Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order

by Kelly, Diane

  Just found out she was a killer was more like it. Had she accidentally smothered Sam when she’d put the pillow over his head?

  No! It can’t be! She hadn’t pushed the pillow down or anything. She’d just laid it across his face. She did the same thing herself when she had a hangover and too much light was coming through the bedroom window. Besides, he’d been snoring when she left the room, hadn’t he?

  Yes! Yes, he had! Of course the snoring had been softer, weaker.

  Had he slowly been suffocating?

  Had Amber Lynn ended his life?

  Am I a murderer?

  FIFTY-TWO

  SHOTGUN WEDDING

  Megan

  Detective Bustamente and I pulled into the parking lot of the Justin Boots outlet store on west Vickery and parked. I cracked the windows on the cruiser so Brigit could get air, and left her in the vehicle. After all the shoes that damn dog had chewed up, there was no way I could trust her in a boot store. She might go berserk and destroy the entire inventory. I wasn’t sure the FWPD insurance would cover that and, even if it did, the chief would can my ass. He wasn’t exactly my biggest fan.

  I had the printout of the boot selection in my purse, ready to show to the manager on duty. It was probably a long shot, but we had to see whether he or she could help us track down those customers who had purchased the particular models of boots the victims had ID’d as belonging to the crutch-wielding accomplice.

  The detective held the door for me and I stepped inside the store. The place smelled like leather and boot polish. No big surprise there. My nose also detected faint undertones of rubber from the work boots, and a few hints of a floral cologne.

  I glanced around as I followed Bustamente to the counter. So many cute styles. I’d never been much into western wear, but I had to admit that these boots were fun and fashionable, much more chic than the cowgirl boots of yesteryear. I was still checking out the footwear when I heard a female voice ask, “How can I help you?”

  Bustamente put a hand on my back and guided me forward. “My wife here would like to try on some boots.”

  His wife? Whuh?

  My gaze met his. I saw something in his eyes, a warning perhaps? I turned to the clerk. She was a woman about my age. Plain, with mousy brown hair.

  Again, whuh?

  A glance at the name spelled out on her plastic badge answered my question.

  CRYSTAL.

  Whoa.

  All of the sudden it made sense why she had so many pairs of boots. She worked in a boot store!

  Obviously, Bustamente was role-playing for some reason, pretending I was here as his wife rather than in an official capacity. I wasn’t sure what his reasons were, but I knew I had to play along.

  I forced a smile at the woman I would’ve much rather throttled. Thanks to her and whoever her two cohorts were, the chief had jumped down my throat. This woman and her coconspirators had not only ripped off and physically injured their victims, they’d made Fort Worth PD look bad and hampered sales of tickets to the stock show and rodeo. They’d cost a lot of people a lot of money and caused untold amounts of frustration and heartache.

  Crystal stepped out from behind the counter. “Were you looking for any particular style?”

  “Something with a pointed toe,” I said. You know, the kind that would be good for putting in someone’s ass. Yours, perhaps? “Maybe with a shorter shank?”

  “Got just what you’re looking for.” She led me to a display.

  I picked up a pair in tan and ivory. “These are cute.”

  “What size do you wear?”

  “Eight and a half.”

  Bustamente and I waited on the sales floor while Crystal retrieved the boots from the stockroom.

  “What would you like me to cook for dinner tonight?” I asked my new husband as I tried to get into my role.

  “Enchiladas,” he replied. “Rice and beans. Flan.”

  “Okay. I’ll have it ready when you get home.”

  When Crystal returned with the box, I sat down on a bench, removed my loafers, and slid my feet into the boots. I stood and took a few steps in them, pretending to admire them in the mirror.

  “What do you think, honey?” I asked the detective, hoping I sounded wifelike.

  “Meh.” He angled a bladed hand in a so-so motion. “I can take ’em or leave ’em. You know I prefer you in spike heels and fishnets.”

  He’d delivered those words so convincingly there must have been some truth to them.

  “Well, I like these boots,” I said. “But I’m not sure we should spend the money right now.” I turned to Crystal. “I think I need a night or two to think on them.”

  “No problem,” she said, sliding the boots back into their box. “Y’all have a nice day.”

  Bustamente and I left the store and walked back to our cars.

  “Just FYI,” he said, “no wife asks her husband what he wants for dinner. She just makes it and sets it in front of him and tells him to shut up and eat it.”

  “Duly noted,” I said. Make. Set. Shut up. Eat.

  Now that we were a safe distance from the building, he told me that we needed to run the license plates on every car in the lot and see if any of them were registered to a Crystal.

  “That way we can get her full name and address,” he said.

  “Why don’t you just arrest her now?”

  “Because if I did she’d get a defense attorney and refuse to talk. We might not ever find out who she was working with. She’d probably get off, too. You saw what a hard time that cashier had identifying the thief. The witnesses who saw Crystal only remember her boots. None of them would be able to give a positive ID. Better to do some digging first, some surveillance of her house, see where she goes and who she goes with. Maybe she’ll meet up with the other two women involved in these robberies. If she doesn’t, we can always come back and put the screws to her, see if she’ll talk then.”

  What the detective said made sense. A bird in the hand wasn’t always worth more than two in the bush, especially if the bird in the bush was the bird you wanted most to get. Nevertheless, my eagerness to put the thieves behind bars had me feeling impatient and frustrated and wanting to do something now.

  Bustamente motioned for me to get into his unmarked cruiser. Once we were seated, he handed me his laptop. As he rattled off the license plate numbers of the vehicles in the lot, I ran them through the system. The first three cars were registered to a John Fremont, a Mary Anne Murdock, and a Yusef Diswali, respectively. The fourth, a 1997 Buick LeSabre, was registered to a Crystal Dawn Hood.

  “Bingo.” I angled the laptop screen so Bustamente could see the information.

  “See where that address is located.”

  I input the address into my cell phone’s GPS app and consulted the map. “Looks like it’s in a trailer park north of town.”

  Bustamente nodded as he appeared to be processing the information. “Okay. Here’s what I’ve come up with. The main thief is someone who grew up poor, didn’t like it, and thinks the world owes her something. She has expensive tastes, delusions of grandeur, and a sense of entitlement.”

  “How’d you reach these conclusions?”

  He jerked his head to indicate the store. “That woman in there? Crystal? She lives in a trailer and works as a retail sales clerk. Most of her acquaintances, including the thief, are likely to be from similar backgrounds. The fact that the thief bought those gossip rags and fashion magazines at Kroger says she’s fixated on celebrities and the wealthy and their lifestyles. She wants to live like they do. That’s what these robberies have been all about.”

  Wow. Detective Jackson was right. Bustamente was sharp.

  Would I ever be that clever?

  FIFTY-THREE

  THE SHOES BLUES

  Brigit

  The dog put her nose to the small opening at the top of the window and sniffed. She could smell leather. And lots of it.

  Mmmmm …

  Brigit wo
uld’ve loved to go into the store and go to town on that leather, but Megan didn’t take her inside. What a party pooper.

  Disappointed, Brigit nestled back against the enclosure. As she sat there, a slight breeze carried other scents her way.

  The acrid smell of gasoline.

  The faint smell of a burning cigarette.

  The same floral cologne I smelled at the stock show.

  Whoever had been wearing it that night was here now, at the store. Brigit wished that whoever it was would bring a leather boot out to the car for her to enjoy. It was the least she deserved after all those nights patrolling through rowdy crowds at the stock show, wasn’t it?

  FIFTY-FOUR

  DESTROYING THE EVIDENCE

  Amber Lynn Hood

  Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!

  Amber Lynn still had the dead guy’s wallet, and camera, and iPad, and jewelry in the trunk of her car. If she were caught with his things she could go to prison for the rest of her life. She might even get the death penalty!

  Oh, God!

  Did they still zap people in the electric chair? Or were they killed by firing squads? No, all of those methods were outdated. Now they used lethal injections, putting people down just like they did stray dogs from the streets.

  Amber Lynn didn’t want to die like a stray dog. She didn’t want to die at all!

  She left her Lean Cuisine rotating in the microwave and all but ran to her cubicle. She grabbed her purse and headed to the exit. She didn’t bother checking in with her supervisor in person, instead opting to call her boss from her cell phone as she rushed through the parking lot.

  “I had to leave,” Amber Lynn said, faking a cough. “I suddenly started feeling really bad.” That part is true. “I think I’ve got the flu.” That part isn’t.

  “Don’t you worry,” her supervisor said. “I’ll get one of the other girls to cover for you. You just go on home and stay in bed until you feel better.”

  “Thanks.”

  Go on home and stay in bed. Amber Lynn had no intention whatsoever of doing either of those things. At least not until she’d gotten rid of Sam’s things.

  She dashed to her car, barely noticing the cold temperature despite the fact that she’d left her coat in her cube and wore only a thin blouse and skirt. She climbed into her car, her tires screeching as she pulled out of the lot. She checked her gas gauge. Thanks to the cash she’d pilfered from Sam, she had a nearly full tank. She could drive far away from Fort Worth and back without having to stop anywhere.

  She headed north on Interstate 35 and drove and drove and drove, her panic continuing to build, until she passed over the state line into Oklahoma. She pulled into the parking lot of the first convenience store she saw, driving around back to the Dumpsters where she wouldn’t be spotted disposing of Sam’s things. She braked to a stop, but left the engine running in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

  After a quick glance around to make sure nobody could see her, she gathered Sam’s camera and iPad from the backseat, and retrieved his wallet from the glove compartment. She shook so badly that she immediately dropped his wallet. The credit cards and other contents spilled out over her floorboards. Sam’s driver’s license sat on top, his face looking up at her from the photo, his expression seeming to say Why, Robin? Why did you kill me?

  Now he remembers her alias!

  “Oh, God!” She felt as if she were going to be sick.

  She scooped up all of the items, including the wallet itself, and crammed them into the camera bag. She leaped from the car and ran up to the Dumpster, hurling the bag and iPad over the top.

  “Hey! No dumping allowed!”

  She turned to see a man storming out the back door of the store.

  SHIT!

  He continued toward her, his face contorted in anger. “That garbage bin is for store use only!”

  “I’m sorry!” she cried. “It was just a couple of small things. That’s all!”

  “I don’t care!” the man spat. “People keep leaving mattresses and washing machines and all kinds of shit out here that I have to deal with.” He stepped up onto a wooden crate next to the Dumpster, reached in, and pulled out the camera bag. Stomping over to Amber Lynn, he forced the bag back into her arms. “Take this back. Throw it in your own damn garbage.”

  “Okay! Okay!” Amber Lynn cried, on the verge of hysteria. She climbed back into her car and set the camera bag on the passenger seat. She shifted the car into drive and took off once again with screeching tires.

  “Hey!” the man called after her, holding up Sam’s tablet. “Do you realize you just threw away an iPad?”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  TALK IS CHEAP

  Megan

  When I wasn’t working the stock show that week, I played spy in one of the unmarked squad cars that Bustamente had arranged for me. I followed Crystal to work in the mornings, followed her home to her trailer in the evenings, and watched from the parking lot of a small country church to see if she went anywhere at night.

  She didn’t.

  This woman really needed to get a life. All she seemed to do was work and go home to watch TV on the couch. She needed some motivation. A purpose. A swift kick in the rear.

  The crime scene techs had been able to lift prints from the cattle prod the thief had used on Sloane, which was good news. The bad news was that the prints didn’t match anyone in the criminal fingerprint databases. Looked like Bustamente was right. The primary thief was a first-time offender.

  I’d heard through the grapevine that the forensics team had also lifted a partial print from a champagne bottle found under the bed in the dead man’s room at the Stockyards Hotel. That print likewise had no match.

  Score: Bad guys 2. Law enforcement 0.

  Seth called me on Thursday. “We need to talk.”

  “No kidding.”

  “When can I see you?”

  Again, we had trouble finding a time that worked for both of us. I was scheduled to work the later shifts at the stock show through closing night on Saturday, and would be spending my mornings keeping an eye on Crystal. Seth was on round-the-clock duty starting midday on Friday until midday on Saturday.

  “Sunday, then,” he said. “I’ll come to your place first thing in the morning.”

  “Give me till ten,” I said, more to assert myself than for any valid reason. It wasn’t like Brigit would let me sleep in. “I’m performing at the closing ceremonies of the rodeo Saturday night and I won’t get home until late.”

  He let out an irritated huff. “All right. Ten o’clock.”

  A few minutes after four on Friday, as Brigit and I were patrolling the livestock barns, Detective Bustamente called my cell.

  “Big news,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “The print on the cattle prod didn’t match anyone in the system,” he said, “and the print on that champagne bottle from the Stockyards Hotel didn’t match anyone in the system, either.”

  “Right.” I knew all of this, already. This wasn’t big news. This was yesterday’s news.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said. “The prints matched each other.”

  It took me a moment to process this data. “The same woman who robbed the people at the stock show is the one who robbed the guy at the hotel? And smothered him with the pillow?”

  “The robberies appear to have been committed by the same person, yes,” Bustamente said. “But the medical examiner just released her report on Sam Gunderson. Turns out he died of alcohol poisoning. We suspect he started drinking before he headed over to the White Elephant. He had a few drinks there, too, then the champagne when he returned to his room.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about this bit of news. On one hand, it was nice to know there was one less killer among us than we’d suspected. On the other hand, a person drinking himself to death seemed like such a waste of a perfectly good life.

  “Keep the information about the alcohol poisoning to yourself,�
�� he said. “That’s not public information. As far as everyone else knows, Sam Gunderson’s death is still a potential murder investigation.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because we’re going to use his death to flush out our thief. We can’t wait any longer. We’ve got to force the issue. Meet me at the outlet store ASAP.”

  I checked in with the on-site supervisor, who deferred to Bustamente and allowed me to leave the rodeo grounds.

  Fifteen minutes later, I met up with the detective in the parking lot of the boot shop. We headed inside. I’d decided to bring Brigit with me this time in case Crystal tried to flee, though I kept my partner on a very short leash.

  I followed Bustamente down a row. Crystal stood near the end, straightening a display of boots. Twice I had to use my hand to push Brigit’s muzzle away from boots. She looked up at me with angry eyes and gave a boot a long lick with her tongue as if to let me know I wasn’t the boss of her. Sometimes my partner was a real pain in the butt. Still, she was more mature than Derek had been.

  Crystal looked up as we approached, but didn’t seem to recognize us from our previous interaction. Of course I looked much different in uniform than I did in civilian clothes, and she probably saw hundreds of customers or more each week.

  “Hi,” she said tentatively. “Can I help you find some boots?”

  “Nope.” Bustamente flashed his badge. “We’re here to talk to you.”

  Crystal’s eyes grew wide. “What … um … what’s this about?”

  She had the same insincere tone of incredulity I’d heard dozens of times, usually coming out of the mouths of people I’d caught speeding.

  Speeder: Why did you pull me over, Officer?

  Me: Really, dipshit? You were doing eighty miles per hour in a thirty-mile zone. If you weren’t aware of that you’re even more stupid than you look. Trust me, that’s saying a lot.

  Okay, so I’d never put it quite that way. But that’s how it sounded in my head.

  Bustamente took a step closer to Crystal and leaned in as if to share a secret. “Miss Hood, we believe you may have witnessed a crime.”