In Dog We Trust (Golden Retriever Mysteries) (40 page)

“If she got arrested, her academic career would be derailed, and she’d go to jail. I’ll be seeing Cyrus behind bars was a powerful motive to stay out of prison.” I shuddered. “If I’d known what prison was going to be like, I would sure have been more careful about what I did.”

“So she killed the two of them, thinking that there were no clues that would link her to them, or to the thefts from Edith.”

I nodded. “Just to be sure, she tried to run me off the road when I was walking with Rochester, and she smashed Arsene’s motorcycle along the same road, removing the only other person who could link her to the Glock.”

The one thing I couldn’t understand was why Jackie had sent the chocolate biscuits to Rochester. What had the dog ever done to hurt her? But then that, too, fell into place. “The last time I saw Jackie, I told her all about Rochester’s role in digging up clues to solve Caroline’s murder. To finish things off, she sent him the biscuits.”

“When we catch her, she’s going down for murder, fraud, theft—a lot more than just trying to poison a dog.”

“My dog.”

There must have been something in my eyes, or my tone of voice, but Rick took the materials on his desk and put them into separate evidence bags. “I’ll get an analysis of the dog biscuit,” he said. “You never know, the way attorneys are these days, and judges, and juries, we need every piece of evidence we can get.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

I was just about to leave when my cell phone rang, playing the first few bars of the Baha Men singing “Who Let the Dogs Out.”

Rick frowned, but when I flipped open the phone I saw from the caller ID that it was Jackie. I held up a hand to Rick and said, “Hey, Jackie, what’s up?”

He leaned in close so he could hear her side of the conversation.

“Samson’s driving me nuts,” she said. “All he wants to do is play, and I’ve got to get him worn out so I can work on my thesis. Do you feel like bringing Rochester up to the dog park for a play date?”

Rick was nodding his head. “Sure,” I said. “My schedule’s pretty open today. What works for you?”

We settled on noon and I hung up. “What do you think she wants with me?”

“Maybe she’s checking to see if you got the biscuits,” he said.

“When Tony called her mother’s house, what did he say?”

“He said he was investigating the death of a student she had been close to, and wanted to ask her some questions.”

I drummed my fingers on the desktop. “So maybe she doesn’t know for sure that you suspect her,” I said. “I told her that I was helping you find out who killed Caroline. Maybe she thinks I know something about the investigation.”

We arranged to meet up with Tony Rinaldi at the Leighville station at ten, and Rick asked, “Where’s the dog now?”

“He’s at the vet. I’m on my way to pick him up.”

“Bring him with you.” When I started to protest, he said, “We don’t want to spook her. If you show up without the dog she’ll know something’s up.”

“But she won’t have her dog,” I said. “Samson’s at her mother’s.”

“This woman sent your dog poisoned biscuits. Do you want her to go to jail?”

“You know I do.”

“Then get the dog and bring him with you.”

I hesitated. It was one thing to put myself in danger. Assuming Jackie had killed Melissa and Menno, she might have it in for me, too. And I knew she held a grudge against my big, sweet golden retriever. How could I drag him into trouble?

And how could I risk my own life, knowing that he depended on me?

“Rick, I’m not sure,” I started.

“I need your help,” he said. “We’ve got to trick this woman into showing her face so we can arrest her. Don’t worry, I’ll be right there. Just like with Chris and Karina, OK? You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Easy for him to say. But I knew how important it was to catch Jackie, and make her pay for everything she had done. So I left the police station and went to get my dog.

When the tech brought Rochester out to me in the lobby, he was back to his old self, jumping as soon as he saw me. I got down to my knees and buried my head in his soft, golden fur. “Did you miss me, boy? You all better now?”

His enthusiasm was all the proof I needed.

I rolled the windows down as we drove up to Leighville. Rochester stuck his head out, enjoying the breeze, and I could almost pretend we were just out for a fun drive in the country. Then we got to the police station and I had to face the fact that I was about to put myself, and my dog, in danger.

The same desk sergeant was on duty. “Hi, boy,” he said, ruffling Rochester’s ears. “How’ve you been?”

My traitorous dog looked up at him with adoring eyes, and the sergeant agreed to take care of him until we were ready to leave.

Tony had assembled a bunch of cops, in uniform and plain clothes, in the station classroom, and he briefed everyone on the details of the case. He’d mobilized the county task force, including state cops, local departments, and county sheriff’s deputies.

With military precision, he laid out who was going to be stationed where, and how he expected the meeting to play out. There would be cops in the woods, a couple of young guys in plain clothes on the lawn of Birthday House, and more in vehicles in the dog park lot.

“Professor Levitan is going to get to the park in advance of his rendezvous time, and be playing with his dog in the enclosed area. As soon as the suspect pulls up and gets out of her SUV, we move in.”

The gravity with which the cops approached the situation calmed me down a little, but I was still nervous as I drove from the station to the dog park, and Rochester seemed to sense it and want to make me feel better. He lay his head on my lap so that I could stroke his golden fur with my right hand.

He recognized the dog park as we pulled into the parking lot, and he was scrambling around, positioned to exit as soon as I opened the door, when my cell phone rang. Checking the display, I saw it was Jackie.

“I’m waiting at the house for a plumber,” she said. “I can’t leave right now. Can you bring Rochester over here? The boys can play in the yard.”

I didn’t know what she was trying, but I couldn’t let her get away. “Sure. Give me your address again.” I grabbed the pen and pad I keep in the glove compartment, but Rochester started trying to climb over me. “Rochester, down!” To Jackie I said, “He’s excited.”

“I’m sure he’ll have fun.” She gave me her address and I wrote it down.

“Be there in a few,” I said.

As soon as I hung up I called Rick and told him what had happened. “So you can just go over there and arrest her, right?” I asked. “My part is done.”

“She called you from her cell, right?”

“Yup.”

“So she could be anywhere. This could be a trap to flush us out. We need a visual, Steve.”

“You want me to go to her house?” I felt my voice squeak.

“Drive slowly. I’ll get Tony to get the troops mustered.”

He hung up and I looked at Rochester. His tongue hung open and he looked so happy. Jackie had tried to kill him; I owed it to him, as well as to Caroline, and Menno and Melissa, to see that she went to jail.

I cruised through the Eastern campus. Spring was bursting out all over—trees in full bloom, manicured beds bursting with pink, red, white and purple flowers, rolling green lawns. The campus was deserted, just a couple of staff members moving between the buildings. I remembered a summer I’d spent working on campus, how peaceful it had been.

Eastern was such a beautiful place, dedicated to higher pursuits. A murderer didn’t belong there. I looked around to see if there were cops following me, but I couldn’t see any. I figured they were all getting into position around Jackie’s house.

At the top of the hill I turned onto Main Street. When I was four or five blocks from Jackie’s I pulled over and stopped the car, then called Rick’s cell phone.

“We have a visual on the house,” he said. “There’s no car in the driveway. I think she’s faking us out.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Sit tight. See if she calls you.”

As I snapped the phone shut, I heard Jackie’s voice. “You sold me out, Steve. That wasn’t a smart move.”

Rochester turned at the sound of her voice, and scrambled to his paws on my lap so he could look over me. I turned, too, and saw Jackie standing beside me, a gun aimed straight at my head. “Jackie,” I said, and my voice squeaked again.

“You had to go messing around,” she said. “Things just got out of hand, but I was covering my tracks. Nobody would have ever connected me to the money if you hadn’t stuck your nose in.”

I looked around, hoping that the police were somewhere in the area. A few hundred yards behind me I saw Jackie’s black SUV parked alongside the road.

“I hate to have to do this, but I can’t let you give evidence against me.” She aimed the pistol and released the safety.

A series of shots rang out, and my body shuddered. I grabbed onto Rochester and started to cry.

Then I realized I was all right.

I opened my eyes, and there were half a dozen cops converging from all sides. Jackie lay on the ground, the gun a few inches from her hand.

My cell phone started to ring and I recognized Rick’s number. I answered, but I was too shaken to say hello. “You OK, buddy?” he asked. I looked up and saw him running towards my car, holding his phone to his ear.

“We’re OK,” I said. “Both of us. We’re OK.” I hugged Rochester, and he licked my face.

My troubles weren’t over, though. The next day, I drove up to Doylestown for my meeting with Santiago Santos and his supervisor, an African-American woman named Jameelia Cain.

Santos met me at the front counter and led me back to Ms. Cain’s office, a barren room without a single piece of personal memorabilia, just copies of various rules and regulations posted on the wall in simple metal frames.

“You don’t seem to understand how serious your situation is,” she began, after we’d been introduced and Santos and I had sat down across from her on hard metal chairs.

“I do,” I said. “I’ve been working hard, trying to set up my business. I don’t want to go back to prison.”

“Did Mr. Santos go over the rules and regulations of your parole when he began working with you?”

Santos sat there, not saying anything.

“Yes.”

“So you knew that as a convicted felon, you were not allowed to possess a firearm?”

“It wasn’t mine,” I said. “It was my father’s. I didn’t even find it in the house until a couple of months after I came back to Pennsylvania.”

She glared at me. “Do you know what you should have done at that point?”

I noticed that my hands were shaking. “Yes. I should have reported it to Mr. Santos.”

“And why didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t think about it.”

“I could overlook the weapons violation,” she said. “You were not a violent offender, and it’s not like you went out and purchased the gun. But your violation of the agreement regarding your computer use is much more serious.”

“I understand,” I said. “When Detective Stemper asked me to do that computer research for him, I should have used my own computer, so that Mr. Santos could have seen the results.”

“In my opinion, Detective Stemper showed a lack of common sense in asking for your help in the first place,” she said. “It would be like sending an alcoholic to a bar, or a junkie out to buy nickel bags.”

“The police do that all the time,” Santos said, and I was surprised that he spoke up. “Without the use of confidential informants they’d crack a lot fewer cases. And Mr. Levitan’s assistance did help solve four murders.”

She trained an evil eye on him, but he didn’t back down. She turned to me instead. “The law gives a parole officer a lot of latitude in dealing with offenders. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Levitan. It would be hard for me to send you back to prison in California for the violations you’ve committed. However, I have little confidence that you are ready to function in the civilian population without supervision.”

I shifted on the hard chair.

“It is my decision that you remain under the supervision of the parole board, and Mr. Santos, for an additional year. I wish I could make the penalty more severe, but Mr. Santos has argued on your behalf, as has Detective Stemper.”

“Thank you,” I said. My whole body seemed to shake with a combination of relief and the loss of adrenaline. I could barely stand up, and I was afraid I’d fall over as Santos and I walked back to the outer office.

“I’ll see you in a month,” he said. “Be prepared to go over your business plan.”

“I will be. Thanks. I appreciate that you stood up for me.”

“Jameelia’s a good woman,” he said. “We all want what’s best for you, Steve.”

“You ever see those birds you were looking for the last time you were at my house?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. A couple of really rare ones, actually, migrating through. Another day and we’d have missed them.”