“You are such a devil,” I said.
“We also learned that Deputy Jones talks a good game, but by acting concerned about the event and then clearing it as an accident, it seems she may be throwing suspicion off herself.”
“But what about Clover? He’s the one that came over to talk with us, and his car has a banged bumper. Might have come from pushing Parker’s car off the road.”
“You know, we ought to go to the department, thank Deputy Clover and Deputy Jones in person for keeping us in the loop. See how that plays.”
We drove over there, didn’t find Deputy Jones, but Clover was still around.
In the breakroom at the sheriff’s department, Deputy Clover said, “You came all the way over here to thank me for what you already thanked me for? We talked yesterday.”
“We’re very polite,” Leonard said.
“Sounds to me like you’re piling up something I might need hip boots to walk through.”
“Your cruiser, man, it took quite a lick to the front,” I said.
He studied us for a moment. I kept expecting him to pin us and mount us on a board.
“That’s Deputy Jones’s car. Borrowed it while mine had some general inspection. Just did a favor for her, letting you guys in on things.”
“Where is the good deputy,” Leonard said, “so we can thank her in person?”
“Her day off. I’m starting to try and figure how I can make things difficult for you boys.”
“Boys?” Leonard said. “You call an alligator a lizard?”
“You should go now,” Clover said.
* * *
—
When we were in the car, the phone rang. It was Brett. I put the phone on speaker.
“Insurance payout for Parker’s death will be plenty,” she said. “Enough to live on for the rest of your life.”
“Would it be enough for two?” I asked.
“Maybe for four or five, as long as they didn’t trade their Maserati in every year.”
I told her what we’d found out.
“Hang on,” she said.
I could hear keyboard keys clicking. In a bit she came back and said, “I got Celeste Jones’s address for you.”
* * *
—
Deputy Jones lived in a simple house outside of town, somewhat secluded. There was a cruiser parked in front of the house. There was no garage or carport.
We went up to the door and Leonard knocked. While we waited, I glanced at her cruiser. It was in good shape. Had it already been fixed?
No one answered the door.
“You know, Hap, I’m not feeling good about this.”
I walked over to one of the windows, cupped my hands together, looked inside.
“You’re about to feel less good,” I said.
Leonard came over for a peek, said, “That’s not good.”
“No, sir, it isn’t.”
We could see Deputy Jones sitting on the couch, her head thrown back. She looked very comfortable, not a care in the world, and this was due to the fact that she was as dead as Christmas past.
* * *
—
We hustled around back and used my lockpick to enter through the back door. Deputy Jones hadn’t become undead and gone into the kitchen for a soda. She was still in her position on the couch. She had a small bullet hole right between her eyes.
“Up close and personal,” Leonard said.
“I think Mrs. Parker may have decided she didn’t want to share the money,” I said.
“Bingo,” said a voice sweet as Georgia honey. It was Terri Parker, of course. She was holding a shiny little revolver, and it was pointed at us. “Sit on the couch.”
“By her?” Leonard said.
“Yeah,” she said, “by her. She won’t bite.”
We sat on the couch, away from the blood as best as possible. Terri stood near us, held the gun like someone who knew what she was doing.
I heard a car drive up. From where I sat I could see directly out the window. It was another sheriff’s cruiser. I felt a moment of hope, but when I saw Clover step out of the dented car, I knew we were in a deeper pit than expected.
Terri unlocked the front door and let Clover in. He looked at us and the deputy on the couch.
“Should have left things alone,” he said to us.
“I’m thinking kind of the same thing,” Leonard said.
“I had to shoot Celeste,” Terri said to Clover. “She grew a conscience. Then these two losers came in.”
“That’s all right,” Clover said. “Splits better two ways.”
It clicked then. It had really been Terri and Clover all along, and the whole thing with Deputy Jones had been a cold-blooded attempt to make her sympathetic, help clear up the investigation. But Jones got covered in guilt, so she had to go.
And now, so did we.
* * *
—
When night had settled in good, we were walked out to Clover’s cruiser, forced into the backseat, along with Deputy Jones’s body, which we had to carry. We propped her up between us.
Clover had wrapped Jones’s head in towels and then put a black trash bag over it, tightened it around her neck with a bathrobe belt. Leonard and I were both put in handcuffs. I wished for a moment that I had just taken the chance before that was done, been shot out in the open and had it over with.
As Clover drove, Jones’s body rocked between us.
“You two have made things kind of messy,” Clover said through the wire grating between the seats.
“That’s our bad,” Leonard said.
“However, there’s a nice old abandoned gravel pit full of water where I think Jones and you two will be real comfortable,” Clover said.
As Jones wobbled between me and Leonard, I managed the lockpick out of my front pants pocket, and was casually using it to unlock the cuffs. They went easy. When Terri glanced away, I passed Leonard the pick across Jones’s body. He sat quietly and looked out the window, but his hands were working.
The car stopped at the end of a narrow road in the depths of the woods. We were near the gravel pit. We were eased out of the car at gunpoint. We could see into the pit, and it was filled with water; it was near big as a lake. The moon was up high and it had grown a little fuller. Its image lay on the dark water like a slice of fresh cantaloupe.
We had the cuffs draped over our wrists and we held our hands close to us. I was shuffled from my side of the car to the other by Terri and her six-shot accessory.
“Drag her out, drop her in the water,” Clover said to us, nodding toward Jones’s body.
“That’s messed up,” Leonard said, “us dragging her out and then you shooting us and putting us in the water.”
“No,” Clover said, “we’ll shoot you on the edge of the pit. We won’t have to do any carrying.”
“Well, you thought that through, didn’t you?” Leonard said.
“Get the body,” Clover said.
“Sure,” Leonard said, moving toward the open back door, “but Hap, first, the elephant of surprise.”
That had become a kind of code for us. It meant do something, anything, and do it now.
I wheeled, let the cuffs drop, went low, clipped Terri at the knees, sending her flying over my back. I turned in time to see Leonard fling the cuffs in Clover’s face and kick him in the crotch.
Clover staggered, but didn’t go down. He fired awkwardly and missed. By that time, me and Leonard were running like gazelles down a wide path and into the woods. The path turned behind a thickness of trees. Several shots were fired at us. They rattled through the leaves like rain, and one of them nipped at my hair.
A moment later, we heard the cruiser fire up, and lights were cutting through the trees. Clover was driving the cruiser back down th
e path, trying to find us.
The trees were too thick with briars for us to hide in, so we ran down the curving trail until we came to where it ended, the gravel pit, dark water, and the floating moon. It was about twenty feet down to the water and there was a lot of garbage visible. Couches, washing machines, a broken dresser. It had become a dump, and that crap was probably stacked all the way to the bottom. Jumping wasn’t going to turn out any better than being shot.
The car came around fast. We were trapped at a dead end. Me and Leonard split up. He went left, and I went right, into the woods on either side where the briars had thinned.
Clover skidded to a stop, got out with his pistol. Terri stayed in the car, slid behind the wheel. The window was down on the passenger side, and I could see her waving her gun through the open window. She couldn’t wait to shoot somebody.
“I’m going to make you suffer if you make me hunt you,” Clover yelled out, like it was incentive for us to just come on out and be shot.
I looked around, found a piece of pipe that had been tossed into the woods, tried to pick it up, but it was nothing but rust and came apart in my hand. Then I saw an old baseball that had been thrown out. I picked it up. The cover was mostly off but it was firm enough, and it was all I had.
Clover was moving close to where I was hiding. I couldn’t go toward him, because of the gun, and to go through the woods behind me would lead to the pit. I was between a killer and a wet spot.
I cocked the ball back, stepped between two trees, into the open. Clover saw me. I flung the ball. It was a good throw. There was some real meat behind it.
It sailed beautifully across the moonlit trail, and glided over Clover’s shoulder. I felt like an idiot.
Clover looked at me, grinned, raised the pistol.
That’s when someone screamed.
* * *
—
Clover wheeled to look, and I dropped back into the woods, out of the line of fire, near the edge of the pit. From my hiding spot I saw the source of the scream was Terri. Leonard had come out of the woods on the driver’s side, surprised her, and grabbed her gun arm, which she was hanging conveniently out the window.
Clover stepped to the center of the road, aimed at Leonard, and fired. But the shot went wide, punched a neat hole through the windshield. I saw Terri’s head fly back, and then, dying, she reflexively stretched out, stomping down hard on the gas.
The car jumped and Clover didn’t. It hit him so hard it knocked him flying ten feet in front of it, over the edge of the quarry. The body of Deputy Jones flew forward and hit a wire grating, dropped out of sight.
I watched as Clover’s body hurtled down and smashed against a washing machine with a cracking sound like a rotten limb. It bounced over some more junk and slid into where the water was deep.
The car came right after him, shot downward like a bullet, right where Clover had gone under. The car hit with a splash and the moonlight shook on the water. The impact drove Deputy Jones’s body back against the rear windshield. Her bagged head hit it hard enough to cause a spiderweb of cracks, and then she fell toward the front of the car and the car went under.
I walked into the road, stood on the edge of the quarry, and looked down. Leonard joined me. The car’s taillights creeped beneath the gurgling water, where they glowed momentarily, then went out. The water rippled for a time, finally went still, and it was done.
The Wagatha Labsy Secret Dogtective Alliance
A Dog Noir Story
JACQUELINE WINSPEAR
PART ONE
The Assignment
Let’s cut to the chase. Tom and Livvy—Dude’s humans—are missing. Gone. It’s a big deal, because people don’t just up and vanish in our ’hood. And anything that goes amiss on our patch is a big deal. It’s an action signal for the Wagatha Labsy Secret Dogtective Alliance. We don’t have an agency, per se, but we’re sort of allied. We do what we have to do because we’re the only ones who can do it. Who’d leave the solving of mysterious goings-on around here to a pack of humans?
Before we go any further, you need to know who’s who in the ’hood—which is in a small town twenty-five miles north of the city of San Francisco. Location-wise, that’s all you need to know—we protect our privacy.
There’s Wagatha Labsy, aka Wags, Aggie, Waggy-girl, and The Wagster. I’m sure you know that all dogs have at least four names assigned to them by people like yourselves. Humans. I’ll get to my own monikers in a minute. Wagatha Labsy has a day job. Works narcotics. Mainly SFO—that’s the airport—and the docks. She used to be on the fruit, nuts, and meat beat, but jeez, she felt bad, you know, sniffing out an apple some old lady forgot was in the bottom of her bag when she flew in from Madrid or Paris, maybe London. But now Wagatha’s nose is finely attuned to illicit substances, from recreational herbs to the hard stuff, though she says what they’re really after now is something called fentanyl. And she don’t just work the airport and docks—she’s a numero uno trained asset and is deployed on all the big busts, which is why she has a few days R & R this week—K9 snooze time. There’s only so much an efficient olfactory system can handle. Oh, and in case you didn’t guess—she’s a Labrador. Black. Like soot.
I’m Rebel. Aka Rebsy, Rebbo, and sometimes just Reb. Pure German Shepherd. Former SFPD K9. Took a hot one in the shoulder while in pursuit of a perp. The boys rushed me up to UC Davis. Lights and sirens. CHP outriders all the way. We take care of our own, and Davis, in case you don’t know, is the big university veterinary hospital, where I had the best docs working on me. I pulled through, but the department had to retire me. Big ceremony, medals, party—the whole deal, plus press photo call with me and Ed, my human partner. He got a stomach wound on the same job, and the perp got him in the leg, too. He was in the hospital for a while—not the same one, duh! Then rehab.
We’ve both had a hard time adjusting. Ed’s now on what they call “PR duty.” He goes around to schools talking about the safety stuff that kids should know and how not to get into trouble. If he’s expecting a tough crowd—and you know what they’re like, these kids—he’ll take me along. One sassy comment, and I get up, slink along real low, and stare down the little shits. No one, but no one talks back to Ed on my watch.
Okay, down the line here, and I’ll make it snappy. In the house across the street there’s Penny Lane, and it’s anybody’s guess what she is—Aussie Shepherd, bit of Corgi, maybe some sort of oodle in the mix. I tell you—those oodles get everywhere. You buy any brand of oodle, and in my humble opinion, you’ve been had. Got yourself one overpriced mutt. Not that I’d mention it to Penny Lane, aka Penno, Pensy, Pen, and—get this—Pen-E-Lope. That’s what her mom calls her. Pen-E-Lope. And Pen’s a bit off-kilter, for a dog. Rocks out to the Beatles’ White Album when she thinks no one’s looking, but—take note—she sees more than she lets on, which is why Wagatha called her into the Alliance. She’s not as stupid as she is strange-looking.
Hank’s up next. Lives two houses along from Pen. Hank’s a Newfoundland. Big black, hairy giant, looks like a walking rug. Guards the refrigerator. Never takes his eyes off the refrigerator unless his people go to the cupboard. Then he’s there, at the cupboard, waiting. Do not—I repeat—do not leave any rations anywhere near Hank. You won’t even see him get into your bowl, he’s that fast. Hank’s in the gang because he’s huge—like Hagrid, the big hairy guy who keeps an eye on Harry Potter. I’ll get to the matter of dogs and reading later. Oh, and Hank—the Newfie, with webbed feet designed to save people from the sea? Terrified of water. Go figure.
Wrigley—aka Wrigs—is on my side of the street. Another big black Labrador. WTF is it with these Labradors? Former seeing-eye dog, just didn’t make the grade. If he’d gone out with a blind dude, the poor guy would’ve ended up dead. Wrigs gets distracted. But you know, he has a nose on him, and we like a good nose, so Wagatha okayed him joining. I heard the
gal who named him was a fan of the Chicago Cubs.
Next we have Ella from the ’Hood—and you should see that little gal. White terrier crossed with something else that’s got a lot of ’tude. Ella’s human dresses her in dog coats from freaking Armani, Gucci, and—get this—Chanel! You could say Ella (aka Ella Bella, Ella-roo, and sometimes even Sweet Ella) cleaned up real good, because her human doesn’t know that, before she rescued Ella, that dog was known as Rats, and she owned—yes, owned—Bernal Heights until it went upscale, courtesy of all those Googlers moving in. Ella’s one fearless little fighter, and she’s on the team because Wagatha said she was fast off the mark when it came to a scrap. Ella from the ’Hood is our ammo.
Ladybird is our go-between with the coyotes on the hill. She wanders at night and there’s nothing escapes her notice. She comes back with serious intel and reports to Wagatha every day, which is how we keep the ’hood clean—not mean.
Moving right along there’s Dude. Aka Doody-boy, Dooley, Doody-do-do. His people—Livvy and Tom—are the young couple on the street. Thirtyish, both work for tech companies, so they ain’t short of greenbacks. You see them out on their mountain bikes on the weekend—and we’re talking top of the line. Josie, Ed’s girl—she’s with CSI—says those bikes probably cost more than her horse. Livvy and Tom have got their own business stuff going on the side, so they’re working 24/7, according to Dude—he says they’re into developing apps or whatever the hell.
Wagatha gets it because her department liaises with the data protection and fraud guys, and she okayed Dude for the Alliance because we needed a techie hound. He watched and he learned. And like all you humans, his people don’t know his capabilities. Only problem is his…well, let’s call it his “attire.” Makes Ella from the ’Hood look underdressed. His people taught him to ride a skateboard, and they bought him some shades and a baseball cap with holes for his ears to poke through. Goes with the image, I guess. I said to him, “Dude, why’d you put up with it?” and he says to me, “Keeps my people happy—and I’ve got a good gig. If it ain’t broken, I ain’t gonna fix it. They get me high-quality kibble, treats from a fancy puppy store in the Embarcadero Center, so what do I care?” I could see his point.
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