Maximum Security (A Dog Park Mystery)

by C. A. Newsome

  ~ ~ ~

  Peter dug his chopsticks into a bowl of pad Thai while Lia delicately nibbled the end off her spring roll.

  "Thai is perfect. How did you know I was in the mood for pad grapao?"

  Peter leaned over and wiped a bit of plum sauce off the corner of her mouth with his index finger. "I'm a detective. They pay me to know these things."

  "Uh-huh, knowing my secret cravings for Asian cuisine really goes a long way toward keeping our streets safe."

  “There are times when that's all that stands between order and chaos."

  Lia snorted at Peter’s earnest expression. "I refuse to dignify that remark. What's going on with the bones we found? Do you know who it is yet?"

  "We think so. We're waiting on a dental comparison, but the timeline fits and he liked to hike in Mount Airy. I wonder if you knew him."

  "That's a gruesome thought. Bad enough to find the bones of a stranger. I hate to think the coyotes were chewing on someone I knew."

  "I have a picture. Brent and I are going to show it around tomorrow, after we get confirmation. See if anyone remembers him. Would you mind looking at it?"

  “ID-ing dead people over dinner. You sure know how to show a girl a good time."

  “You brought it up."

  "Yeah, throw that in my face. It’s okay. Hand it over."

  Peter pulled up a photo on his phone and handed it to Lia. She blinked as she took in the piercing blue eyes that belied middle-age bloat, the receding white hair, the full lips quirked to one side in an ironic half-grin.

  “That’s Daisy’s dad. I can’t think of his name.”

  “George Munce?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. That’s who was in the woods?”

  “That’s what we believe.”

  “Geezelpete. That’s who she was waiting for. No wonder he didn’t show up. Poor woman.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “There was this woman at the park today, waiting for someone in the picnic shelter. She didn’t have a dog. Didn’t want to talk. Dressed too nicely for the park. Jim remembered seeing her before, heading into the woods with someone. He couldn’t remember who.”

  “Did you get a good look at her?”

  “I was about six feet away. Why?”

  “We’ve got to find out who she is. I need to set you up with a police artist so we can get a picture.” He reached for his phone.

  “Relax, Wonder Boy. I can draw my own damn picture.” Lia went into her home studio and brought out a drawing pad. She flipped to a clean page and swiftly blocked out a sketch of a heavyset woman sitting at a picnic table.

  Peter watched, fascinated, as a face evolved from Lia’s brisk lines, features emerging from nothing. At first the lines were vague, an approximation. Lia went back in with her pencil and overlaid her sketch with authoritative marks. She shaded under the nose and chin. She used her eraser to pull highlights out. He noted the hint of anxiety in the eyes of the fleshy woman, the nervous tapping of her fingers on the picnic table, the short, neat nails.

  “This is great. You’re so talented.”

  Lia sniffed and drew herself up. “I’m a professional,” she announced in a lofty tone.

  Peter chucked her chin. “We still need to talk to the police artist. He’ll take you through a process that will refine this to a photographic likeness.”

  Lia narrowed her eyes.

  “Don’t get huffy. He’s going to love having your drawing to work with. We still need to have an E-FIT composite that meets departmental standards.”

  “Departmental standards, my ass,” Lia grumbled.

  ~ ~ ~

  “This is really good,” Officer Foreman said.

  Lia smirked at Peter. He rolled his eyes. Andy Forman laid Lia’s drawing down next to his computer.

  “So we’re looking for a middle-aged woman with light, chin-length hair, squared face, heavy build. That right?”

  “It lacks poetry, but those are the basics. Are you going to ask me about her nose now?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Andy said. “We gave up the ‘Mr. Potato Head’ approach recently. This is far superior. Now we work with evolutionary algorithms to morph into the correct likeness holistically.”

  “Excuse me?” Lia wrinkled her brow, she turned her head, and caught Peter looking too innocent. “You,” She growled as she poked him in the chest, “Are not supposed to snicker at witnesses.” She turned back to the computer screen. “Okay, how does this work?”

  “Just watch. I love this program.” Forman keyed in the basic data. Nine different images popped up on the screen. “Look at the faces and tell me which one is most like the woman you saw.”

  Lia scanned the array, pointed to the middle image on the top row. “That one.”

  “Now look at them again and tell me which two faces look least like her.”

  She considered, then selected two more faces. “Why do you want to know what she doesn’t look like?”

  “It feeds into the algorithm.” He entered her choices. A new array of photos popped up, all variations of the first photo she selected. “Same thing. Which looks most like her?”

  Lia selected three more faces. They went through this process several more times. Each time the faces offered looked more like the woman in the park. Finally Lia said, “That’s it. That one. It doesn’t have the emotion, but that’s her.”

  “Shame we don’t have a program yet that can overlay feelings onto the likeness.”

  “This is amazing. It’s not at all stiff like the sketch I saw on television last year of the Blue-Eyed Rapist. What do you do with the drawing now?”

  “Andy,” Peter nodded at Officer Forman, “is going to generate some copies. Brent and I are going to spend tomorrow running them around to all the motels within a five mile radius of the park. If she’s an out-of-towner, we’ve got to catch up with her before she takes off. Do you think Jim’s still awake? It would help if we had a description of the vehicle. Once we get that, we can hit the rental agencies.”

  “What if it turns out the body isn’t George?”

  “We still want to find her. A stranger at the dog park, waiting for someone who doesn’t show, no dog, inappropriately dressed. Maybe her friend didn’t show because he couldn’t. Even if she wasn’t waiting for our dead guy, she’s been hanging around the woods. She might have seen something.”

  “Do you think she killed him?”

  “I don’t know. She’s an anomaly, and cases are built on anomalies.”

  Day 3

  Friday, October 11

  “Brother of mine, we are not taking your ten year old Blazer. Apart from being embarrassed to be seen in it, there’s always the question of when its poor, worn out engine is going to drop on the road.” Brent walked past Peter’s SUV and clicked his remote key-fob. Brent’s Audi beeped and flashed its lights.

  Peter gritted his teeth. “My engine is fine. I had it rebuilt last year. You just want an excuse to show off your new car.”

  “That I do.”

  “You have to promise to obey all traffic laws.”

  “You just want to ruin all my fun, don’t you?” He got into the driver’s side, waited for Peter. “ You know, you could trade in your Blazer for an Escape. Every time you transported a suspect, you’d be making an ironic statement.”

  “That truck is going to live at least another ten years.”

  “It’s a car, not a marriage. Where to?”

  “We’ve got a choice. There’s the Comfort Inn up on Mitchell Avenue. A middle class lady would feel comfortable there. Or there’s that string of older motels down on Central Parkway. We could hit all of them in the time it would take for us to go up to Mitchell and back.”

  “Isn’t that like looking for your car keys under a street lamp because the light’s better? Some of those places are really run down.”

  “What’s closest to us is also closest to the park,” Peter pointed out. “They’re small, and chances are that if
she’s staying at one of them, the clerk on the desk would know it. Comfort Inn, she could be staying there and unless she stood out, which our girl doesn’t, they might not remember her. More employees to interview, too.”

  “She might be staying in one of those bed and breakfasts in the Gaslight District.”

  “I’m betting not. From what Lia said, she was uncomfortable with being questioned. A place like that, they like knowing everything about why you’re in town and what you’re doing.”

  “Central Parkway it is, then. Fasten your seatbelt and prepare for take off. This is a short flight, so we will not be serving any refreshments.”

  The first place they stopped had a mostly empty parking lot and a gum chewing desk clerk sporting a nose ring. She looked as tired as the motel. Peter smelled burnt coffee. There were a pair of unappetizing glazed donuts on a chipped plate by the coffee maker. The girl glanced at the photo. “Nah, ain’t seen her.” She snapped her gum for emphasis.

  “Thanks for your time, Miss,” Brent said.

  She snorted.

  Back in the lot, Brent unlocked his car. “Did you see those donuts? If they’d showed me those at the police academy, I would have had second thoughts about becoming a cop.”

  “You and your doughnut fetish.”

  “A man has to have a hobby.”

  They checked the $37 Interstate Motel just for form. The motel’s iconic sign had overlooked the highway for decades. It was hard to tell if the exterior paint was supposed to be that ugly gray, or if time and neglect had drained the color out of it. They were known to rent rooms by the hour, catering to participants in sordid couplings, mercenary or otherwise. Peter was certain the mystery woman with the carefully coifed hair would never lay her head on these pillows.

  “Comfort Inn looking better?” Brent arched an eyebrow at Peter on their way out.

  “I haven’t given up yet.”

  “I bet you tomorrow’s doughnuts she’s not on this strip.”

  “You’re on.”

  The third place showed signs of care with neatly trimmed privet hedges and a recent paint job. It was modest in appearance, with the parking lot hidden behind the building. It occurred to Peter that this feature prevented passersby from noticing who was there.

  The lobby furniture was old but sturdy. The aroma of fresh coffee scented the air. There was an array of bagels, orange juice and cold cereal set out on a table for breakfast. Peter imagined they didn't go all out because there was a Big Boy with a daily breakfast buffet nearby.

  A jowly man with a greying military haircut identified himself as the manager. He put on the reading glasses that hung around his neck and peered at the photograph.

  “Yes, I’ve seen her. Far as I know, she’s still here. She doesn’t look dangerous.”

  “We don’t think she is. We just need to talk to her,” Peter explained.

  He turned to his computer, clicked through screens. “Her name is Kate Onstad. She hasn’t checked out . . . reserved the room for three weeks. She still has four more days. Room 227. Would you like me to ring her room?”

  “That’s okay, we’ll go knock on her door. Do you have a description of her car?” Peter asked.

  The man scanned the rest of her registration. “Blue Nissan Altima, Kentucky plates V39- 795. Oklahoma driver’s license.”

  “That’s very helpful. Thank you,” Brent said. They stepped out of the office and scanned the parking lot.

  “No blue Altima. She’s probably not here.”

  “It’s still early. She might be down the road, getting breakfast.”

  “Let’s knock on her door, just in case. Then we’ll check.”

  They were on the metal exterior stairs leading to the second floor when Peter’s phone rang.

  ~ ~ ~

  “When are you going to let Max off her leash? She learned her lesson. You won’t run away, will you, Max?” Jim spoke to the dog from his usual perch on the picnic table.

  “When pigs fly.”

  Max gave Lia a disgusted look and turned pointedly away.

  “Hold on,” Lia said. “Whose car is that? Do you recognize it?” Lia nodded at the blue Altima pulling into the lot.

  “Looks new. Could be your mystery woman. They were silent as they waited for the car to pull into a spot. The driver sat inside for a few minutes. Lia clenched her teeth, mentally willing the driver to step out. Eventually the door cracked open. A pale head appeared.

  “Is that her?”

  “I can’t tell from here. Let’s walk closer so we can get a good look at her when she comes up the drive.” They headed up to the front, trailing six dogs.

  “What are we going to do if it is her?”

  “I’m going to call Peter. You’re going to move your car and block her in.”

  “Me? Why do I have to block her in?”

  “Because you’ve only got two dogs to handle. I’ve got four. Yours won’t howl in your ears while you sit in your car.”

  Jim grunted.

  The stocky figure came around the curve in the drive, appearing on the far side of the picnic shelter.

  “It’s her.”

  “You want me to go now?”

  “Hold on, let’s see what Peter says.”

  She pulled her cell out of her pocket and punched his number on speed dial.

  “Hey, Babe,” Peter said. “We already got an ID on the car. Tell Jim thanks anyway.”

  “I’m not a farm animal. And you might have an ID, but we have the car. We also have the driver. What do you want us to do?”

  “What’s the situation?”

  “She just sat down in the shelter. I assume she’s going to wait, like she did yesterday. I thought maybe Jim could block her car in so she can’t leave.”

  “It’ll take us about ten minutes to get there. I don’t want you to spook her. Can she see the lot from the shelter?”

  “Nope.”

  “Have Jim wait in his car. Keep an eye on her, and if she starts to leave, call Jim and have him block her in.”

  “Do you want me to try to talk to her?”

  “No, and don’t let her know you’re watching her. We don’t want things to get complicated. We’re on our way.”

  She clicked off the phone. “Guess we’re supposed to act casual.” She sent Jim down to the lot, then climbed on the table closest to the gate. Max, still on her lead, jumped up beside her.

  Lia put her arm around Max and scratched behind her ears. Honey, jealous, butted her knee. Viola jumped up on the table and gave Max an evil stare for taking her favorite spot. Max gave Viola a bland look. Lia stroked Honey absently on the head and angled so she could observe the woman while appearing to watch Chewy prowl the fence line.

  Bailey banged in through the corral with Kia.

  “Hey, what’s up with Jim? He’s just sitting in his car.”

  Lia widened her eyes and made a face. Bailey scrambled up next to her.

  “Did I do something? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Keep it down,” Lia hissed. “We think that woman in the shelter knows something about the bones in the woods. Peter’s on his way. Jim’s ready to block her in if she tries to leave.”

  “Who, her?” Bailey said, looking at the shelter.

  “Don’t look over there!”

  Something drew the woman’s attention. She alerted, much like a hound on a scent trail, head up and sitting very still. Then she stood up and hooked her purse over her arm.

  “Dammit, I think she’s leaving. Why would she leave? She just got here!” Lia fumbled with her phone. She started pushing buttons, dropped the phone. “Quick,” she told Bailey, “run down to the fence and get Jim’s attention. She’s just headed around the curve, so she won’t be able to see you. Go!”

  Bailey took off while Lia continued to punch buttons, finally pulling up her directory. She located Jim’s number and heaved a relieved sigh as she hit ‘send.’

  Jim answered on the second ring.

 
“Why is Bailey waving at me? She looks like a windmill.”

  “The package has left the shelter.”

  “Huh?”

  “She’s coming! Get a move on!”

  “All right, all right. You don’t have to yell.”

  Lia squeezed into the corral, dragging Max with her and leaving the other dogs behind. She hurried down the drive, arriving in the parking lot just in time to see the woman approach Jim’s Dodge Caliber, where it was parked behind her car. He rolled down the window.

  “Will you be moving soon? I need to get out,” the woman said.

  “I can’t just yet.”

  “Can’t you just move over a bit so I can squeeze out? There’s plenty of room.”

  Jim looked helplessly at Lia. His shoulders sank in resignation. “Ma'am, we’d like you to wait here. There’s someone who wants to talk to you, but they’re not here yet.”

  “Is it George? Why didn’t you say so!”

  “No, Ma’am, it’s not George.”

  The woman looked perplexed. “I don’t understand. Who needs to talk to me?”

  Jim looked pointedly at Lia.

  “Excuse me,” Lia said. “Two detectives are on their way. They think you might have seen something when you were back in the woods.”

  “No, I haven’t seen anything. What would I have seen? I really would rather not get involved with the police. I have to leave. Please let me out.” She clutched her purse in front of her chest. For protection? White knuckles betrayed agitation despite her reasonable tone.

  Lia said nothing. She looked up and saw Chewy, Honey, Kita and Viola, all lined up at the fence next to Bailey. They chose that moment to start howling for attention. Max barked in response and sat on the woman’s foot. Fleece and Chester joined the hullabaloo.

  Cornered, the woman looked around her, desperate for a way out. Tears began rolling down her face. Grim faced, she got into her car and sat, facing forward as if it would all go away if she couldn’t see it. Lia, Bailey and Jim looked at each other and shrugged.

  Lia sighed in relief when Brent’s Audi pulled into the lot. The car parked next to the trapped Altima. The two detectives got out.