by Rick Murcer
CHAPTER-12
Brice stood leaning against the door of his unmarked cruiser, waiting patiently, it seemed, as she stepped out of the SUV and headed in his direction. She knew patience hadn’t always been a gold star on his report card. But he was changing. Ellen hoped it was because she was doing for him what he was doing for her. Budding love is powerful indeed.
He’d parked on the west side of the building, right underneath the blue and white sign that read K-9 TRAINING ACADEMY OF CHICAGO. She barely took time to read the sign before her eyes were riveted back on him, where she thought they should be.
While she walked in his direction, the sound of her calf-high boots on the asphalt echoed as she drew closer, the slowly forming grin on his chiseled face as inviting as ever.
It was difficult to look at the man and not think she had just won the lottery. In more ways than one.
His demeanor, since they had truly met, had improved almost weekly. His cold, austere, approach to his job, fellow cops, and consequently, personal relationships, hers and his to be exact, had transformed like night and day.
He and Bella had grown fairly tight, which was a first for Brice and any partner, according to detectives who knew him. Brice had even been seen slapping the shoulders of the blues, encouraging them in their tough day-to-day routines.
What was the saying? A prince of a man?
Growing up, she’d been no stranger to the prince in the rescue stories, like most kids, girls and boys alike. In fact, her ex, Joel, had seemed to fit that unlikely bill for her, until the asshole ruined it all with his screwed up choices and short-sightedness. Yet, blessings come in many disguises.
She reached Brice, his hazel eyes smiling at her almost as much as his pouty mouth.
“I dropped Bella off at the video review area at the Forensic lab so I’m early because I wanted to see you walk—”
Ellen pulled his mouth to hers and lit him up. Lately, when they kissed, there had been an overwhelming sense of rockets going off in her head that came extremely close to making her woozy. She loved the feeling. So did Brice. He didn’t say so but talking could be overrated.
He pulled her closer, his hands then trailing down her back and touching the waist of her jeans, then lower to her backside. It took all of a second for her temperature to rise somewhere higher than the sun.
Their kiss became more about each other. Their mouths became one, their embrace an unavoidable melting that took them almost inside of each other’s skin.
Ellen saw bright colored stars swirl behind her closed eyes as Brice squeezed her even closer. Gentle, but firm. He was heaven to touch, his hard body reflecting his legendary workout sessions.
After a few more seconds, she stepped back, her eyes foggy and unable to focus for a moment, but smiling just the same.
“So, do you come here often?” she whispered.
“No,” he answered, his voice husky, his expression almost shy. “But if this is the greeting custom, I’ll be here all day, every day. Even though I may have to sit down and fold my hands over my lap for a few minutes.”
She laughed. “Showing up every day works for me. You’re on your own with the other thing, for now.”
“One out of two, for now,” he said.
Watching him, she felt another of those terrible bonds of her previous relationship with Joel drop away, and it was freeing in every way. She was a real woman who could heat up a lover.
Stick that where the sun doesn’t shine, Joel Asshole.
“Whew. We’ve got do something about this, this situation,” said Brice. “Cold showers are getting old.”
“What do you propose?” she asked.
Brice glanced at the thinning grass surrounding his feet, exhaled, and then raised his head, catching her eyes with his and locking them in.
Her heart jumped. He had been intense and determined for the years they’d known and worked with each other. This was different.
“That was a great word. Ellie. I’ve been thinking.”
“Which word?” her pulse quickened even more.
He hesitated, swallowed hard, shifted his feet, touched his tie, and then captured her gaze again.
“Maybe—”
The front door of the academy swung open allowing a portly woman in her fifties with long silver hair and dancing blue eyes to interrupt Brice and give her a hug all in one single effort.
“Hey Ellie, good to see you,” said Anna Blake.
Ellen looked at Brice, raised her hands and eyebrows, then hugged the woman back. “You too, Anna. Long time no see.”
“Yeah, too bad. The troops really liked it when you came around.”
“They were good therapy for me, too,” said Ellen.
“Oh, this is Detective Brice Rogers. He and Bella Sanchez are working these cases with Aaron and me.”
“Superman. You don’t have to tell this old lady who he is. Got Mister July hung up by my desk from that Hot Cops of Chicago Calendar you all did for charity a few years ago. Don’t know about the rest of Chicagoland, but that was my favorite.”
Brice’s face shaded red as he shook her hand. “Thanks, Anna. We raised some money for homeless kids, so it was good.”
“That ain’t all you raised,” she said, laughing loudly.
Ellen watched him turn more scarlet.
“Well, we’d better change the subject before he turns completely flushed and passes out,” said Ellen.
Anna started to turn to lead them through the door of the academy, stopped, and put her hands on her hips. She glanced between Ellen and Brice, her eyes narrowing, causing Ellen to smile and Brice to shift his weight again.
“Did Old Anna interrupt something here? I mean Brice ain’t the only one with a little color on the cheeks. Besides, when you do what I do and been around as long, you feel things.”
“No. No. We were talking about work. . . stuff,” said Ellen, not sounding terribly convincing she guessed.
“Yes. FT Harper was telling me about things I’d need to know.”
“Yeah, I bet she was. I can go inside for a few minutes and wait, but we’ve got someone that I need you to meet so don’t take too long.”
Pivoting on her boots, Anna went inside.
Brice moved beside her, took her hand, and kissed her on the cheek. “We’ll talk later, okay? We’ve got murders to solve.”
Ellen nodded. “Yep. We do. And we will talk. I want to know what you’re thinking.”
But she knew and she wasn’t sure how to react to it. That fact made work seem like a pleasant disruption, at least for now.
“That’s two of us,” said Brice.
The door burst open and out flew a large dog, colored like a boxer but shaped like a Labrador. She immediately recognized Beaux as one of the dogs she particularly liked to hold and pet when she came to see Anna. He’d only been a few months old then; he was now much larger, to say the least.
Beaux rose up, put a paw on each side of her chest, and greeted her like he’d always done.
His kisses, however, were the same soft, I got your face cleaner right here, kind. They even smelled the same.
“Hey Big Beaux. You’ve grown. How you doing, buddy?”
He squeaked, licked her again, and then bore those beautiful brown eyes right into her.
The dog had missed her, she got that much, but she also thought she was getting her butt silently chewed out for not seeing him much over the last ten or twelve months. She felt guilty almost immediately. His eyes softened, like he knew her mind. He probably did. Wasn’t that part of the reason she was here?
She gave him a hug then told him to sit. He did, perfectly.
“Good boy.”
His curled tailed wagged and his mouth opened into what she had called his smile. That hadn’t changed with his size.
“He’s the best,” said Anna. “Never had a dog pick up what we were trying to teach like this one. They like us to use pure breeds in forensic training but given his Lab instincts and his b
oxer qualities, we gave it a shot. Glad we did and you can bet we’re looking for more like him.”
Running her hand over his head, Ellen motioned for Brice to come over.
He did, bending low and sticking out his hand. Beaux shook it, tilted his head, offered Brice an indifferent look, and then nuzzled Ellen, his indifference evolving to completely snubbing Brice.
Anna threw back her head and laughed. “You might have some competition there, Superman.”
“Is it that obvious, with Brice and I?” asked Ellen.
“Yep. You two are coloring in the same book for sure.”
“Could be, Anna. So tell me what training he’s completed,” said Ellen, changing the subject.
“Glad to. Young Beaux here has been run through every training profile this old girl knows how to teach. He’s done search-dog and air-scent training for missing people, along with tracking escaped felons, and sniffing out cadavers. He’s a first rate graduate of decomp training with the ability to detect human tissue, blood, most other bodily fluids, and the like. He can even pick up residual odors of human feces and urine and, let’s say if Brice were to take off his shirt and left it here, right by me, in my hand, then take off, Beaux could track him from miles away.”
Anna tilted her head, her eyes sparkling. “We can test that. If Superman there is willing to cooperate and take of his suit coat and shirt, Beaux and I can prove it.”
Ellen joined in the taunting. “I think that’s a great idea. It’s getting warm around here anyway. Brice?”
The detective shook his head. “Maybe later, ladies. And that is sexual harassment, I’d say.”
“Yep. It is,” answered Anna. “Do you want to cuff me and take me in?”
This time Brice laughed with a sparkle in his own gaze. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time.”
“Okay, but you’re interfering with essential K-9 training,” she said, batting her eyes. She laughed again and moved on. “Anyway, back to Beaux. He passed every one of these training regiments faster than any dog I’ve seen. That’s when we decided to see if he could take it to the next level, and the reason you’re both here, other than each other.”
Ellen rolled her hand forward. “Stay on track Anna.”
“Okay, I will. We took Beaux out in the field and taught him to focus only on one scent, no matter what that was. And I mean anything from drugs to baby poop.”
“How does that work?” asked Ellen.
“Without boring you, we showed, or in his case from time to time, told him what to focus on and what to ignore. So like for instance, you want him to sniff up an object that might have someone’s stink on it, no matter what that odor was, he’d focus on who owned that particular scent and try to find the person of interest.”
“That’s pretty special,” said Ellen, bending down to Beaux. “You know; you just might switch me from a cat person.”
Beaux’s ears perked up as he angled his head.
“What’s that about?” asked Ellen, then she knew. “He knows the word cat?”
“Yep. Most studies say dogs know up to around three hundred words at full adulthood. Best we can figure; this boy knows around twice that much.
Standing, Ellen kept her hand on Beaux as she spoke to Anna. “I have a few questions about the forensic training for him. How long before the scent has dissipated to the point he can’t smell it?”
“Good question. We’ve only had Beaux at it for about six weeks. He found everything and everyone we asked him to. It was crazy. Anyway, the study we based his training from said that their subject trainees found material, organic and otherwise, up to fourteen months after the fact.”
“That’s incredible,” said Brice.
“It is. If my life depended on it, I’d say Beaux is better than that.”
“Wow, sounds like it,” said Ellen. “The other question is what makes him tick better than others?”
“I could go into all of the olfactory receptive sensitivity to chemical compounds in mammals and the surface of the scent, blah, blah, blah. But the truth, in Beaux’s case, if you ask me, is that he was born for this and it’s ingrained right into that magnificent brain of his.”
“You’re right, not all that scientific, but I like ‘born into it’ better, for him, at least. Okay. Oh, one more thing. Can we make the search too specific? You know, confuse him?”
“If you can, I haven’t seen it. You show him and tell him what you want and he’ll get you there.”
Brice’s phone rang and he stepped away to answer it.
Ellen felt her stomach jump ever so slightly without knowing exactly why. Trained response, she supposed. It was hardly ever good news when a detective’s phone went off.
“Okay. If you don’t get him back by six, he’ll be spending the night with you. Officially, he only gets one-hundred percent organic chicken breast for snacks and lean beef or pork for meals. Some dogs are allergic to chicken, Beaux isn’t. That’s all he gets, officially.”
“Officially?”
“Yeah.” She reached over and patted his head; he flashed that smile again.
“Unofficially, the big dog has a real addiction to ice cream. So if you get him some, only vanilla and in a bowl.”
Ellen was about to answer her when Brice touched her arm.
“That was Bella. We’ve got more trouble.”
Now Ellen knew why her guts had done a jig. The look on his face confirmed her experience.
“What kind?”
He exhaled. “The two-new-bodies-in-one-location kind.”
CHAPTER-13
Big Harv hit the glowing ENTER button on his phone, leaned back in his chair and waited, absently shaking his head half in wonder and half in mild disgust.
The world of technology had changed over thirty years and mostly for the good, but the danger, no, the reality of that evolution was that there was less one-on-one human interaction than at any time in history.
When he left the CPD, all his complaints, payroll updates, and vacation requests, among a shitload of other reports, were received via his phone or email.
Texting answers to investigative research that begged one to trust the source of the research instead of getting your ass out there and talking to people on your own took the human element out of the equation.
People often answered questions with their body, not their mouths. He missed that part of investigating as much as anything. There would never be a substitute for the look in someone’s eyes, the way they squirmed or wrung their hands, or whatever body language persuasion a line of questioning brought out in a person of interest. No damn online profile would be better than that, ever.
Not to mention cameras did the rest of the work that detectives should be doing. It wasn’t healthy, mentally or physically.
Sitting on his ass and eating too much probably helped to lead to his heart issues, that and inescapable DNA handed down from his mother’s ancestors. No amount of diet or exercise could escape the family heritage you were born into, at least not completely. But being out more was better than not.
He fidgeted in his chair, looked at the screen again, then out his four-paned window, slowly running his hand over the scar on his chest again.
The morning Chicago sun reminded him he’d gotten another day and to be thankful for being able to touch that scar.
In fact, each day, rain or shine, since his surgery, had taken on the kind of meaning he’d ignored for most of his life. The grateful, appreciative sorts of meanings. He could have been in the grave, his heart punching his ticket far too soon to suit him. It hadn’t and he’d made it. He vowed to stay as long as God allowed, maybe even longer, if he were ornery enough. He smiled at that. Ornery and Big Harv were always in the same neighborhood but nothing could trump God’s timing. Especially when it was your time to go. Until then, he’d work on being even more grateful.
The phone vibrated in his hand. He read the screen in one pained glance.
CAN WE TALK AGAIN? CALL ME,
PLEASE. DAVE ACKLES.
“Shit,” whispered Big Harv.
Talking to the parents of a dead teenager once is tough enough but to do it again within a few hours was over and above. Yet, he’d known his text would illicit that type of response, maybe not today, but eventually. And he needed the blatantly honest information that Dave would provide regarding Ramona’s activities over the last few weeks. But Dave and his wife had to be ready to share it.
The death of a loved one can be the most effective form of truth serum on the planet. He’d seen it a hundred times. It was as if by telling everything about the victim, good and bad, and one’s involvement in their lives, absolution would be a side effect for any perceived fault.
It didn’t always work that way.
He dialed Dave’s number and the response was immediate. Except it wasn’t Dave, but his wife Brenda who answered.
“Harv?”
“It’s me, Brenda,” he said softly.
“I ha-have to ask again. Just one more time, okay? Is my baby really gone? Is my Ram-Ramona . . .dead?”
“I’m sorry, Brenda. She’s gone. The department will send a car for you and Dave to ID her. That’ll be tomorrow morning or whenever you give the word.”
For a moment there was nothing. Brenda’s breathing then changed. He could almost see her fortify her brown eyes and stiffen her lip. “Thanks for being honest, Harv. We need that. I’ll talk to Dave about going to the-the morgue.”
Another breath, more severe than the last.
“It’s our fault, Harv. We should have done something sooner.”
“It’s not your fault. People make choices, even kids.”
“I know that, but you’re wrong.”
The inflection in her voice caused him to sit up. “What do you mean?”
After another brief pause, she exhaled and answered him. “We knew she was losing weight and wheezing all of the time. Her mood swings were almost unbearable. She was stealing money from my purse and Dave’s wallet too. I looked up drug addiction on the Internet and figured she was a classic hardcore user. Probably heroin.”