by Diane Kelly
Unlike the Meyers’s house, the Clearys’ house was well lit, despite the late hour. The two porch lights on either side of the door were on, as were the up-lights mounted at the base of the exterior walls, shining up on the house in a manner reminiscent of a person telling ghost stories around a campfire, holding a flashlight up to their chin to give their face an eerie glow. While two of the four upstairs windows showed light behind the curtains, lights seemed to be on in all of the downstairs rooms with front-facing windows. Looked like the Clearys were night owls. Not surprising given that they had two teenaged girls and teenagers, like bats, possums, and fireflies, tended to be nocturnal.
Could Conklin be visiting with the Clearys? That would explain why his car was parked here. With two daughters, the Clearys would likely be very concerned about the peeper. Perhaps Conklin had come to provide reassurance that the patrols were still being vigilant. Or perhaps the Clearys had called in some type of report and Conklin had come here to discuss the matter with them. Still, unless it was an emergency, it seemed odd that he’d visit them so late. And if an emergency had taken place, why hadn’t the Clearys called 911 and have dispatch notify the officers on duty in W1?
There could be a valid reason why Todd Conklin had parked here. Then again, he could be somewhere nearby with his pants down.
As quietly as I could, I opened the door to my cruiser. Time to find out what Todd Conklin is up to.
SIXTY-THREE
SPLISH-SPLASH
Brigit
Brigit stood at her window, her nose twitching as it took in the night’s scents. She smelled the acrid odor of a skunk rooting around a block over. She smelled the sweet scent of the rosebushes that stood in front of the house next door. She smelled the faint whiff of chlorine from somewhere farther down the street.
Her ears were at work, too. She heard a bird flitting about in a nearby tree. The buzz of a mosquito as it searched for prey. The moans and groans and grunts that accompanied human sexual intercourse. Oddly, those sounds were accompanied by a soft splish and splash, like the sounds Megan made in the bathtub.
SIXTY-FOUR
MAKING A SPLASH
Todd
He aimed the lens of his low-light video camera through the open knothole in the fence as the couple went at it in their hot tub. With the late hour and the houses around them dark, they’d probably assumed they had complete privacy.
They’d assumed wrong, hadn’t they?
The woman’s lower half was submerged in the swirling water, but her upper body rose from the water as if she were a sexy siren, singing a song only for him. She leveraged her hands against the edge of the tub as she allowed herself to be taken from behind. She rose with each forceful thrust, her breasts pointed skyward, her eyes closed in ecstasy, her mouth falling open as she panted for air, beads of water rolling down her body.
Damn, that woman seems to be enjoying herself.
He only wished he were the one giving her pleasure rather than that overblown gorilla, Garrett Hawke. What the hell did his wife see in him, anyway? He was nothing more than a poser, pretending to be a war hero when in reality he’d taken a bad landing during paratrooper training thanks to a hangover. The asshole had admitted as much once after a few too many shots of whiskey at a backyard barbecue. Of course he’d only admitted it to Tom, and had promptly sworn the guy to secrecy with an implied threat. That stays between us. Got it?
Tom got it, all right.
Tom might not like being overlooked, but at least he wasn’t some pathetic attention seeker like Hawke.
He wished Hawke wouldn’t be in the footage, but he knew he could edit the ape out later, zoom in on Hawke’s wife and her gorgeous hair and body. Hawke was nothing more than a prop.
As he watched through the camera, the woman’s face contorted and she threw her head back. With a gasp and a cry of “Oh, God!” she quivered and quaked, then slowly sank back into the water, like a mermaid who might have merely been an illusion.
SIXTY-FIVE
EARLY WITHDRAWAL PENALTY
Megan
As I opened the back door of my cruiser, Brigit stood up in her enclosure, her body rigid as she stared intently forward, looking out the windshield.
I looked down the dark street but saw nothing. “What is it, girl?”
A moment later, Todd Conklin emerged from the shadows ahead like an apparition. He stopped abruptly when he saw my car, his eyes popping wide, but a moment later he continued toward me, raising a hand to wave in greeting. When he drew close enough he called, “Hi, there!” in a stage whisper, as if not wanting to disturb the neighbors.
“Hello, Mr. Conklin,” I said. “I saw your empty car here and thought there might be trouble.”
“Nothing but a loose dog,” he said, stopping in front of me. “I tried to chase it down but it got away.”
That would explain why he seemed flushed and out of breath.
“What did it look like?” I asked.
“Dark,” he said. “Medium-sized.”
“What breed?”
“No idea,” he replied. “I couldn’t get close enough to it to tell. It just ran in front of my car and took off when I got out and tried to catch it.”
Not surprising. Stray dogs were often fearful. But was he telling me the truth? I couldn’t tell. “Brigit and I will keep an eye out.”
“Great. Thanks.” He stepped toward his car, turning to call back over his shoulder, “Have a good night!”
Before I could return the sentiment, an urgent call came through my shoulder-mounted radio. “Robbery reported in Mistletoe Heights. Suspect entered home and demanded victim’s debit card and PIN at gunpoint.”
Ralph Hurley has struck again.
Dispatch continued. “The night watchman at Wells Fargo reported a white pickup pulling into the lot.”
Finally! A chance to catch the guy and end his reign of terror. But we had to move fast, before he could make the withdrawal and escape.
I squeezed the talk button on my mic. “Officer Luz—” I began.
Once again, Derek attempted to override me in claiming the call, interrupting my response with, “Officer Mack—”
“—and Brigit respond—”
“—ey respond—”
“—ing!”
“—ing!”
I was back in my car in half a heartbeat, glad that I’d worn my ballistic vest under my uniform. In rapid-fire motion, I switched on my lights and floored the gas pedal, shooting off down the street, sliding my seat belt into place as I went. The LOST DOG poster taped to the lamppost barely registered as we flew by.
I hooked a left on Colonial Parkway and zipped through Forest Park so fast it was a wonder the car didn’t go up on two wheels on the curves.
I turned right onto University and pressed my foot to the floor, the powerful engine roaring like the lions in the zoo we’d just passed. Whipping around the few cars on the street I arrived at the bank in record time.
Unfortunately, the Big Dick had arrived in less than record time, pulling into the lot two seconds before me. A white pickup was pulling out of the drive-thru ATM lane on the right side of the building. Derek’s cruiser screeched to a stop at an angle in front of the pickup. As the truck’s white reverse lights came on, I screeched to a stop at an angle behind it, blocking it in.
At least I’d thought so, anyway.
I’d been wrong.
The truck roared backward, the tailgate slamming into the driver’s side fender of my car. BAM!
Brigit and I were thrown to the right, her claws scratching at the carpeted platform as she sought purchase behind me. While my seatback jerked me back into place, I ordered Brigit to lie down, figuring it would be the safest position for her.
Hurley’s face turned and looked through the back window as he floored the gas pedal, doing his best to push my squad car farther out of his way. Though he managed to move my cruiser only a foot or two, it was enough to shift the angle of my car so that the driver’s
door was now exposed.
I grabbed my mic and placed an urgent call to dispatch. “Backup needed at the Wells Fargo!”
Hurley put his truck into drive and rammed the gas pedal, slamming now into Derek’s car, the tires squealing and giving off the smell of burning rubber as they spun in place on the concrete. Hurley shifted into reverse again, coming straight for my door.
Holy shit!
There was no way I could get out of the driver’s side without being run over or crushed between the tailgate of the pickup and the side of my cruiser. I reached for my seat-belt release, threw the strap back, and crawled into the passenger side of my car, grabbing at the door handle.
BAM! The truck hit my car, sending me headfirst into the inside of the passenger door. Ow! It was a wonder the impact didn’t knock me out.
When Hurley shifted into drive again, I knew I had only a few seconds to make my escape. I climbed out of the passenger side and ripped Brigit’s door open, ordering her out. She leaped to the ground next to me just as Hurley slammed into my cruiser again. BAM!
We rushed away from the truck, meeting up a few yards away with Derek, who’d likewise evacuated from his cruiser.
Derek yanked his gun from his holster and held it up, storming toward the truck. He motioned to me. “Cover his other side!”
I called for Brigit to follow me and circled behind my cruiser, yanking my baton from my belt and extending it with a snap! I scurried behind the ATM machine, peeking around the side at the truck, which sat only four or five feet from me now.
Derek stood a few feet back on the other side of the truck, his gun aimed at Hurley through the passenger window. “Hands up!” Derek hollered. “Now!”
Hurley dropped his hands from the steering wheel, but when he brought them back up again, a shotgun was in them. My cry of “Derek!” was drowned out by the blast of Hurley shooting at Mackey through the closed window. Blam!
My heart clenched in terror as Derek dropped to the ground amid a shower of tinkling glass and the echo of the shot off nearby buildings.
Is he dead?
OH, MY GOD! IS DEREK DEAD?
I’d never much liked the guy, but I wouldn’t wish something like this on anyone, least of all a fellow officer.
The wail of approaching sirens told me that backup was nearing and told Hurley he better get the hell out of there if he didn’t want to find his ass back in jail for the rest of his lifetime. His shotgun clutched in his right hand, he threw his door open with his left, slamming the door into the ATM machine. Bam! The truck was too close to the machine for the door to open all the way. But it was open enough for me to bring my baton down in the space between the edge of the door and the truck’s frame.
I stepped from behind the ATM machine and brought my nightstick down with every bit of force I could muster. WHAP!
Hurley’s gaze met mine for a split second, his eyes still flaming with rage, before the flame fizzled out and his eyes rolled back in his head. As he melted to the ground like the Wicked Witch of the West, his fingers involuntarily contracted, pulling the trigger on the shotgun once more, sending a spray of shot down toward his feet. Blam! His foot exploded in a splatter of flesh and blood among the brake and gas pedals.
I pushed my shoulder mic again. “We need an ambulance!” I cried. “Officer down! Officer down!”
Brigit scurried after me as I ran around to the other side of the truck. Derek lay on the ground, rolling silently from side to side.
He’s not dead! Thank God!
I needed to tend to Derek, but first I had to make sure Hurley was disabled and disarmed in case he regained consciousness. I yanked open the passenger door, grabbed his shotgun, and pulled it out, setting it out of reach in the bed of the truck. Reaching back in, I grabbed Hurley’s limp right wrist, slapped a cuff on it, and attached the other cuff to the steering wheel. If he came to, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. At least not without dragging the truck along with him.
Brigit pranced around between the truck and Derek, waiting for instruction. I ordered her to my side as I bent down to speak to my former partner. There was no blood on his head, thank goodness, and none on his torso that I could tell in the dim light. He’d no doubt have all kinds of bruises, but his ballistic vest had done its job, protecting his vital organs. There were dark wet spots on his arms, legs, and crotch, though, spots that must be blood. “Are you okay?”
“He shot me in the nuts!” Derek cried as he rolled away from me. “He shot me in the nuts!”
It was standard protocol to apply pressure to a bleeding wound. Touching Derek’s nether regions ranked equal to eating a decomposing rat on my list of things I never wanted to do, but I couldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of doing my job. I hurried to my car, retrieved my first aid kit, and returned to his side. Just as I opened it and pulled a gauze pad from the box, two FWPD squad cars and an ambulance pulled into the lot.
Phew. The medical experts could handle this.
I rushed to my banged-up cruiser and pulled open the back door. “Get in, Brig!”
Brigit obeyed, leaping into her enclosure where she’d be out of the way and safe while the other first responders did their work.
My partner now secured, I turned and waved my arms, gesturing that it was safe for the other cops to come forward. “Hurley’s cuffed!” I yelled as Summer and Officer Spalding exited their vehicles. “He’s in the truck!”
Two EMTs leaped from the ambulance, one male, one female. “What do we have?” the female called as she rushed toward me with her kit.
I pointed down to Derek. “Gunshot wounds here.” I gestured into the truck. “The suspect has a head wound and a leg wound.”
The male EMT tended to Derek, while the female carefully looked in on Hurley. Summer and I stood behind her, shining our flashlights into the truck to augment the pickup’s interior lighting.
“Uck,” the woman said. “Looks like he shot his foot off.”
Minutes later, Derek had been loaded into one ambulance, while Hurley, who had yet to regain consciousness, had been loaded into another.
“You sure do pack a wallop,” Spalding told me as the ambulance containing Hurley pulled away. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
Though I knew he was joking and probably meant the comment as flattery, the night’s events had left me with a sick feeling. I didn’t have much of a stomach for violence.
A car whipped into the lot, tires squealing. The car screeched to a stop and out hopped a local photojournalist I recognized from earlier cases. He must have been monitoring the police scanner. He pulled the black plastic lens cap from his camera and began snapping photos, careful to keep back a reasonable distance.
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, the display indicating the call came from the W1 station.
It was Captain Leone. “As soon as you finish the paperwork,” he said, “you’re dismissed for the rest of the night. Go home and take a load off.”
He wouldn’t have to tell me twice. There might be several hours left in my shift, but my entire body was shaking and my head felt light. I’d be no good to anybody in this condition.
“You’ll call once you have an update on Derek?”
“Sure,” he said. “You need a ride?”
“I’ll be okay. That’s more than I can say for my cruiser, though.”
He groaned. “You’re killing me, Officer Luz.”
The car had only recently been returned to me after being flipped by an EF-5 tornado. The damage had been extensive and the repairs must have cost a small fortune. Looked like the car would be heading back to the shop for some body work now. Fortunately, the engine still seemed to be running fine. I was able to drive it back to the station with no problems.
As I climbed out of my battered squad car, I glanced over at Derek’s black pickup. He’d wiped off the lipstick smiley face I’d drawn on his truck nuts weeks ago, and they hung from his trailer hitch in their full rubber glory. Retrieving my first aid ki
t once again, I pulled out a Band-Aid, removed the wrapper, and took it over to Derek’s truck, affixing it firmly to the pendulous rubber scrotum as a small symbol of my empathy.
There. That’s better.
SIXTY-SIX
BEST FRIENDS FOREVER
Brigit
Megan lay next to her in their bed, her shaking causing the entire bed to vibrate. Brigit could smell the adrenaline on her partner, too, and she knew it meant Megan had been terrified.
She draped her head over Megan’s belly and whimpered to let her partner know she was concerned and that she was there for her.
Megan reached down and stroked her head. “I’m glad you’re here, girl.”
Brigit was glad she was there, too.
SIXTY-SEVEN
DOGGONE IT
Todd
I’d nearly been caught with my pants down. Literally.
Thank goodness Hawke and his wife treated sex more like a sprint than a marathon. With all those kids they had, they’d probably had to learn to get things accomplished quickly. If they’d taken even another minute, that cop might have come looking for him and caught him in the act.
He’d been shocked when he’d seen her car parked in front of his, had frozen for a moment, his fight-or-flight instincts telling him to turn and run. But then he’d spotted that sign on the light post farther down the street, behind the cop, one of the many signs someone in the neighborhood had posted about their missing spaniel.