.
NO ONE KNOWS WHERE
THE MISSING
VETERINARIAN
IS TONIGHT…NOT HIS
PATIENTS…NOT THE
AUTHORITIES…
NOT EVEN CHANNEL 3…
THIS IS RILEY SPARTZ
REPORTING.
Malik turned on local talk radio just in time for us to hear Susan Victor crusading against the SUSANS story. He opened his mouth, but I cut him off.
“Just think of it as free publicity,” I said. “Cheaper than buying an ad.”
“Tell that to Dr. Petit.”
I’M ADDICTED TO checking my voice mail. So I listened to a fresh message from the county attorney. Good news. The sta
te had revoked Paul Friendly’s parole so back to prison for him. Also, the county had no intention of spending any taxpayer money investigating whether or not Friendly was assaulted. Case closed. I gave the information to the assignment desk and heard them page Mike Flagg.
“Damn,” I told Malik. “They’ll probably lead with that and bump us down in the lineup.”
“Fine with me,” Malik said. “Gives me more time to edit.”
“Stop thinking of yourself. Think about my needs. I need to be at the top of the newscast. I need to be number one.”
“You need to get a real life.”
We pulled into the station garage after six. I recorded my voice track while Malik loaded video and sound into the edit cube. He was smiling at a shot of the retriever when I handed him my audio.
“I’m thinking maybe my kids need a dog. A dog would be good for them, teach them responsibility.” I tuned out his rambling parent jabber to write down the time code for the attorney general sound bite.
“They’d have to let the dog in and out,” Malik continued. “I hope it wouldn’t end up being a lot of work for Missy. You never see kids walking dogs; it’s always the parents. Have you ever noticed that?”
Suddenly I remembered Shep. “Shep!”
“Who’s Shep?”
“Shep’s my dog.”
“You have a dog? Since when?”
“Toby Elness lent him to me last night for protection. I completely forgot. I have to rush home. You’ve got everything you need, right?”
I took Malik’s van and asked him to bum a ride over after he finished the edit. The same vehicle key fits all of Channel 3’s news cruisers and I always kept a copy on my own key chain. I made the trip in eighteen minutes, being careful to avoid the speed trap the traffic police like to set up behind the bushes just off my freeway exit.
Shep appeared anxious as I snapped the leash to his collar and led him outside to do his business. I’d brought along a plastic bag to clean up after him per Toby’s instructions. Just as I bent over, my ass facing the street, Shep started to growl and pull toward the curb.