Against the Paw

by Diane Kelly

  I slid back into my squad car, phoned the chief’s office, and was transferred to the phone of the administrative employee who maintained the registry. Unfortunately, she’d gone home for the day and all I got was her voice mail. I left a message. “This is Officer Megan Luz. I need to speak with you regarding a registered sex offender named Nathan Wilmer. Please give me a call back ASAP.” I followed up the message with my cell phone number.

  My work here done, I backed out of the parking spot and aimed for Blake Looney’s house on McCart. Unfortunately, he wasn’t home, either.

  Having done as much as I could for the moment, I drove past Hurley’s sister’s apartment, looking for a white Ford F-150 pickup. Though I found one in the lot, the license-plate number was not the one Bustamente had given me, and the truck’s plate matched a registration for a man who lived at the complex.

  I headed to Berkeley Place, cruising slowly through the dark night, my eyes peeled for any unusual activity. If the BP Peeper was out tonight, Brigit and I would get him. “Won’t we, girl?”

  No sooner had the words left my mouth than my eyes spotted a shadowy figure slip between a couple of oleander bushes in the yard of a gray brick home a little farther down the road. Holy guacamole! Could it be Hurley? Or the peeper?

  I sped forward, screeched to a stop, and activated my car-mounted spotlight, shining it into the bushes. While the foliage shrouded parts of the person, a pair of blue tennis shoes, a lock of sandy hair, and a pair of eyes blinking against the bright glare were visible.

  My pulse reaching near stroke levels, I grabbed the mic and activated my public address system. “Come out of that bush with your hands up!”

  As the person stepped out of the bushes, I climbed out of my car, whipped my baton from my belt, and flicked it open with a snap! As I stepped forward, the door to the house opened. The mortified face of the sandy-haired boy from the park looked from me to the front door, where an Asian man stood.

  The boy looked back my way, putting up a hand to block the intense light, and cried, “Sorry!” His preapology delivered, he took off running.

  “What’s going on?” yelled the man from the porch.

  There was no time for me to explain. I had a kid to catch. “I’ll be back!” I called as I rushed back to the cruiser. As fast as I could, I let Brigit out of her enclosure and the two of us took off in the direction the boy had run.

  There he was, sprinting under a streetlight a block ahead. Damn, he moves fast! He must be on the track team.

  “Stop!” I hollered after him. “Or I’ll deploy my dog!”

  The kid ignored me, putting more distance between us. No way was I ever going to catch him. Thank goodness my partner was much faster on her four feet.

  I gave Brigit the order to take him down. Nails scrabbling on the asphalt, she took off like a furry bullet train.

  The boy must have heard her paws thundering toward him, because he looked back, yelped, and ran into a yard, out of my line of vision. By the time I got to the spot where he’d turned, all I found was Brigit leaping up onto a six-foot privacy fence, unable to get over it. I tried the gate, but it was locked. Shining my flashlight over the fence, I swept it over the backyard, looking for the boy. An ankle and a blue tennis shoe disappeared over the back fence. The kid must have climbed onto the utility box and dived over it headfirst. Would serve him right if he ended up with a concussion.

  The house was near the end of the block. With any luck, maybe we could catch him one street over.

  I ran, ordering Brigit to follow me. Circling the block, we came around on the other side. I swept my flashlight around, but saw no trace of the boy. Could he still be in the backyard?

  When Brigit sprinted toward a fence and began leaping up and down on it, I got my answer. He was still in the yard. Fortunately, this gate was unlocked. I whipped it open and Brigit and I dashed through. It took less than three seconds for her to corner the boy behind a shiny barbecue grill on the back patio.

  He threw his hands in the air, once again crying, “Sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  Oh, he’d be sorry all right. “Turn around and put your hands on the wall!”

  He did as he was told, and a few seconds later I had him handcuffed with his back to the bricks. His eyes were wide with panic, his face flushed, his chest heaving from the exertion of running and vaulting over fences.

  “What’s your name?” I demanded.

  “Dalton!”

  “Dalton what?”

  “Livingston!”

  “You want to explain yourself?” I asked the kid.

  “I was leaving a note!” he cried, panting. “And flowers!”

  “For who?”

  “Ashley Pham,” he said between gulps of breath.

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  He shook his head so hard it threatened to come off his neck.

  “Calm down,” I said. “Take some deep breaths.”

  He wheezed in and out several times, but seemed to be settling down.

  When he was breathing more normally, I asked, “What did the note say?”

  He looked down as if embarrassed. “It just said I thought she was the prettiest girl at school and that she has a beautiful voice and that someday I hoped she and I could be together.”

  “So you two know each other from school?”

  “I know her,” he said. “I’m not sure if she knows me. I mean, we had choir together last year, but…”

  He let his words drift off, though I could fill in the blank. But he had no idea whether she had ever noticed him, was even aware of his existence.

  “I thought if I did something romantic,” he continued, “it might make her more interested.”

  “I’m going to have to go back to the house, verify that you l-left a note and flowers.”

  “Do I have to go back, too?”

  If there were no note and flowers, he’d have some more explaining to do. Besides, I couldn’t very well leave him here. “Yes. You do.”

  The panic returned, his face contorting in mortification. “But then she’ll know it was me!”

  “Didn’t you sign the note?”

  “No! I just signed it from a secret admirer.”

  Sheesh. This situation was a bit sticky, and I wasn’t just talking about the sweat on my back. I was angry at this kid for running from me, but teens tended to overreact. Maybe I could let it slide. Who am I to stand in the way of this would-be Romeo?

  “If you promise you’ll never run from a cop again,” I told him, “I’ll check things out without identifying you.”

  “I promise!” he cried.

  I led the boy out of the backyard and around the corner, cuffing him to the back door handle of my cruiser. I ordered Brigit to keep watch over him and allowed him to duck out of sight while I returned to the Pham home. Ashley’s father stood on the porch, his wife next to him now, a bouquet of pink roses and an opened card in her hand.

  “Did you catch the boy?” Mr. Pham demanded.

  “I did. But he’d like to remain anonymous. He has feelings for your daughter and left the flowers and note in the hopes of wooing her.”

  “Woo schmoo!” he snapped. “I don’t need horny boys running around my yard, sniffing around my daughter. Take him to jail.”

  His wife held up the card. “He sounds sweet to me. He says Ashley’s voice is like an angel’s.”

  Mr. Pham rolled his eyes. “That old cliché?”

  Mrs. Pham rolled her eyes right back. “You never were a romantic. I’m taking this up to Ashley. Let her have some fun. She’ll be old and married before she knows it.” With that, the woman turned and headed back into the house.

  I eyed Mr. Pham. “So, we done here?”

  He exhaled a long huff. “Yes. We’re done.” He slammed the door behind him as he went inside.

  As I unlocked the boy’s cuffs, he gave Brigit a once-over. “Is that the dog that was in the Paschal High School cafeteria a few days ago?”

  My dog
was apparently more memorable than me. “Yes, it is.”

  “She was nominated for prom queen. I voted for her.”

  “Let me know if she wins,” I told the kid. “I’ll swing by the school and pick up her tiara.”

  He rubbed his wrists and stepped away from the car. “Am I free to go now?”

  “Yes. But with that peeper on the loose you’d be wise not to be out after dark. There’s also an escaped convict in the area. Things could get dangerous if you stumble onto either of them. Go straight home.”

  “I will,” he promised.

  I pointed a finger at him. “If I catch you out at night again I won’t go so easy on you.”

  “Thanks for not taking me in.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, unable to fight a smile. “Good luck with the girl.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  NIGHT SHIFT

  Brigit

  Brigit had enjoyed chasing the boy. Chases were fun! She only wished she could’ve made it over the fence and pounced on him.

  As Megan drove, clouds gathered in the sky and obscured the moon. The night grew darker and darker. Cooler, too. Megan unrolled the windows so Brigit could stand at the mesh and enjoy the fresh night air.

  Brigit loved working nights. The sounds were different at night. The smells were different, too. There were more creatures about. Possums. Raccoons. Skunks. She even caught a whiff of Derek Mackey wafting on the breeze, his unique blend of sweat, burgers with plenty of onion, and jock itch ointment.

  As Megan turned down a street, Brigit twitched her nose, scenting. She recognized this place. They’d been here just a few nights ago. This was where Brigit had trailed a man from the window of a house until his scent faded out a street or two over.

  With any luck, she’d get to trail again tonight.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  PARTY POOPER

  Tom

  It was Wednesday, the thirteenth of May. Thirteen was normally an unlucky number, but he’d decided to push his luck tonight. He simply couldn’t wait any longer. His imagination had run dry and he needed some fresh inspiration.

  He had no doubt the Rabinowitzes’ new au pair could give him plenty of inspiration …

  He chose an especially dark spot on Windsor Place to park, and set out for Huntington Lane on foot, ducking into the shadows when a minivan trolled slowly past. In less than a minute, he stood in front of the house.

  Though the Rabinowitzes had heeded warnings to turn on their lights, the perimeter of their large lot remained in shadow, making it easy for him to circle around the edge of the yard. Pausing in the shadows, he slid the ski mask over his face.

  The gate on the four-foot iron fence was latched but not locked. Carefully, he put on another pair of disposable gloves, just like the ones he’d worn last time. It had worried him when he’d taken his pants out of the dryer and found only one of the gloves in the pocket. He’d taken them off at his car door and stuffed them into his pocket, forgetting about them until he’d washed and dried his pants. Probably the glove had fallen out in the laundry hamper and gotten mixed in with the whites or been thrown away. But he didn’t want to raise suspicions by asking about it.

  He put a finger under the latch, lifting it, slowly and gently swinging the gate open. Luck was with him. The hinges made no noise.

  Inside the backyard now, he closed the gate just enough so that it would appear to be shut but was not actually fully latched. He didn’t want the latch slowing him down if he had to make a quick escape like last time. Damn the Lowrys’ automatic sprinklers!

  He glanced up at the back of the main house. All of the windows were dark, the inhabitants presumably fast asleep. He turned and looked ahead now. The windows of the guesthouse were dark, too. The au pair must be getting her beauty sleep.

  He moved swiftly and silently to the front wall of the small structure, stopping for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darker space. He approached the window and peered inside, his view unobstructed by the café curtains which, by design, left a portion of the window uncovered. The light from the back porch of the main house came through the side window, providing just enough illumination for him to see a kitchenette with a toaster oven and microwave on the counter and a dorm-sized refrigerator situated next to the lower cabinets. A single barstool stood at the counter, providing a place for the au pair to sit for her meals. The kitchenette opened onto a small living area furnished with a love seat, coffee table, and small television set.

  He stepped around the side of the structure where he’d have less chance of being seen from the main house. Flanking the guest cottage was a narrow flower bed filled with pink petunias and what, judging from the barnyard smell, had to be fresh composted cow manure. Ugh. Not exactly a turn-on. But he’d risked too much to let a little poop ruin this party.

  There were three small windows down the left side of the guesthouse, all of them sitting halfway up the wall. Careful to remain on the grass, he leaned in to peek into the first window. Like the windows along the front, this one featured café curtains and looked into the kitchen and living room.

  He continued to the second window. This one was fully covered by a curtain. Damn!

  He crept quietly down to the third window. While a curtain hung in this window, too, it had been pushed aside by a gray cat who lay on top of the dresser inside, providing him with a clear view into the bedroom. The cat continued to sleep, unaware of his presence. Good pussy.

  Inside the bedroom, a night-light shone, providing enough illumination for him to see the au pair lying on her back on a twin bed. The covers lay in a tousled heap at her feet, as if she’d kicked them back in her sleep. She wore a sleeveless pink nightshirt and matching shorts. The shirt had ridden up, exposing her flat belly. Another inch higher and the bottom curve of her breast would have been exposed.

  He stepped closer for a better look, in his excitement forgetting about the compost. As his foot sank into the soft matter, he remembered. Oh, well. Too late now. Besides, he could wipe his shoes clean or throw them out if need be. It was a small price to pay for an up close and personal look at the gorgeous young woman sprawled on the bed before him.

  He put his face closer to the screen. A white oscillating fan stood on a desk, slowly sweeping back and forth, sending air across the young woman’s exposed body. He willed the fan to blow harder, to send her top up over her head, giving him a full view of her chest. Alas, the fan could not be willed to short-circuit.

  Oh, how I wish I could reach out and touch her …

  But he couldn’t.

  He’d have to settle for the next best thing.

  Tonight, he’d come equipped with a state-of-the-art low-light video camera small enough to fit into the pouch at his waist. While his memory wasn’t bad, permanent footage would be much better.

  He pulled the camera from the pouch, removed the black plastic lens cap, and set the cap on the windowsill. He’d been too nervous before to photograph the women, afraid he might be caught with evidence, but since he’d gotten away so far he’d grown a bit bolder. More importantly, though, his needs had grown. He could no longer be satisfied with his memory and imagination. He wanted real images of real women.

  He bent down, folded out the camera’s flip-out screen, and aimed the camera through the window. Dammit! The window screen, though not much of an impediment to the human eye, was putting a grid over the image and causing it to pixelate. He fooled with the buttons on the camera, trying different settings, but every time he got the same lousy result.

  Good thing he’d brought some tools with him, just in case. He pulled a Swiss army knife from his pouch, opened it, and carefully put the tip of the blade to the screen to cut it back. He’d managed to slice through an inch or two and had his eyes focused on the blade when the cat woke, saw him at the window. With a fierce and feral RRRRROWWW!, the beast leaped onto his hind legs and batted his paws at the glass as if trying to break through. BAP-BAP-BAP!

  Holy shit! Tom jerked back, throw
ing himself off balance and falling to his ass on the grass.

  Woo-woo-woo-woo! The house alarm kicked in, the force of the cat’s paws on the window enough to activate the window sensors.

  Tom scrambled to his feet and took four steps toward the gate before he remembered the lens cover he’d left on the windowsill. Shit! He scrambled back and frantically swiped it from the sill. In his haste he moved too fast and ended up knocking the cap to the ground. Reaching down for it, he banged his head on the wall so hard he saw stars. Fuck! The last thing he needed was to knock himself out and be lying here unconscious when the police arrived.

  He put a gloved hand to the wall to steady himself. When the stars cleared, he saw the edge of the cap peeking out from under his shoe. He pulled his foot back and grabbed it, turning and taking off for the gate as fast as he could run.

  He only hoped it was fast enough.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  BANG-BANG

  Megan

  After releasing the boy, I drove by Hurley’s sister’s place again. Still no sign of the white pickup he’d stolen.

  I went to Blake Looney’s house and Nathan Wilmer’s apartments next, but had no luck. Nobody answered when I knocked on their doors. There were no lights on in their places that I could tell. The only sign of life at Wilmer’s apartment was that the eviction notice had been removed. Had he made good on his past-due rent and been allowed to stay? Had he already taken off for parts unknown? Or had the notice simply been blown off by the wind?

  As I slid back into the driver’s seat of my cruiser, the dispatcher’s voice came over the radio. “We have an attempted breaking and entering in Berkeley Place. Who can respond?”

  I grabbed my mic. “Officer Luz and Brigit—”

  “Mackey to the rescue!” came Derek’s voice over the radio.