Laying Down the Paw (27 page)

Andro hopped out of the van, leaving the keys in the ignition. “You go open the garage door and the back of the van. I'll start looking around.”

As Dub went inside, he spotted an orange long-haired cat spying on him from behind a potted plant. “Hello, kitty.” He squatted down and held out a hand, but the cat skittered off down the hallway and ran into one of the bedrooms.

Dub found a door at the back of the kitchen that led to the garage. He stepped inside and pushed the button to raise the door. It slid up with a noisy rattle.

Ten minutes later, Andro and Dub had filled the van's bay with a big-screen TV, an Xbox, two dozen video games, a laptop computer, a jewelry box, two mountain bikes, and an electric guitar and amp. Andro had even grabbed the family's Keurig coffeemaker and their box of coffee pods from the kitchen counter. They carried everything through the garage to load it into the van's cargo bay.

“Well, well, well,” Andro said. “Would you look at that?”

Dub followed Andro's gaze. At the back of the garage sat a tall black cabinet with a built-in lock.
Uh-oh.
Dub had seen the damage his father could cause with his fists alone. He didn't even want to imagine what his father could do if he had a gun.

Andro put a hand on Dub's back and shoved him toward the cabinet, following after him. “Looks like these folks enjoy their Seventh Amendment rights.”

“The right to a jury trial in civil cases where the amount in controversy exceeds twenty dollars?” Dub said.

“No, dumbass.” Out came Andro's hand again, smacking Dub upside the back of his head. “The right to bear guns.”

Andro was the dumbass. The right to bear arms was the Second Amendment, not the Seventh. Dub had studied the Constitution in American History. Earned an A minus on the test, too. But no sense getting a concussion over it.

“If we take these guns,” Dub said, “the cops will come looking for them. They don't care much about most burglaries but they're going to pay extra attention if guns are taken.”

Andro mixed it up this time, backhanding Dub across the cheek. “Did I ask you what you thought?”

Of course he hadn't. Andro didn't give a rat's ass what Dub thought about anything. And there was no use arguing about it.

“It'll be easier to carry longways.” Andro put both of his hands behind the top of the cabinet and pulled it toward himself, moving out of the way as it toppled forward. It fell to the floor, barely missing Dub's toes.

Dub grabbed one end of the cabinet while Andro picked up the other. The thing was heavy as hell, probably a hundred and fifty pounds or more, more than Dub himself weighed. Andro had no problem carrying his end, but Dub struggled, feeling a pull in his groin. He hoped he wouldn't get a hernia. He wouldn't be able to go anywhere for treatment. Luckily, they got the cabinet into the back of the van before Dub's guts split open.

Andro climbed into the driver's seat. “Close the garage door,” he said. “If the neighbors see it open they'll get suspicious.”

Dub walked back into the garage and hit the button to lower the door, walking back through the house to exit. As he stepped out the front door, he heard police sirens in the distance. His heart ramped up to warp speed when he realized the sound was growing louder.

The cops were on their way.

Shit!

Dub ran toward the van. But Andro must have heard the sirens, too. He punched the gas, and with a shrill
screeee
left both tire marks and his son behind in the driveway.

 

FORTY

TWO DOWN, TWO TO GO

Megan

Derek and I took the men we'd caught to the station for booking. According to the driver's licenses in their wallets, the Asian man was Lahn Duong and the Latino was Gustavo Gallegos.

Detective Jackson interviewed them one at a time, allowing me to be present. I sat next to her, twirling my baton in my hand, an exercise that both calmed me and allowed me to burn off excess energy.
Swish-swish-swish.
Brigit lay on her back at our feet, paws up, clearly seeking a tummy rub. I used the toe of my left shoe to ease my right shoe off, and ran my foot up and down her belly.

Jackson separated the men, speaking with Gallegos first. “Officer Luz says she saw you at the Bag-N-Bottle Saturday after the storm. You pulled a gun on her.”

“I don't know nothing about that.” Across the table, Gallegos lifted his shoulders. “Wasn't me.”

Jackson rolled her eyes. “You were selling liquor at the high school. The very liquor you looted from the Bag-N-Bottle.”

At least we assumed it was the same liquor. Neither of us knew for sure. Since the liquor store used a scanner, there were no identifiable price tags on the bottles. I supposed the only way to prove for certain that the liquor had come from the Bag-N-Bottle would be to check the glass for fingerprints and see if any of the prints matched the store staff who'd stocked the shelves.

“We found two guns in your car. Officer Luz said they looked just like the guns you pulled on her Saturday.”

They did. They were shiny and scary and had a hole at the end that bullets could come out of. Other than that, I actually had no idea whether they were the same guns. But police officers weren't required to be entirely truthful with suspects. Though the law did not allow us to fabricate evidence for court, we could create all the stories we wanted when interrogating a suspect, to see if it would lead a suspect to spill the beans.

“We've got video footage from the store,” the detective said. “Shows you and your buddies packing up liquor and cigarettes, hitting the cash register.”

Again, it was a lie. Jackson had informed me privately while the men were being booked that, per information relayed by the crime scene techs, the security camera at the store had been disabled when the storm knocked out electricity to the area.

A smirk crossed Gallegos's face, almost as if he knew Jackson's statement about the camera was untrue. “You got video? Show me. Bring me some popcorn to eat while I watch it. I like mine with butter.”

Jackson didn't hesitate or bat an eye. “We'll have to wait on the video just a bit. It's being logged into evidence and has to be downloaded to the server.”

Wow.
I hoped someday I could be as good as her at keeping a poker face while lying my butt off.

Jackson needled Gallegos some more, but he wasn't biting. She called an officer to take him to the holding cell, and had Lahn Duong brought in. Once Duong was seated at the table, she gave him a smile and shook her head. “With friends like Gustavo Gallegos, who needs enemies? That boy sang like a canary.”

“Oh, yeah?” Duong said, looking nonplussed. “What did he tell you?”

“That you and two of your buddies looted a liquor store on Berry Street last Saturday, pulled guns on Officer Luz here.” She gestured in my direction.

His already hard eyes hardened even more, giving off a flinty glint. “Not buying it.”

I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised. This guy didn't seem to
buy
anything. He stole things instead.

Jackson angled her head, her expression calm and matter-of-fact. “Doesn't matter to me whether you buy it or not. We caught you with the contraband from the liquor store and Officer Luz can make a positive ID. Plus we've got you for selling alcohol to minors and bringing alcohol onto a public school campus. Any one of those charges alone is enough to send you down the road for a bit. But if you give us the names of the two others were who were with you on Saturday, we might decide to go easy on you.”

“Can't say.” Duong raised his shackled hands, palms up, in a feigned gesture of innocence. “Wasn't there. Got no clue what you're even talking about.”

Jackson tapped her pen on the legal pad in front of her. “Where do you claim you were on Saturday afternoon, then?”

He performed a lewd pelvic thrust in his seat. “Boning my woman. Call her. She'll back me up. And while you're at it, ask her about my performance. She'll tell you I'm the best she's ever had.”

“That's saying a lot,” I snapped, “because she's got, what, a few hundred men to compare you to?”

It was a snarky comment and probably a rude thing to say about a woman I'd never met. I should've kept my mouth shut. But I was beyond tired of this man's BS. I was sorely tempted to swing my baton at his head, see how he liked someone lording a weapon over him, threatening his life. After all, he'd done it to me and turnabout is fair play, right?

The door to the interrogation room opened and Melinda poked her head in. “Got some news.”

“Good news or bad news?” Jackson asked.

“Good for you, bad for him,” Melinda said. “A deputy pulled Owen Haynes over just south of Hillsboro for a traffic violation and found a meth pipe in his car. When they saw he had a record and was wanted for questioning, they hauled him in.”

Jackson glanced at the wall clock—5:12—before returning her focus to Melinda. “Arrange a time tomorrow morning for me to go down there and interview him.” The detective turned to me. “You want to come with me?”

Heck, yeah!
“Sure.”

“I want to go, too,” Duong said. “We can hit the outlets after, get some new shoes or a purse.”

Smartass.

“Shut your piehole.” Jackson turned back to Melinda. “Tell them Officer Luz and Sergeant Brigit will be along, too.”

“Will do,” Melinda said. “Also, we've got officers en route to another burglary. This house was in the Ryan Place neighborhood.”

“Same M.O.?” Jackson asked. “Homeowners on vacation?”

“Supposed to be,” Melinda said. “Their flight was delayed a few hours. While they were waiting at the airport they got a call from a neighbor asking if there was supposed to be a plumber at their house. The neighbor told them a van was in their driveway and the garage door was open.”

Jackson exhaled a long sigh and turned to me. “I'll have to head out there. So much for getting home in time for dinner. You're welcome to come along if you'd like.”

Technically, my shift had ended twelve minutes ago. But I wasn't about to miss the opportunity for some on-the-job training in detective work, even if it would be unpaid. “Count me in.”

Jackson hiked a thumb at Gallegos. “Get one of the officers to do something with him.”

“Okey-doke,” Melinda said.

I slid my shoe back on, shook Brigit awake, and followed Detective Jackson to the door.

*   *   *

We arrived at the house to find the perimeter of the yard marked off with yellow crime scene tape. A woman in her late thirties stood on the front porch, her face contorted with anxiety, a nervous hand clutching her hair as she spoke with Officer Hinojosa and a crime scene tech. A dark-haired man who was likely her husband stood in the open garage, speaking with another tech.

Lest Brigit steal another dog toy, I left her in the cruiser with the windows cracked a few inches. Jackson and I stepped up to the waist-high tape. While I ducked to go under it, Jackson used her hand to push the tape down a few inches and stepped over it. Again, different approaches to the same problem.

As we walked over to the woman, Detective Jackson called out to the man in the garage, “Are you the homeowner, sir?”

He looked our way. “Yes. I am.”

She waved him over. “Officer Luz and I would like to speak with you and your wife.”

He excused himself and came over to the porch, taking a spot next to his wife, putting a reassuring hand on her lower back.

Jackson pulled a small notepad out of her breast pocket and so did I, the diligent Padawan.

She clicked her pen to write. “State and spell your names for me, please.”

“I'm Neil Harrington,” the man said, following his words with the spelling.

“Nancy Harrington,” the woman said.

The detective and I jotted their names on our pads.

Jackson continued her questions. “I've been told you were at the airport when you got a call from a neighbor telling you someone was at your house?”

“That's right,” Nancy said. “We were supposed to be on our way to Paris right now.”

“Which airline were you taking?” Jackson asked.

“American,” Nancy replied.

Jackson and I exchanged glances. Both of the other victims had taken flights on American, too.

“Did you use a travel agent to arrange your trip?”

“No,” Nancy said. “I'm a flight attendant for the airline. People who work in the industry tend to travel a lot so I just asked for tips from my coworkers.”

“Any chance one of those coworkers might have tipped off the burglars that you wouldn't be home today?” Jackson asked. “Maybe even unintentionally?”

“I don't see how,” she said. “We didn't even know when we'd be traveling until two days ago. Neil wasn't sure when he'd be able to get time off from work but one of his projects was canceled. Our employee flight benefits require us to fly standby. No one could have been sure that Neil and I would be able to get on a flight today.”

Hmm.

The detective's head swiveled as she eyed the surrounding houses. “Which neighbor called you?”

“Mrs. Fancher.” Nancy pointed across the street at a gray-haired woman who was watching the activities from the bay window on the front left of her house.

Jackson raised a hand in greeting at the woman and motioned for her to come over. The woman came outside and walked over. We met her at the perimeter tape. She was dressed in a casual, elastic-waist sage green pantsuit with a coordinated scarf. Easy wear but stylish.

Jackson asked the woman to state and also spell her name.

“Helga Fancher,” she said, spelling it out. “F-A-N-C-H-E-R.”

“Got it,” Jackson said. “Can you tell me what you saw over here today?”