by Diane Kelly
On seeing my uniform, she released a slow sigh. “Figured I’d be getting a visit sooner or later.”
With that, she slid the safety chain free and opened the door. She appeared to be in her late thirties and wore knit shorts and a long tee. Improvised sleepwear, I surmised, judging from the jiggling action under her shirt as she moved, indicating she’d retired her bra for the night.
My eyes quickly surveyed the room behind her as the detective introduced himself. All I saw was a tired-looking sofa, a cheap dinette set, a small TV, and a potted peace lily with three white blooms. There was no sign of anyone else in the room, nor any bedding on the couch or floor indicating someone was crashing here.
“Sorry to bother you so late,” the detective said. “You’re Ralph Hurley’s sister, correct?”
She snorted. “Unfortunately. I’d much rather be known as Chris Hemsworth’s secret lover.”
If she were known as Hemsworth’s lover it wouldn’t be a secret, but I didn’t bother pointing out her contradiction.
Bustamente cocked his head, eyeing the woman intently. “You seem to know why we’re here.”
“Yeah. You’re looking for my good-for-nothing brother.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Ralph’s been nothing but a pain in the neck since the day he was born.”
“Is he here?” Bustamente asked. “Has he been staying with you?”
She scoffed. “Ralph wouldn’t dare show his face around here or I’d kick his butt. He borrowed two grand from me years ago and hasn’t paid back a cent. If that wasn’t bad enough, last time I saw him he stole fifty bucks from my purse. Besides, harboring a fugitive is a felony, right? I’m not about to put myself on the line for him.”
She sounded sincere, but could it all be an act?
Bustamente gestured with his hand. “Mind if we come in and look around?”
The woman would be within her rights to refuse to let us in. A grease spot in the parking lot wouldn’t constitute sufficient probable cause for suspecting her of hiding Hurley. But if she gave us permission to come inside and perform a search, probable cause wasn’t necessary.
When the woman hesitated, I glanced down at Brigit. She stood at my side, her body rigid as she awaited instruction. But she wasn’t scenting the air, and she wasn’t sniffing the carpet. Nothing in her demeanor told me she recognized any of the smells here. Maybe Hurley’s sister was telling the truth and her no-good brother had never been here.
“There’s nothing to see in my apartment but a bunch of dirty laundry and dust bunnies.” She shrugged and stepped back. “But suit yourself.”
I ordered Brigit to stay close by my side as we followed the detective into the apartment. I stood near the door with Brigit as he opened the coat closet and glanced inside. He checked the bedroom, even dropping to a knee to look under the bed. He stepped into the bath and pulled back the shower curtain, but no Ralph was to be found. Though the kitchen cabinets seemed much too small to hide the Silent Giant, Bustamente opened each and every one. “You never know,” he told me. “I once found a meth-head curled up inside a garbage can.”
Figuring I might as well help out, I opened the refrigerator. Nothing there but a half-empty bottle of inexpensive white wine, the usual assortment of condiments, a block of cheddar cheese, and several takeout containers. Who could blame her? I knew from experience that it wasn’t easy cooking for one. At least once I’d been partnered with Brigit I’d had her to share my meals with.
When Brigit stepped forward to sniff at a white box with red Chinese lettering on the side I pulled her back. The last thing I needed was my partner performing a Technicolor Szechuan yawn in the back of my cruiser. I’d cleaned up enough puke recently.
Turning his attention back to Hurley’s sister, the detective asked, “Have you heard from him?”
She hesitated again. “Look, he called me yesterday and asked if he could shack up here for a few days. I told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t welcome and that was it. He hung up on me. I have no idea where he was calling from or where he might have gone.”
Bustamente handed the woman his business card. “If he calls or comes by, will you try to find out where he’s staying and let me know?”
She took the card and stared down at it, releasing a long breath before looking back up at the detective. “Honestly? I don’t know. I mean, the guy’s a waste of human flesh but he’s still my little brother. And he’s never seriously injured anyone. I mean, not…” She looked up, as if seeking the right word on her ceiling. “Not permanently.”
While we appreciated her honesty, we’d have appreciated her cooperation even more. Even so, I could understand her reluctance to rat on her brother. Turning in a family member, knowing he’d go back to prison, would be difficult.
“I hate to tell you this,” Bustamente said, “but your brother is a person of interest in a shooting death in San Antonio three years ago. Another woman was shot in the head in her home Sunday night, just a few hours after your brother cut off his ankle monitor. She’s clinging to life in intensive care, but things aren’t looking good. San Antonio PD thinks your brother could be involved.”
Hurley’s sister shook her head, her face morphing from shock, to horror, to denial. “No. No! Ralph wouldn’t kill anyone. I’m sure of it!” The high pitch of her voice belied her words, and denial quickly turned to anger. “I’d like you to leave. Now.”
The detective nodded, nonplussed. As long as he’d been with Fort Worth PD, he’d heard it all before. “Take care now, Miss Hurley.”
Brigit and I followed the detective out the door.
Back at our cars, Bustamente cast a glance my way. “Cruise by here every few hours during your shifts. Baby brother might decide to pay his big sis a visit.”
I reached down to pat Brigit’s head. “You can count on us, Detective.”
TWELVE
WORKING LIKE A DOG
Brigit
She was disappointed Megan hadn’t let her sink her teeth into that container of sweet-and-sour chicken. It would’ve made a nice late-night snack. At least Megan had given her lots of pats and strokes and scratches tonight, letting Brigit know she appreciated the hard work the dog had put in.
She hopped back into her enclosure and lay down on the cushion. Megan started their car and drove around for a few minutes, the white noise and vibration from the motor lulling the dog to sleep. Just as Brigit had nearly dozed off, a squawky voice came over the radio and she pricked up her ears to listen for words she recognized. Megan picked up her microphone and said something in response. Although she was disappointed that nobody said the words “walk,” “park,” or “treat,” Brigit knew from experience that when her partner spoke into the microphone it meant they’d be making a stop somewhere.
A few minutes later, Brigit swayed with the car as it turned into a parking lot and rolled to a stop. Instinctively, Brigit’s nose began to twitch. Is that sausage? And bacon? She stood and lifted her snout into the air. Yes! Yes, it is!
Things had definitely taken a turn for the better.
THIRTEEN
HARDCOVER PORN
Tom
The house he’d visited two nights earlier had been surrounded by pesky azalea bushes. Fortunately, this house had no bushes along the side to impede him, just a soft surface of thick grass. Even more fortunately, the couple’s bedroom had two full-length windows he could peep through. Because the windows faced both north and toward the back of the house, they’d covered them only with a set of sheers on the inside. Clearly they hadn’t expected anyone to be tiptoeing around their yard spying on them.
The early May night was cool and the windows had been left open a few inches to let in the light breeze. A bedside lamp shined inside, bright enough to provide him a nice, easy view into the room, but not so bright as to attract the swarm of moths and bugs he’d had to contend with last time.
In an abundance of caution, he pulled a pair of disposable lightweight cotton gloves from his poc
ket and slid them onto his hands. While he didn’t plan to touch anything, he saw no sense in taking a risk that he’d inadvertently leave a print behind. No one could ever know he’d been here. If he were discovered, he’d lose everything.
He stepped lightly and carefully over to the window, flattening himself alongside it. Slowly he arched his neck to take a look.
There she is.
The woman sat on top of the covers, leaning back against the pillows reading a book. Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. Her long dark hair was pulled up in a loose, sexy pile on top of her head, several locks escaping to hang down next to her face. She wore a silky white spaghetti-strap nightie that came only to mid-thigh, leaving him thinking of what lay between those long legs stretched out in front of her.
She looked good. Better than good. You’d never know she’d given birth to a baby only a few months ago. She must do Pilates. Or maybe she jogged on that treadmill in the corner.
He’d enjoy watching her now, but he didn’t dare indulge himself yet. He was too new to this to take chances, too nervous. Once he’d perfected the art of voyeurism, however, he hoped to take things to that next level. For now, though, he would observe the woman, burn her image into his mind, and take the memory home with him to enjoy her over and over and over again …
As she turned the page of her book, one of her shoulder straps slid down her arm, the fabric gaping to reveal the curve of the side of her breast. To his delight, she made no move to return the strap to her shoulder. He imagined himself nibbling along her neck, making his way down to that bare shoulder, sliding the other strap down …
Sssss.
The quiet was broken by a loud hiss that seemed to be coming from the ground. Shit! Could it be a snake?
Before his lust-addled brain could make sense of the sound, the automatic lawn sprinklers kicked on full force, a stream of cold spray hitting him directly in the crotch. A cry of surprise sprang from him—“Aah!”—followed by another cry of surprise from the woman inside the house. “Aaaaah!”
She leaped from her bed, shrieking for her husband. “Chris! Chris! Oh, my God! There’s someone outside!”
Not anymore there isn’t.
His legs pumped like pistons as he sprinted across several yards and into the street, hoping anyone who spotted him would assume he was merely out for a run. He lost his footing going around the corner and fell to one knee on the rough, unforgiving pavement. Damn, that hurt! But he couldn’t let a banged-up kneecap slow him down. He was back on his feet in an instant, racing to the car.
He had to get the hell out of here.
Now!
FOURTEEN
A BUSY NIGHT
Megan
At 10:45 P.M., only minutes after parting ways with Detective Bustamente, I sat in the wood-paneled dining room of the Ol’ South Pancake House, taking a report on a dine-and-dash. This was proving to be a busy shift. Fine with me. It beat those slow shifts that seemed to go on and on and on until my mind and muscles turned to mush.
The suspect had ordered a couple of fried eggs and a stack of silver-dollar pancakes, but left without leaving any dollars of his own to pay for the meal. Brigit sat on the floor by my side, smacking her lips as the smells of pan-fried breakfast meats permeated the air. The sixtyish, gray-haired waitress who’d been stiffed was kind enough to treat my partner to a couple of sausage links while I made notes, though I’d cut the dog off when the waitress offered a third link. “That’s enough, Briggie.” The woman had also given me a fresh mug of piping hot coffee, God bless ’er.
I took a sip of the drink, set it on the tabletop, and held my pen poised over my pad. “How t-tall was the guy?”
She raised a flattened hand only an inch or so above her head. “About yea big.”
That would put him at only five six or so, on the short side for a man, a peewee perpetrator. “Hair color?”
“None.”
I looked up from my pad. “None?”
“He was bald as a newborn baby.”
“Gotcha.” I jotted a note on my pad. Bald. “What about his build?”
“Round. He weighed two-fifty if he weighed an ounce.”
Bald, short, and round? Sounded to me like she was describing Humpty Dumpty. Of course if he were Mr. Dumpty, the fact that he’d eaten eggs would make him a cannibal.
When the waitress had given me all the information she could, I thanked her for the coffee and the meaty treats she’d supplied to Brigit. Though the odds of finding the culprit were, unlike the culprit himself, slim, I assured her I’d keep an eye out for the suspect. “If I catch him, I’ll see to it that he pays you a big tip.”
She gave me a smile, stood, and picked up her steaming carafe of coffee. “And if he ever shows his face in here again, I’ll see to it that he gets a lapful of scalding hot decaf.”
Street justice. Can’t say I’d blame her. “Be sure to make it look like an accident.”
“Oops.” She raised her pot in salute and gave me a wink.
Knowing that Seth was wrapping up his shift at the firehouse, I texted him. Meet me at Ol’ South? I hadn’t yet taken my meal break and now seemed as good a time as any.
He replied immediately. On my way.
I placed an order for both of us. While the waitress went about her duties, I typed up a report. All the caffeine I’d ingested had left me feeling both wired and inspired. I decided to prepare my report in the form of a poem.
The diner he ate, then oh how he dashed.
Ignoring his bill and leaving no cash.
Lacking scruples and hair, he’s round and short,
Immortalized here in my rhyming report.
Not bad for someone who’d once earned a C in high school English class. Of course the lackluster grade was due to the zero my teacher gave me for refusing to give an oral book report in front of the class. With my intermittent stutter and teenage self-consciousness, staying in my seat seemed the right thing to do. Luckily, my stutter had improved with time, though it still snuck up on me on occasion. The speech impediment no longer controlled me, however. The older I got, the more I realized that everyone had some sort of personal cross to bear, whether it be a stutter or a hairy mole or excessive foot odor. Besides, being a cop, I saw some pretty awful stuff. An occasional stutter was a small matter compared to abject poverty, an abusive boyfriend, or a meth addiction.
Ten minutes later, Seth and his explosives-sniffing dog, Blast, entered the restaurant. Both were blond-haired with square jaws and strong shoulders. Unlike his dog, Seth had a FORT WORTH FIRE DEPARTMENT T-shirt stretched taut across his muscular chest, a sexy chin dimple, and gorgeous green eyes. Those green eyes locked on me as he headed my way, setting my nerve endings to tingling and sending my body temperature up a notch or two, the coffee no longer the only thing that was steaming.
Seth and I had been dating for several months and, while things seemed to be on track now, we’d gotten off to a somewhat rocky start. He’d been abandoned by his mother as a child, lost his loving grandmother not long after, and was raised by a cold and distant grandfather. The experience had given Seth attachment issues, and he didn’t trust easily. Eager to escape the unhappy home, Seth dropped out of high school and joined the army only to suffer the loss of friends and fellow troops in his explosive ordnance disposal unit. Needless to say, he carried a deluxe set of emotional baggage. A few months ago, when I’d attempted to peek into the baggage, he’d zipped things shut and slapped a lock on it. In other words, he’d backed away from our relationship. Hard as it was, I’d let him go. If you love something, set it free, right? Especially if that period of freedom allows you to enjoy a guilt-free fling with a mounted sheriff’s deputy.
After a few weeks apart, Seth had come back with his tail between his legs. Heck, he’d even admitted he needed me. It was a huge step, both for him and for us.
We’d patched our relationship with some metaphorical duct tape and, slowly but surely, Seth was beginning to trust me, to open up and let me get
close. I didn’t force things, letting him take his time. Clearly the guy suffered PTSD from his time in Afghanistan and, after all, I was only in my mid-twenties. No need to rush the relationship. Besides, I was an independent, ambitious woman. I enjoyed some romance now and then, but my career was important to me, too. I was bound and determined to make detective as soon as I had enough years under my belt to apply. Keeping my eyes on the prize. Of course, my eyes didn’t mind being kept on Seth, too. He sure was easy on them.
Our food arrived just as Seth ordered Blast to lie down next to Brigit and dropped into the seat across from me. He looked down at the plate, then up at the waitress. “Thanks. This looks delicious.”
“So do you, hon.” She gave him a wink.
As she returned to the kitchen, I eyed Seth across the table. “Don’t worry. If she tries to take a bite out of you I’ll club her with my baton.”
Seth cut me a grin as he reached for the syrup. “Glad to know I’m safe.”
Safe? Hardly. If I had my druthers, I’d rip Seth’s jeans and T-shirt off, cover him in maple syrup, and—
“More coffee?” Another waitress appeared with a steaming pot of brew. Funny how women tend to materialize when there’s an attractive fireman around.
“No, thanks,” I said. Any more caffeine and my body would begin to levitate.
To the woman’s disappointment, Seth also declined, instead tossing Blast a bite of his sausage patty. After the dog snatched the morsel from the air, Seth returned his attention to me, a grin playing about his lips. “Your video has over a hundred thousand hits on YouTube.”
Damn. “You saw it?”
“Everyone saw it.”
I looked up at the ceiling and groaned. Unfortunately, “K-9 Cafeteria Takedown” wasn’t my Internet debut. Brigit and I were also featured in a clip in which she jumped up to lick tuna salad from my hair. Needless to say, our partnership had chalked up more than its share of memorable moments. It probably wouldn’t be long before Ellen DeGeneres called to invite us to be guests on her show. It also probably wouldn’t be long before the media and Captain Leone got wind of what really happened at the high school. I’d purposely left out a few details in my report, stating only that “the suspect was apprehended by K-9 Brigit in the school cafeteria.”