Against the Paw

by Diane Kelly

  I sat down next to my dog and bent over to unlace the skates, stowing them in Frankie’s bag when I’d removed them. I put my tennis shoes back on, untied Brigit, and ventured over to the half-wall with my baton so I could watch the bout more closely. Brigit stood on her hind legs next to me, her front paws resting on the top of the wall as she watched the women roll by. When Frankie passed, Brigit gave her an arf! of encouragement to cheer her on. I, in turn, tossed my spinning baton into the air.

  The bout ended with Frankie’s team besting the other, but just barely. The women exchanged high fives and butt slaps as they took a few cool-down laps and exited the rink. Frankie rolled over to me. “What do you think? Want to join the team?”

  As if they’d take on a lousy skater like me. Then again, maybe I’d fall and trip up their opponents. Was that a legal strategy? “The Whoop Ass would be better off if I just twirled my fire batons for them.”

  “You have fire batons?”

  “Yeah. I can twirl three at a time.”

  “Kick ass!” Frankie turned and hollered to the team captain. “Can my roommate twirl her fire batons at our next bout?”

  “Hell, yeah!”

  Frankie packed up her things and we headed out to her car. She unrolled the windows so we could enjoy the fresh evening air, and so Brigit could stick her head out.

  On the drive home, we stopped at a red light on Berry Street, just a few blocks from Say Cheese!

  Impatience got the best of me. “Mind if we take a short detour?”

  SIXTY-NINE

  RUNAROUND

  Brigit

  Brigit had enjoyed watching the women skate round and round and round the rink, chasing each other. Dogs liked to do the same thing. She didn’t understand many of the things humans did, bathing, for instance, or reading, but this type of play she could relate to. When Megan led her to the wall, she stood on her hind legs to get a closer look. When Frankie had zipped past, she barked to let their roommate know Brigit hoped she’d win the chase.

  Woof! Woof-woof!

  But now they were in Frankie’s car, driving slowly past a shopping center. Brigit looked out the window. Nope. This wasn’t the place where Megan bought her food and treats and chew toys. Phooey.

  Brigit stuck her snout out the window, which Frankie had left cracked enough for Brigit to stick her head out, but not so much that the dog might fall out. She twitched her nostrils, scenting the air.

  She smelled Italian food from a nearby restaurant.

  The faint scent of jasmine.

  Car exhaust.

  And him.

  SEVENTY

  CAMERA SHY

  Todd

  At ten Monday night, he sat at his desk in his office at the studio, going through the files on his computer until he found hers.

  ChastainG.

  He remembered Gina Chastain mentioning that she lived in the Westcliff area southwest of Texas Christian University, but he needed her address. He needed it quick and he needed it now.

  According to the information she’d provided, she lived on Hilltop Road. He typed her address into the GPS app on his cell phone, slipped his high-res low-light video camera into his camera bag, and headed out to his car, turning to activate the alarm and lock the door behind him. A person couldn’t be too careful, especially with the types of expensive equipment he owned. After all, there were all kinds of lowlifes out there, just waiting for someone to let their guard down.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  TAILS

  Megan

  “Follow him.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.” Frankie turned into the far end of the strip center parking lot, circling back to exit where Todd Conklin had pulled out in his Saturn SUV. She cast a glance my way as she turned onto the street. “Does this mean I’m officially deputized?”

  “I’m not the sheriff,” I said. “I can’t deputize anyone.”

  “So I’m working undercover for Fort Worth PD for free?”

  “You’re doing your roommate a favor.”

  “So now you’re just my roommate,” she said. “What happened to ‘a cop is never truly off duty’?”

  I shrugged. “That line doesn’t fit my current needs.”

  Conklin turned right onto Berry Street and, ten seconds later, Frankie turned right after him.

  “Don’t get too close,” I warned. “We don’t want him to know he’s being followed.”

  “I know how this works,” she said. “I’ve watched cop shows on TV.”

  She changed into the left lane so that she wouldn’t be directly behind him. We followed along as the road curved south at the outer edge of the TCU campus, and again as Conklin exited onto Stadium Drive just before the football field. When he slowed to take a right on Hilltop, Frankie slowed even more to put additional space between her car and Conklin’s.

  He slowed to a crawl on the block between Alton and Road and Simondale. Could he be scouting the house of his next victim? Has he decided to peep beyond Berkeley Place? Has he been doing so all along? Are there more victims than we’d realized?

  We couldn’t pass him or he might recognize me. Even if I ducked down, he might recognize Brigit. Not too many hundred-pound shepherd mixes out there.

  I quickly checked my phone’s GPS map for options. “Take a left here,” I said as we reached Alton. “We can circle around on West Biddison.”

  Frankie made the block, pulling to the side and cutting her engine on Simondale as directed.

  “Wait here,” I told her. “I’m going to see what he’s doing.”

  Given that I was off duty, I hadn’t brought my tool belt. I had no gun, no pepper spray, and no flashlight. I felt exposed and vulnerable. Instinctively, I grabbed my twirling baton. I might not have any official weapons on me, but I wanted something, just in case. Even normally nonviolent people could react with force in the heat of the moment. And while I didn’t have my other tools, I did have Brigit.

  Of course, for all I knew, Conklin could be simply visiting a friend or family member. This trip could be totally innocent. Still, it was full dark, after ten P.M. Not exactly usual visiting hours.

  I let Brigit out of the back of Frankie’s car as quickly and quietly as possible. My heart banged in my chest, each pulse like a minor explosion. I took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm myself. You can’t fight adrenaline.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Sticking to the shadows next to the fence, I crept along, my baton held straight down by my side, Brigit skulking along next to me. When we reached the front edge of the fence, I slunk up to the house, hoping the residents hadn’t installed motion-activated lights down the dark sides of their home. Fortunately, no lights came on.

  Crouching, I carefully peeked around the corner of the house. I could see Conklin’s SUV parked a block and a half down. He’d turned it so that it faced the other direction, ready for him to make a quick getaway if needed. But there was no sign of the man himself.

  Brigit’s ears perked and her eyes locked on a house across the street, one door down. I squinted, trying to get a better view. I could see nothing, but I trusted Brigit. With her superior senses of hearing and smell, no doubt she knew exactly where Todd Conklin was.

  Whispering the order for her to stay by my side, I crept forward, around the edge of the house and into the front yard, doing my best to stay in the shadow of an enormous magnolia tree. I stopped again, crouching under the tree.

  And then I saw him.

  Dressed in dark colors, Todd Conklin stood on tiptoe at a small window on the side of a house across the street. The size of the window told me it was likely a bathroom. Slices of light came through the blinds at the window, which were mostly, but not fully, closed.

  Brigit and I headed across the street, making our way as quietly as possibly. Still, as on edge as my nerves were, our steps sounded like a stampede to my ears. Not to Todd Conklin, evidently. He continued to stare through the window, rapt. Whoever was inside that bathroom had his com
plete and undivided attention.

  My partner and I stepped onto the lawn of the house next to the one where Conklin stood spying. Luckily, the thick grass muffled our footsteps as we approached the peeper.

  When we reached the corner of the house, I glanced toward the backyard. Both this house and the one at which Conklin stood had privacy fences. It was doubtful he would try to escape by scaling them, or even by taking the time to try the gates. No, it was far more likely that he’d make a break for the street, attempt to get to his car and make a fast getaway.

  No way would I let that happen.

  I’d agonized over this case for much too long, worried myself sick about the women of Berkeley Place, that this bastard might do something vile and violent to them. I used a hand signal to communicate with Brigit. Her eyes told me my message was received. Slowly, softly, silently, we stepped toward Conklin.

  When we were a mere three feet away from his back, I activated the flashlight feature on my cell phone, aimed the intense beam at him, and raised my baton in case he attacked. “Fort Worth Police!” I shouted. “Put your hands up!”

  Conklin cried out and turned toward me. In his left hand was a camera, but in his right, lower down, was something else entirely and it was aimed at me. Before my mind could process that the thing in his hand, though long-barreled, was not actually a gun, my reflexes and instinct of self-preservation caused me to swing my twirling baton at it as hard as I could in an attempt to defend myself.

  He ducked his head and attempted to turn away but wasn’t quite quick enough. There was a loud WHOP! as the metal of my baton impacted the flesh of his thigh. While I was proud of the force I’d managed to muster, it was far more than necessary. As Conklin pivoted away from me, momentum carried my arm through the swing, taking my entire body with it. The next thing I knew—fwomp!—I was on my back in the grass, the wind knocked out of me, my hand still clutching my baton. Brigit loomed over me, waiting for further instruction.

  My cell phone had fallen to the grass, screen-up, the flashlight now like a searchlight aimed up at the sky. Despite his battered thigh, Conklin managed to yank up his pants with his other arm and take off running, adrenaline both fueling his flight and masking what had to be incredible pain.

  I tried to issue Brigit the order to chase him, but had yet to catch my breath. All that came out was a gasp. Wuhh!

  Brigit put her face in mine, her head tilted, her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what I was trying to say.

  I gulped three rapid breaths of air—UH-UH-UH—and finally managed to catch my breath. Though I could have issued the order now, my eyes spotted headlights coming up the street. No way would I deploy Brigit if there was any chance she could be hit by a car.

  I leveraged myself to my feet and ran to the curb, looking down the street for Conklin. The headlights of the passing car illuminated the street, making it easier for me to see. There he was, a block down, running like a bat out of hell, nearly to his SUV by now.

  Kshh-kssh-kshh! There was a grating noise as Frankie sailed past on her skates, hunkered down in her derby skating position to reduce wind resistance. “I’ll get him!” she hollered.

  “Be careful!” I called after her. A ridiculous sentiment to offer to a woman like Frankie. “Careful” was not in her vocabulary. Besides, Todd did not appear to be armed. Without a weapon, Todd Conklin stood little chance of physically besting Frankie. There was a much greater chance Frankie would obliterate the man and tiny Todd would end up nothing more than a bloody, fleshy smear on Hilltop Road.

  I issued Brigit the order to take down Conklin and she took off running after him, quickly catching up with Frankie, who was quickly catching up with Conklin. I, on the other hand, lagged three houses behind, despite running as fast as my legs could take me.

  With a primal battle cry, Frankie slammed into Conklin, hitting him down low, sweeping his legs out from under him and sending him into the air like those bowling pins she’d so mercilessly slaughtered on our recent double date. Brigit pounced a half second later, hitting Conklin up high as she’d been taught. The force sent Conklin back in the other direction and he ended up slamming, face-first, into the asphalt. If all of his teeth were still in his mouth it would be a miracle.

  Brigit grabbed the back of his collar and held tight, while Frankie skated circles around the guy in case he got any dumb ideas and tried again to make a break for it.

  When I finally caught up to them, I had to stop for a moment and bend over, hands on my knees, to catch my breath. Pant-pant. “Great job”—pant-pant—“you two!”

  Todd Conklin lay there, unmoving, his face smushed against the street.

  When I could finally breathe at a relatively normal rate, I stood and nudged him with my toe. “Hey. Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  Everyone in custody had a right to adequate medical care. Even disgusting perverts.

  He rolled onto his back, a bloody, gravel-encrusted mass where his face used to be. “You tell me.”

  Frankie went up on her toes, skating to an immediate stop and looking down at the man. “I’d say it’s a definite ‘yes.’”

  I called 911 on my cell phone, identified myself as a police officer, and requested both an ambulance and an officer to accompany Conklin to the hospital. After all, I was technically off duty tonight.

  When I finished speaking with dispatch, I dialed Detective Bustamente. “Your Tuesday afternoon just freed up. I caught Conklin peeping at a window in Westcliff.”

  “I thought you had the night off.”

  “Justice never has the night off.”

  Frankie rolled her eyes and began skating in circles around us, this time facing backward.

  I explained to Bustamente that after attending my roommate’s derby practice, we’d taken a detour by Say Cheese! and found Conklin setting off to spy on another woman.

  “Good job, Officer Luz. I knew you’d be a big help.”

  I looked down at my partner and ruffled her head. “Brigit deserves some of the credit.”

  “You two are quite a team.”

  A warm sense of satisfaction and pride flowed through my veins. “We are, aren’t we?”

  SEVENTY-TWO

  MIDNIGHT SNACK

  Brigit

  Brigit wasn’t entirely sure why Megan gave her sixteen liver treats when they arrived back home. After all, taking down that man had been easy work given that Frankie had already knocked his legs out from under him. But the dog wasn’t about to question her partner’s judgment. If Megan wanted to give her a hundred liver treats she’d gladly eat them.

  SEVENTY-THREE

  EXPOSED

  Todd

  The emergency room doctor took one look under Conklin’s hospital gown and cringed. “That had to hurt.”

  Hurt? His entire thigh was bruised black and providing him with no end of agony. The ice pack the nurse had placed on his leg barely dulled the pain. As hard as Officer Luz had whacked him it was a wonder his leg was still attached to his body rather than lying on the Chastains’ lawn.

  He looked up at the doctor. “Can you give me something for the pain?” Like a million CCs of morphine? Or a lobotomy?

  “Of course,” the doctor said. “In fact, that’s about all I can do for you. The only thing that heals an injury like this is time.”

  Time. That was something Todd would likely have a lot of in the days to come.

  The doctor stuck his head out of the curtain and called instructions to a nurse.

  As the doctor left, a female nurse arrived, yanking the curtain open and allowing it to remain that way, leaving him exposed to the dozen or so medical staff milling about the emergency room. Given the disgusted looks they cast his way, he realized they knew he was the Berkeley Place Peeper. Apparently word had gotten around the ER. To be expected, he supposed, given that a police officer was sitting just outside the curtain, making sure he didn’t attempt an escape.

  The nurse held a clear IV bag of morphine drip in one h
and, a catheter in the other.

  Grimacing against the pain the movement caused, he gestured to the curtain. “Could you close that, please?”

  She cut him an incredulous look. “Suddenly you’re interested in privacy?”

  Ignoring his request, she set the catheter down on the gurney and attached the morphine bag to the IV stand. She did not, however, attach the IV to his arm.

  Picking up the catheter, she circled around in front of him. “Lift your gown, please.”

  “Can’t you give me the painkiller first?”

  She looked him directly in the eye. “I could,” she whispered. “But I won’t.”

  He lifted his gown and the nurse proceeded to shove the catheter tube into his urethra, offering him a soft smile when he gasped in pain.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  PICTURE PERFECT

  Megan

  When Frankie, Brigit, and I had returned to the house where I’d caught Conklin spying, I’d found a small, handheld video camera on the ground under the window.

  Frankie shook her head. “Looks like he was taping some homespun porn.”

  After summoning a crime scene team, I’d gone to the door to let the residents know what was going on. It was no surprise when a thirtyish woman with long, dark hair answered. Her hair was damp, as if she’d just taken a shower. Her husband stood behind her.

  “I’m Officer Megan Luz with the Fort Worth Police Department,” I said. I raised Brigit’s leash. “This is my partner, Brigit.”

  “Hi,” said Frankie, greeting the couple with a wave of her hand. “I guess you could say I’m with citizen patrol.”

  The couple looked us up and down, their brows furrowed in skepticism.

  “We’re not in uniform because we’re working undercover.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was the quickest and easiest way to explain our appearance. I stepped back and pointed down the street, where EMTs were loading Conklin into an ambulance under the watchful eye of two officers from the W3 division, which encompassed Westcliff and the nearby areas. “See? We’ve got officers down there arresting a suspect.”