by Amy Shojai
Claire yawned. "I am exhausted. But wired, too, you know? There must be something I can do."
"Keeping busy helps. Shadow and I have to go to a behavior consult." Before Claire got upset again, she explained. "We won't be gone long. What's your cell?" They traded phone numbers.
"Tracy took her iPad, and Lenny has a cell phone." Claire yawned again. "The voicemail is full from me and Elaine calling. I don't think it's on. Elaine said Lenny didn't take his charger so the phone may be dead. Both of them do better communicating digitally than verbally."
That sounded familiar. Steven used his iPad or computer almost constantly, a major complaint from Mom, who did the lion's share of caring for the boy these days. She wondered if that would work in Claire's favor. Maybe the P.I. could get the signal traced. She kept the thought to herself, not wanting to add false hope to Claire's already stretched nerves. She also needed to let Combs know about the pill distribution scheme without betraying Claire's confidence.
"While I grab a shower, why don't you put together information for the investigator?" September moved to her small desk and brought up the computer's word processor. "Make a list. What they're wearing, any unique habits, likes and dislikes or behaviors, the car license plate, email and phone number, online sites they frequent, anything and everything. I haven't a clue what could help, so don't leave anything out."
She left Claire busily typing away on the keyboard. Shadow followed her up the stairs and stood guard as September quickly showered and dressed. Macy made a point to apply full body rubs against her legs. "I know, you hate me washing off all your good cat smell, don't you, buddy?" He trilled, and led the way from the bathroom, pausing to nose-touch Shadow before galloping down the stairs.
The doorbell rang. Shadow raced to the front door and waited impatiently for September to join him. On the way, she peered into the nearby office to check on Claire. She had dozed off, head on the desk, and September put a finger to her lips, signaling Shadow to keep silent. That might be the only rest Claire got until they found Tracy.
A tall, lithe figure moved in front of the stained glass sidelights, but sparked no recognition. Shadow snuffled loudly at the bottom of the door, his tail an agitated metronome. His hackles rose and a low growl bubbled deep in his throat.
The bell rang again, followed by knuckles rapping on the door. "Hello?" An impatient voice called out. "Detective Combs sent me, said you need a P.I."
September’s shoulders unclenched. "Hold on, let me get the locks. Shadow, sit. Wait." He yawned loudly as she unlocked the several deadbolts. The door swung open, and September stared. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous, with doll-bright orange hair and a china complexion despite swollen blue eyes and runny nose.
"You must be September Day. You're surprised, I get that a lot." The woman dabbed her nose with a tissue. "My business associate got the request and passed it on to me. I'm Sunny Babcock." She noticed Shadow, and her smile widened. "Oh, what a handsome fellow. I adore dogs, have a couple of my own." She held out her gloved fist for a sniff. "What's your name, puppy?"
Shadow slicked back his ears, bared his teeth, and snarled.
Chapter 6
Combs cracked his knuckles as he sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked car. His partner flinched. "What? This?" He cracked them again.
Detective Winston Gonzales pulled the car into the lot outside the police station. "You'll be sorry. It'll turn your knuckles huge and grotesque."
"Says who?" Combs reached for his thermos of coffee, black-no-sugar, after taking a bite from the triple-decker cheese, bacon and sausage breakfast burrito Melinda had made. He had to make up for Gonzales's health kick.
"My granny says so. Grannies always know. They'll tell you so." The smaller man took another bite of his veggie wrap, then carefully wiped his black mustache with a paper napkin as he chewed and swallowed. "September won't like you with grotesque knuckles. Besides, your knuckle cracking makes my teeth hurt as bad as scratching a blackboard."
Combs winced. "You had to say that? And never mind about September." But he smiled.
Gonzales eyed Combs's food choice. "Better than cookies and caffeine, I suppose. Eat up, we've got a meeting in ten minutes." He took another bite, sipped his drink, and balanced the O.J. on the dashboard.
Even seated, Gonzales exuded the confidence of a bantam rooster, and never hesitated to face down men twice his size. Combs could have been partnered with anyone once reinstated as a detective, and counted himself lucky this time around. They'd both been previously partnered with the same career-climbing piece of work, and ironically ended up together.
Others on the force cracked wise about the Mutt and Jeff size difference, but they'd stopped laughing when Combs and Gonzales cleared cases in record time. Because of that success, they'd been tapped to lead the local investigation of a wide-reaching drug ring, operating in a loosely connected group of small cells scattered throughout the Midwest and southern states.
“Talked to September this morning.” Combs sipped his coffee.
“Late night into early morning, eh?” Gonzales lifted one eyebrow.
“Wiseass.” He wished. “She called while I was with the kids. Wanted a favor, so I asked one of my own.”
“She going to consult? Yes!” Gonzales pumped his fist, and nearly knocked over his drink.
After the recent Oklahoma bust, one of the perps angled for a reduced sentence with insider info, and connected dots between the drug ring and its distribution system. When Combs cross-matched drug busts with dogfight complaints, the pattern became clear. Now they had departments in five states involved. All they lacked was a dog expert.
It’d been Gonzales’s idea to pick September’s brain. Combs resisted. He wanted to protect her, and was reluctant to involve her.
“Let’s keep it to consulting offsite, Gonzales. Answering questions, suggesting leads, that’s enough. She’s been to hell and gone.” He’d let work take precedence over family in the past. He wouldn’t repeat that mistake with September.
“She’s stronger than you think.” Gonzales held up his hands, palms out. “It’s the Captain’s idea, his call. And you said she said yes.”
“Fine.” He wadded the paper bag. Combs could run interference with the home team. Hell, they might not even need September’s help, once the Chicago team weighed in.
“Sure, Combs. Whatever you say.” Gonzales dabbed his mouth. “Just don’t tell September you’re keeping her in bubble wrap. She’ll go off on your ass.”
Combs grinned. True enough. She’d always had a prickly self-preservation designed to keep people at arm’s length. That defensive attitude had mellowed now that she finally felt safe. She acted more confident, more relaxed, but took offense at the slightest inclination she received special treatment. Combs tried to respect that and balance it with his desire to shield her from any further hurt.
Combs gulped the rest of his coffee as Gonzales crumpled the wrapping on his own breakfast. They headed inside, Combs adjusting his tie and brushing imaginary crumbs off his coat. Gonzales’s perennial spit polished appearance had no need of spiffing up.
Captain Felix Gregory stuck his head out the door of his office as soon as they entered the bullpen, and signaled them to hurry. Through the frosted glass door, Combs could see a tall silhouette.
Gonzales spoke before Combs had a chance. “Sir, we’ve got our dog expert on board. September Day agreed to consult.”
Combs stifled a curse, and covered it with a cough. Sure, the Captain needed to know. He’d have preferred to share that info himself later, if and when they needed her expertise. “She may not be much help. But she’ll refer us to resources and answer questions.” He glared at Gonzales.
Before they went inside, the Captain stopped them, his voice hushed. "You will extend every courtesy and treat our guest with respect throughout this investigation. Work as a team, no grandstanding, and no keeping secrets to one-up each other. Do I make myself clear?"
Gonzales
had to crane his neck upward to meet the Captain's gray eyes. "Of course." He pointedly didn’t look at Combs.
Combs wondered at the caution. Neither he nor Gonzales had ever cared about the glory, only wanted justice done. Like all the other cops and detectives on the force, they worked each case with that in mind.
The Captain spoke as he led the way across the room. "We've come full circle.” He opened the door, took his place behind the desk, and offered a tight nod to the visiting detective who waited. "Y'all already know each other, so skip the happy reunions for now. Detective Doty, bring us up to speed from the Chicago end."
"Yes sir." Detective Kimberlane Doty towered over Gonzales and stood eye to eye with Combs. She didn't offer to shake hands, unconcerned by the men’s reaction.
Combs[s stomach tightened, and a sudden sour taste paralleled his opinion of the woman. He did his best to maintain a stoic expression.
She hadn't changed. Doty still sported the white-blond flattop haircut, tailored pants and jacket, and Amazon warrior stance. Always a competent if not flashy investigator, she'd relied on subterfuge and manipulation of informants to get the inside track. It had gotten a young girl killed on Combs’s watch, but Doty managed to wiggle away and leave her then-partner Combs holding the bag. The firestorm nearly destroyed his career, and Combs doubted he'd have returned to the force if Doty hadn’t transferred to Chicago.
In Combs’s experience, horses don’t change their spots. He leaned against the wall, watchful, waiting to hear what she pitched.
Doty pulled out a stick of clove-flavored nicotine gum, noisily unwrapped it, and stuck it in her mouth. "Like the Captain said, we’ve got a déjà vu situation, gentlemen. That Oklahoma bust two weeks ago produced more than rumors. These drug runners are a cut above the usual scum. Or a cut below, depending on how you view the situation.” She popped her gum.
“Distributing through dogfight rings, that’s a new twist.” Gonzales pulled out his note pad. “Drugs always have a presence, but not in such an organized way.”
“True, Gonzales. But we got a sample of what they’re running.” Doty grinned, making them wait. “Damenia. Sound familiar?”
Combs stood away from the wall. “You’re shitting me!” That’s why Doty came back to Heartland.
Gonzales licked his pencil and jotted a note before looking up. “Damenia’s not a recreational drug the usual suspects get a jones for. Whoever’s selling has a very specialized market.” He glanced at Combs.
Combs leaned forward. “Doty, that’s got to be random. Damenia doesn’t produce a high. Nobody’s going to get rich off that.”
“Give me a little credit. And somebody got rich off it.” Doty crossed her arms.
“Sure, I get that.” Combs looked at the Captain, and got an encouraging smile from Gonzales. “Why’re we going down this old rabbit hole? It’s been what, four months, for God’s sake. This is the first time it’s resurfaced, and the entire country from the FDA and every initial agency out there’s been on high alert watching for the stuff.” He cracked his knuckles. “With respect, our guest from Chicago jumped the shark on this one.”
Doty opened her mouth, but Gonzales cut her off. “Even if there was a black market for Damenia, what parents attend dogfights to pick up a prescription for their autistic kid?” He seemed to enjoy the exchange, too.
Doty’s lips pooched out as though she tasted a lemon, clearly unsettled by the challenge to her assumptions. Combs knew that must be a rare experience for her.
Combs kept his voice neutral. “Everybody knows drugs and dog fighting go together. But tying a few pills back to the Blizzard Murders takes us in the wrong direction. We all want to nail the one that got away, but not by ignoring the whale in the bucket. Let’s concentrate on the dogfights and drugs angle, shall we?”
“Does seem you’re trying to wrangle zebras, Detective Doty, when cows’ll do.” The Captain leaned back in his chair until it touched the wall. “I’ll buy the connection with North Texas. But why now?” His chair creaked. “We’ve got a dogfight expert on retainer, so let’s get her in here.” He swiveled to face Combs. “Get the Day woman on the phone and find a time the three of you can confab.”
“September Day?” Doty’s lip twitched, not quite a sneer but close enough. “Talk about a reunion.”
Just like that, the blonde drew blood. Combs’s jaw ached with the effort to stay cool. “No need to involve her, not at this point anyway. I’m still waiting for Doty to convince us Damenia isn’t her personal McGuffin.”
The Captain rocked forward on his chair. “Ms. Day’s expertise will be needed regardless.” He motioned Doty to continue.
“Thank you, Captain.” She unwrapped and stuffed another stick of gum into her mouth. “Timing is suspicious. Remember, we questioned all the families, and they clammed up about any and all details.”
Gonzales still wasn’t buying it. “So? We figured they got a supply that’d keep them stupid and happy for weeks, maybe even months.”
Combs grudgingly put it together. “And it’s been months. What would happen if all those kids ran out of Damenia at once?”
“Exactly. Crazy-time. It started about two weeks ago in Chicago. Runaway kids, lots and lots of them.” Doty’s cud pooched out her cheek until she could’ve been a cowboy dipping an entire can of Skoal at once. “When I got the tip about Damenia showing up at the dogfight bust, I started looking for more runaways.”
"How many kids this time? How many dead?" Gonzales turned green, probably thinking of his own kids.
"Five kids in three different states so far. No deaths yet, but a dozen or more injuries." Doty popped her gum. "They're not attacking anyone this time. Instead, they steal cars, hitchhike, and borrow bikes, all running away from home. Most injuries result from vehicular collisions." She popped another stick of gum in her mouth. "Some are so young they can't see over the dashboard. We talked to the parents and got nowhere. Sound familiar? Five for five of the kids were in that roundup last Thanksgiving." She smiled with satisfaction. "My partner's heading up a team to debrief all the parents, and hope at least one will spill. But they're scattered across several states, so it's a jurisdictional issue. It'll take time."
Combs rubbed the back of his neck and wished for another cup of coffee. Doty assumed a lot.
Gonzales didn’t buy it, either. “Pretty thin, Doty. I’ll concede the timing could work for withdrawal symptoms in the kids. But why not psychosis like last time?” He chewed his mustache. “And all the kids running south at the same time? That’s not coincidence. Kids that age don’t plan.” He tapped the pencil against his teeth. “Three states? Dios.”
“Doty, do you really believe those kids are being influenced by—”
“Don’t know what’s going on with the kids.” Doty glared. “But they’re a piece of the puzzle. Think of them as one symptom of the bigger disease.” She held up her hand, counting on each finger. “Drug ring connects to dogfights. The dogfight connects to Damenia. Damenia connects to these specific kids. And the kids connect to Gerald Baumgartner.”
The Captain squeaked his chair, put the flat of his palms on the desk and stood. “Detective Doty, great speech. Still damn thin. What else you got?”
Gonzales snapped his notepad closed. “Dazzle us, Doty. I would love for you to dazzle us.”
Doty popped her gum again, looking like the cat that ate the canary, and Combs wanted to shove the cud down her throat. She’d been playing them.
Combs leaned forward. "What haven’t you told us?"
“I got someone on the inside.” Doty reached out and patted Combs on the shoulder. “For over a week now, I’ve had an informant infiltrating the local dogfight scene. Something’s going down, and soon.”
“Is that so?” The Captain didn’t sound any happier than Combs. “Detective, I’ve already made clear to Gonzales and Combs that this team shares information and holds nothing back. I expect no less from you.”
“Of course, Captain, my apolog
ies.” She didn’t sound sorry. “Guess we all got caught up in brainstorming, but at least now we’re all on the same page. Last message from my guy said he’d get us the fight location.”
“Great. That’s news worth waiting for.” Gonzales flipped open his notepad again.
“Who do you have on the inside?” Combs looked at Gonzales and shrugged. He had to hand it to her. Doty never stuck in a toe when she could jump in with both boots. “I still think your kid connection won’t float. Someday we’ll nail the Doctor, but I’m happy to slam the door on the drug distribution.”
The Captain nodded. “Get us the day and time, and we can put eyeballs on the site, catch the whole slew of ‘em with their britches down. When’s your guy’s next check-in?”
For the first time Doty looked uncertain. “Benson is supposed to check in every 48 and it’s been three days now.” She shrugged. “Can’t count on civilians.”
“Benson? Not BeeBo Benson?” Combs throat grew tight.
“Yeah, you know him? The guy from that hog hunting show. He knows the area, knows the players, and knows Pit Bulls. He said, and I quote, ‘A feller who'd abuse a critter was lower than pond scum.’”
“Sonofabitch! Doty, did you ever meet the man?” Combs shook off Gonzales’s hand when he tried to hold him back.
“Detective Combs. Stand down!” The Captain’s command stopped Combs in his tracks, but his fingers still itched to wrap around Doty’s scrawny neck.
“Never had the pleasure. We talked on the phone.” Doty’s face turned as expressionless as granite. “He’s pure West Texas good ‘ol boy.” Her voice grated with temper. “He said an older cousin introduced him to dogfights when he was a kid, and he hated it so much, he decked them. At first he wanted nothing to do with the idea, so I appealed to his civic duty.” She jutted her chin. “He acted particularly incensed that kids might be involved. Said it ruined his cousin for life.”