“While I’m interviewing potential witnesses? I don’t need the dogs for that. Zack, do me a favor? Go home.”
FOUR
There was something about this case that wasn’t sitting well with me. PV was a very small town, yet this marked the second (that I am aware of) case of a stolen dog in the last week. There must be something I was missing. Practically all the dognapping cases I had ever read about involved some punk taking the dog and then waiting until a cash reward was offered, thereby allowing the perpetrator to simply stroll up and collect the money. It made me wonder if that’s what was happening here. Who in their right frame of mind would steal a dog with the sole intent on collecting a reward?
Damn punks. But, I digress. Back to the business at hand.
I picked up the copy of the Medford file and began to read. The first owner had offered a reward. Hell, the Labrador’s owner was so desperate to get his dog back that he had put up several collectible rifles valued at close to $15K. I know. I looked up their value. The townsfolk were gonna go ape shit once that news broke. Whether or not Vance will offer a reward for Anubis’ return remains to be seen.
I felt that the chances of all this happening in a tiny town like Pomme Valley were remote. And I mean very remote. There had to be a reason this was happening. I do think it would be interesting to see if anyone tried to collect the two guns offered by the first owner. However, I had a sneaking suspicion the reward would remain unclaimed, regardless of how many people would try to collect it.
Nevertheless, I wanted to do some research. I wanted to know if anyone else in the area had reported the theft of their beloved pets. In this day and age, everything seemed to be computerized. It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?
Once I was back home, I headed upstairs to my office. Pulling up an internet search engine, I entered my search parameter and crossed my fingers.
Missing dogs in Rascal River Valley Oregon
I know. It was a fairly generic search, but I was eager to see what came up. After a moment’s hesitation, the web page returned a page full of results. After scrolling through the “sponsored results”, which took up the top half of the page, I began to skim through the matches. My hopes fell as I saw links to various police departments, breeder pages, outdoor fishing, Pomme Valley wines, and a slew of others. Clearly the search engine couldn’t find all my search terms in one location, so it gave me partial hits, only the returned results were nowhere close to what I needed.
One of the web pages caught my eye. The link in question was from a family’s personal blog, and it was a plea to the general public to help the post go viral. The family was missing its dog.
Intrigued, I leaned forward and clicked on the link. What I read broke my heart. The family’s beloved golden retriever, Sandy, had been reported missing after a scheduled two day stop in Medford. The family had evidently decided to stop by one of the city’s parks to enjoy a picnic lunch, and had let their dog out to run around. I’m sure you can guess the rest. After spending the rest of their vacation searching for their beloved dog, they ended up returning to their home in San Antonio, Texas, empty-handed.. This was nearly three years ago.
My eyes skimmed through the details of the story. Hmmm. Just like all the other dognappings, this one had happened during the daytime, too. Not only that, but according to the article, the park was packed with people. Medford, I was dismayed to learn, had over twenty parks scattered across the city. This particular theft occurred in Prescott Park, their largest.
My eyebrows shot up as I found the details of the park online. Over 1,700 acres? For a park? Wow. That would be a lot of territory to cover. No wonder nothing turned up of the missing dog.
Curious to see if there were any other reported missing dogs in the Medford area, I tried a few more searches. Wouldn’t you know it? I found evidence of five other missing dogs – all of them happening around three years ago – and all without any type of resolution.
I reached for my cell. Vance needed to hear about this. Why anyone else hadn’t discovered this was beyond me.
“Hey, Zack. What’s up?”
“You’re not going to believe what I found online.”
“You found something? And Sherlock wasn’t involved?”
“Thanks a lot pal.”
“All right. Hit me with your best shot. Whatcha got?”
“On a hunch, I decided to see if there were any other cases involving missing dogs in the surrounding area. I started with Medford. I…”
“We already know, buddy,” Vance interrupted.
“You do?”
“Six cold cases where the perp was never caught. That’s nearly half a dozen families who never got their dogs back, Zack.”
I felt totally deflated.
“Oh.”
“It’s a good attempt. We might be able to get you to stop writing romance novels and start working on crime stories yet. Out of curiosity, did you look at any other areas besides Medford?”
“Umm, no. Should I have?”
“Well, a good detective would have… I’m just messin’ with you. As soon as the first dog was reported missing, we called our pals over at MPD and had them send over all cases that had anything to do with a missing dog.”
“And you’ve got those files now?”
“I’m looking right at ‘em.”
“Cool. Have you found… wait. Wait a moment. You said ‘just under half a dozen families’, yet you said there were six cases.”
“Wow. That took you way too long to notice. You’d better stick with romance.”
“Bite me, pal. Spill. What did you mean by that?”
“Of those six missing dogs, one of them was returned.”
“What? Which one? How? Why?”
“That’s what I was getting ready to find out. Wanna tag along?”
“Hell yeah! Umm, with or without the dogs?”
“You know what? Bring them along. Our dog owner might be more inclined to talk to us if he sees another dog owner. Bear in mind, we need to stop by the MPD station first.”
“Why?”
“As you may or may not know, Medford is out of my jurisdiction, Zack. While I’m certain Chief Steingartner wouldn’t mind me asking a few questions, after all, he is one of my father’s golfing buddies, it is considered professional courtesy to ask permission first.”
“Couldn’t we just call him on the phone?”
“Who, the chief or the guy who got his dog back?”
“Either. Or both.”
“Captain Nelson and Chief Steingartner are pretty good friends. I wouldn’t want to do anything that’d make PV look bad. Plus, I have several buddies on the force there I haven’t seen in a while. I wouldn’t mind saying hello. Besides, I think he’d like to meet you, Zack.”
“Oh, great. This isn’t someone who thinks I’m guilty of murder and belongs in a cell, is it?”
“Nope. Well, not that I’m aware of. He is a fan of the dogs, though.”
“Ah. Got it.”
“So, would these two be the famous Sherlock and Watson I’ve heard so much about?”
I nodded, “Yes, they be. Are. They are. I mean, yes, they are.”
Vance chuckled, “Switch to decaf, okay? Relax. You’re fine.”
We were standing in a conference room inside the MPD station house where every, and I do mean every, cop on duty in the Medford area looked to be present. I was able to count at least twenty different officers before the constant shuffling of people inside the room made me lose count. Every single one of them wanted to meet the dogs in person. Every single one of them received a friendly lick from each of the dogs. I later found out that Medford employed over 50 police officers, as opposed to the paltry 8 that worked for PVPD. Chief Steingartner explained that, while Medford had a population that was over 75,000 strong, the Medford metro area had well over 200,000 people in it. An area that size needed a larger police force, and as such, had a larger budget.
The Chief of Medford Police was a
robust man in his early fifties, at least 5’10” tall, and had a full head of thick black hair. I could see some type of tattoo on the chief’s right arm, extending at least six inches below the sleeve of his short-sleeve uniform. I sidled closer to see if I could tell what the tattoo depicted.
It was a design I had seen before. Well, not this exact design, but the same elements were there. It was a dagger with an eagle clutching a globe in its claws. Wrapped helically around the two images was a ribbon, and on it were the words “Death… Before… Dishonor.” It was a design commonly used by US Marines when getting tattooed on their arms, legs, backs, etc. Looks like the chief was a former marine.
Chief Steingartner squatted down next to the dogs and patted each of the corgis on their heads. Doggie biscuits were produced and offered. Sherlock and Watson gently took the proffered treats and quietly crunched them up. Little snots. They still snap up any goodies I give them, threatening to take my fingers off at the second knuckle. One would think I starved them on a regular basis.
“No wonder the crime rate has been dropping in PV,” one cop snickered. “Look at those two. I’m sure the crooks are shaking in their boots whenever they see those two coming.”
The chief angrily stood and rounded on the one who had spoken.
“Is that so? Well, Mr. Mitchell, for your information, those dogs are responsible for solving three murder cases. One case kept their owner out of jail, another involved a missing pendant – which Sherlock there located – and the third case involved catching a serial burglar who had stepped up to murder and was wanted in multiple states. Tell me again, Mitchell, how many cases have you solved in the last year? What’s that? None? These dogs have a better record than you, detective. I’d keep your comments to yourself.”
Properly shamed, the detective dropped his eyes to the ground, “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, chief.”
Chief Steingartner turned back to the two of us.
“Now. Detective Samuelson, Mr. Anderson. What can the Medford Police Department do for you?”
Vance stepped forward and held up a manila folder.
“We’re checking out a series of missing dogs in PV,” my friend began. “After we did some checking, we see that a few years ago, Medford had a rash of similar cases. We were hoping we could compare notes, be allowed to talk to some of the people involved, that sort of thing.”
“Who do you want to talk to?” Chief Steingartner inquired.
“Three years ago, over a span of seven or eight months, Medford had a number of missing dogs. However, one of them returned. I was hoping we’d be able to look at the original file and track the owner down.”
The chief was silent for a few moments, but then his face broke out into a huge grin.
“Sure, why not? They’re only dogs. I see no harm in that.”
Only dogs? Only dogs? Obviously, the captain of the Medford PD had never been a dog owner. No self-respecting owner of a dog ever thinks of their beloved pet as a possession. Rather, they’re companions. At least, that’s what Sherlock and Watson are to me.
So, thanks to that little comment, I was now frowning. A quick glance at my friend confirmed he was, too. Vance noticed my scowl and quickly nudged me, shaking his head no. He managed to throw his face into neutral just before the chief looked his way.
“Thank you, Chief Steingartner. If you could just point out the way to your records room?”
“I’ll do better than that,” the chief told us. He glanced around the room, as if he were searching for someone. His eyes lit up as he saw a girl with her back to us, filing paperwork inside an open three-drawer filing cabinet. “Cindy, would you come over here for a moment?”
The girl threw a glance over her shoulder to see who was talking. Noticing that it was the chief, she hurriedly jammed a few folders inside the top drawer, closed the cabinet, and hurried over. She was short, around 5’ tall, had shoulder length blonde hair that was tied into a pony tail, and was wearing a beige blouse with a matching skirt. A secretary, perhaps?
“This is Cindy, one of our interns. She handles a lot of the records. She’ll show you to the Records Room and see to it that you get what you need.”
The girl smiled brightly at us and nodded. Her gaze dropped to the floor and her eyes widened. She even let out a little gasp.
“Oh, aren’t they cute! They’re corgis, aren’t they?”
I nodded, “Yes, ma’am. This is Sherlock, and the other is Watson.”
The girl gasped again, “Sherlock and Watson? Omigosh, I’ve heard of these two. From Pomme Valley, right?”
“I told you everyone knows your dogs,” Vance laughed. He looked at the girl and smiled. “Detective Vance Samuelson, PVPD. This is Zack Anderson, owner of Lentari Cellars.”
Chief Steingartner, in the process of sitting down in one of the chairs in the conference room, practically leapt to his feet.
“You own Lentari Cellars? Really? You make one fantastic bottle of wine, my friend.”
I chuckled and shook my head, “I wish I could take the credit, but I can’t. I will pass that on to my winemaster, though. He’s the one who makes all the magic happen.”
“Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me.”
We followed the intern down several indistinguishable hallways, stepped through a number of rooms, until we came to a large, thick, heavy metal door. Before I could order myself not to react, I snorted, but quickly disguised it as a cough. Heavy metal. Jeez. What was I, a teenager?
“It’s right through here. Can you tell me what you’re looking for? I might be able to help you.”
“Well, we already know we’d like to talk to the dog owner who had his dog stolen, but somehow managed to recover it.”
“How long ago was this?” Cindy asked as she began flipping switches on a nearby panel, which had about six switches total. Overhead, large fluorescent lights flickered into life.
We were now in a large, cavernous room that was filled with aisles of metal shelving stacked high with boxes and plastic bins. What I was looking at reminded me of one of those warehouse stores, the kind where its damn-near impossible to find what you’re looking for, and trying to find someone to help is even more difficult. Stacks of boxes and bins climbed all the way to the ceiling, nearly ten feet above my head. I sure hope someone had all this shit catalogued and indexed.
“About three years ago,” Vance told her. “You’re an intern? I didn’t think interns were required to dress up in business casual attire.”
“We’re not,” Cindy assured us, with a smile. “I hope to find a job here someday, so I’d like to make a good impression.”
“What type of job are you looking for?” I asked as we followed the girl inside the large room.
“One day I would love to become a detective. For now, anything that offers a paycheck would be nice.”
“If I had any say in it, I would hire you,” Vance assured the girl.
“Is PVPD hiring?” Cindy hopefully asked.
Vance shook his head, “Not that I’m aware of, I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Now, let me think. Missing dogs. I think I remember hearing about that. That should be in Number 3.”
Cindy promptly approached a set of four huge filing cabinets, selected the top drawer of the third cabinet, and slid it out. She flipped through a few files before she shook her head, closed the drawer, and selected the next one down. After a few more moments of fruitless searching, she closed the second drawer and tried the third. Thankfully, the fourth drawer yielded what she was looking for, since she pulled out a huge armful of manila folders and slowly walked back to us. Then she noticed the large, dented metal table and changed course.
“Let’s see,” Cindy said, as she dropped the stack on the table and opened the first file, “we’re looking for missing dogs. I’ve pulled every case that happened three years ago. It doesn’t look like there’s any rhyme or reason to the filing system here, except that the cases are in chronological order. I’ll start with this stack. D
etective, you start with that one. If these missing dogs were reported three years ago, then they’ll be in here somewhere.”
“Can I help?” I hopefully asked.
Cindy slid several dozen folders my way.
“Help yourself. The more the merrier.”
Thirty minutes later, we found what we needed. I mean, come on. Medford might be bigger than PV, but it’s still a small town as far as I was concerned. It wasn’t that hard to find a specific type of case file.
Cindy smiled politely, returned the unneeded files to the cabinets, and excused herself. I opened the first folder in front of me and skimmed through the contents and immediately set it aside. An elderly woman’s miniature schnauzer was stolen and, sadly, was never returned.
My next folder contained all the files for a missing boxer, owned by a single guy a few years younger than me. His dog, too, was also never recovered. I quietly placed the folder in my ‘discard’ file.
“One missing schnauzer, and one missing boxer so far,” I glumly reported. “Here’s a missing Chow. Whatcha got over there?”
“I’ve got a missing Australian Shepherd, and this one,” Vance began, flipping open the newest folder, “has one Portuguese… wow. I have no idea how to say that.”
“A Portuguese Water Dog?” I slowly asked, confused about which word my friend could possibly be stumbling over.
“I’ve heard of Portuguese Water Dogs, smart-ass,” Vance grumped. “This one, though, is a Portuguese Podengo… um, Pehqueeno.”
“Say what?” I demanded, abandoning my file and standing up so I could lean over Vance’s shoulder. “Say that again?”
Vance slid the file over to me, “No way. You say it.”
I had taken one semester of remedial Spanish in high school. I could only hope I was doing my old teacher justice.
“Portuguese Podengo Pequeno. Wow. Never heard of it.”
Vance suddenly grunted with surprise and tapped the same page I was looking at, only farther down.
“Zack, this is our guy. Look. It says here that his dog was recovered.”
Case of the Pilfered Pooches Page 6