Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order (27 page)

His eyes scanned the data on the screen. “Looks like she came into the store. She bought her drink at register two at the counter.”

So much for bringing down the hammer. Still, the lead wasn't dead yet. “Can you tell who helped her at the counter? Which employee?”

He took another glance at the screen. “Looks like Jason was working the register that night.” He consulted the schedule. “He'll be back in on Wednesday. He's scheduled to work the two-thirty to eleven-thirty shift.”

“Great.” I'd come back then and see if Jason remembered anything about the young woman who'd used the card. “Any chance I can take a look at the surveillance tapes?”

“Store managers aren't authorized to show security videos without getting clearance from the corporate office first.” The manager reached into a drawer and pulled out a form. “You have to fill this out and send it to our legal department. They decide whether or not to allow it.”

If my request were denied, I supposed I could try to get a search warrant and force the issue. But then my superiors would realize I was conducting an unofficial investigation. They might not like that. Hell, I was probably exceeding my authority simply by filling out the form. But sometimes it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Besides, surely they'd be happy with me for catching these criminals, right?

On the other hand, here I was, on my day off, talking to witnesses and trying to track down clues. Why was I doing this? Was I trying to prove something to my superiors at the police department? To those kids in school who'd made me feel small and stupid and ashamed? To myself? Maybe all of the above?

Whatever my motivations, and regardless of whether they were healthy, I'd come this far. No sense stopping now.

I handed the completed form back to the manager and thanked him for his time. As I left the store, I bought a cinnamon dolce latte with soy. No sense leaving without a warm drink, either.

*   *   *

Dominique waved me back to her office at the insurance agency and closed the door behind us. The space was decorated in pastels, pretty watercolors of lilies and poppies and irises gracing her walls. I found myself wondering how I'd decorate my office once I made detective and was assigned a space of my own. Should I go for something bright and cheerful, maybe some white bookcases and colorful printed throw pillows on the chairs? Or should I go for something more traditional and businesslike, perhaps chairs covered in faux-leather upholstery with brass studs? Oh, well. No need to decide today. I had at least three more years before office décor would be an issue.

I handed the printout to Dominique. “I'd like you to take a look. See if you can pick out the boots you saw.”

While she carefully looked over the pages, I sat in her comfy wing chair and helped myself to one of the foil-wrapped Lindt truffles on her desk. Between the sugary, high-calorie coffee and now this chocolate, I'd really fallen off the wagon today. Tomorrow I'd eat nothing but organic kale raised by fair-trade farmers.

Wanting to see if she chose the same boots as Lisa, I didn't tell her which ones her friend had picked out. But when Dominique finished, she'd chosen the first two pairs that Lisa had. “These two look about right.”

No harm in telling her now. “Those are the same two Lisa picked out.” Not surprising, really. Although there were several other pairs with dark chocolate and turquoise or green, the ones they chose were the only models with black lowers. Clearly, the two were firm on that.

Since she hadn't gotten a look at the thieves, there was no point in showing her the photos of Cheyenne and Mia. I thanked her for her time and told her I'd be in touch if my investigation went anywhere.

“I appreciate you going the extra mile,” she said as she walked me to the front door of her office. “Everyone told me the police don't usually have time to follow up on these types of things.”

“Unfortunately, that's true.” Limited manpower, limited budgets. “But I had a little extra time today so I figured I'd see what I could do.”

I stepped out of the building and headed to my car.

She waved her hand and called after me. “Good luck!”

*   *   *

On Tuesday morning, I visited Catherine Quimby, the purse snatcher's first victim. She was far less helpful. Then again, there were a much greater number of boots in pink-and-tan styles.

“Oh, honey.” She shook her blond head as she turned page after page after page. “I just don't know. They all start looking alike after a while.”

“Were the toes pointed, rounded, or square?” I asked.

“Round maybe? Or pointed?” The inflection in her voice made it seem as if she were asking me the questions. “I don't think they were square.”

“Do you recall how tall the shank was? Did they come all the way up below the knee or were they those lower ankle-type?”

Again, she wasn't much help. “Maybe somewhere in between?”

When it was clear she had nothing else to offer, I gathered up the printout. “Thanks, Catherine. If I have any news, I'll let you know.”

*   *   *

I stopped by both Cheyenne's and Mia's homes on Tuesday and Wednesday morning but nobody answered the door. The two were probably at work, assuming they'd been able to find gainful employment given their criminal history. Likewise, there was no sign of Clint at the stock show on Tuesday or Wednesday. Curious, I inquired with one of the other deputies, a stumpy guy with a patchy mustache. He appeared to be suffering some form of mange.

He gave me a knowing look, amusement in his eyes. “Why is it all of the ladies are looking for Clint and none are looking for me?”

“Do you see my uniform?” I asked, an edge in my voice.

“Sure I do. And I bet it has nothing to do with your reasons for wanting to find Clint.”

The jerk was right, of course. Nevertheless, it put a little twist in my panties. “If you happen to see him, tell him Officer Luz has some information about the robberies.”

The guy rocked back on his heels, his thumbs in the front pocket of his pants. “Oh, I doubt I'll see him. He's been sent up to the north side. Lots of folks in town for the stock show are staying at the hotels up that way.”

The north side was home to a number of tourist attractions. The White Elephant Saloon, where various scenes from the television show
Walker, Texas Ranger
had been filmed. A vintage steam train that traveled between Fort Worth and the city of Grapevine, which lay a half hour to the east. The Cowtown Cattlepen Maze, once featured on the
Amazing Race
television show. And, of course, Billy Bob's, touted as the world's largest honky-tonk. Numerous shops and restaurants were situated up that way, too. There was also a twice-daily cattle drive down the main street, a show put on for tourists in which a half-dozen longhorn cattle were herded along for a few blocks while spectators watched from behind wooden sawhorses erected for their safety. The cattle plodded along without protest, the looks of boredom on their face saying
Damn, this is getting old. Why don't you take down those sawhorses and let us chase after these people like our buddies in Pamplona get to do?

I was disappointed to learn that Clint wouldn't be at the stock show. Things between us had been hanging since Clint left my apartment Saturday night. I hoped he didn't think I'd been rude. On the other hand, if I tracked Clint down, he might read something into it. The last thing I wanted to do was lead him on, especially now that Seth finally seemed to be acknowledging he had feelings for me. On the other hand, if I wasn't yet ready or willing to devote myself only to Seth, why pass up the chance to have some fun with Clint in the meantime? I deserved to have a good time, right?

Blurgh. Why are relationships so confusing?

My cell phone rang then, giving me an easy out of the conversation. I pushed the button to accept the call and stepped away. “This is Officer Megan Luz.”

The caller identified herself as Dominique. “I checked my Diners Club account online today. It showed charges of nearly three hundred dollars at a Kroger grocery store last Friday. I'd nearly forgotten I even had that darn card. I never use it. That thief must've made the charges.”

I advised her to pursue a claim through the credit card company's fraud department, and asked her to e-mail me a copy of the account information. “I'll follow up with the store,” I told her. “See if they can tell me anything.”

She thanked me for my efforts. “I hope y'all find that girl,” she said. “Thanks to her I had to stand in line for three and a half hours at the DMV today to get a new driver's license. That's how criminals should be punished, I tell you.”

Not a bad idea.

After the stock show closed down at ten, I drove up I-35 and exited on Western Center Boulevard. I left Brigit in the squad car. I didn't expect to be here long. Besides, she'd fallen asleep on the way over and had been snoring happily until I'd stopped the car. She'd probably rather go back to her dreams than be dragged into the store. I had no idea why I was worried about her comfort, though. The damn dog had managed to circumvent the slide bolts I'd put on my closet last weekend and chew up a pair of cute ankle boots I'd bought at an after-Christmas sale. She'd even shared them with Blast. I'd since moved all of my shoes to the top shelf of my closet and replaced the levered handle with a round one that locked. If the dog was smart enough to figure out how to get into the closet and get the shoes off the shelf, she'd deserve to have them.

“Be a good girl,” I told her as I climbed out of the car. “I'll be back real quick.”

She yawned then settled her head onto her paws.

I went inside and found a shaggy-haired guy working the register. His chin sported a small tuft of hair, not enough to constitute a beard but enough to prove that he was actively producing testosterone.

“Hi,” I said. “I'm Officer Megan Luz. Might you be Jason?”

“Yeah. That's me. My boss said you'd be coming by.” He motioned with his head for another employee to cover the cash register while he and I took seats at one of the small round tables.

Knowing he'd need to get back to work as soon as possible, I got right to the heart of the matter. “I'm trying to find the person who used a gift card,” I told him. “It was a fifty-dollar card with the words
happy birthday
printed on it. The person used it shortly before the store closed up for the night last Friday.”

“I remember,” he said. “It was a girl about my age. A blonde.”

“Attractive?”

“I probably wouldn't remember her if she wasn't.”

Men. Sheesh.
Of course the same could be said for women. We tended to remember the attractive men more than the plain ones. So, to be fair,
Women. Sheesh.

“Was her hair short?”

“No,” he said. “It was long.”

Hmm.
That didn't fit the description Dominique had given me. Of course the woman could have had her hair pinned up in a barrette or clip or elastic band earlier in the night.

“How long?” I asked.

He turned sideways and put a finger to his back, just under his shoulder blade.

I pulled my notepad from my breast pocket to take notes. “Was it curly or straight?”

He circled a finger in the air. “She had those big curls. The kind they make with that pointed wand thing.”

My surprise at his insight must have been clear because he added, “I've got a sister. She wears her hair the same way. I've burned myself three times on her curling iron. She leaves it on the bathroom counter right next to the toothpaste.”

My siblings and I had similar problems growing up. I couldn't get in the shower without first having to round up the Barbie dolls and plastic boats from the drain. Our living room was a minefield of Lego blocks and green army men. Walk through it barefoot and you'd be hopping and howling by the time you reached the other side.

“Do you remember what the girl was wearing?”

“Jeans,” he said. “Some kind of black jacket or sweater.”

“What else can you tell me about her? Eye color, maybe? Any moles, scars, tattoos, birthmarks?”

“I'm pretty sure her eyes were blue. No scars or tattoos or moles that I noticed. No birthmarks, either.”

I supposed it was too much to ask that she have something easily distinguishable, like a Tinker Bell tattoo in the middle of her forehead or a mole shaped like Mickey Mouse on the tip of her nose.

“How big was she?” I asked. “Can you estimate her height and weight?”

“She was medium,” he said. “About like you. How much do you weigh?”

I gave him a pointed look. “I'll just write the number down on my pad.”

Back at the counter, the barista on duty called out, “I've got a skinny soy latte for Jemma!”

A girl who'd been texting on her phone stepped forward and took the cup without even looking up.

I turned back to Jason. “Her name. Did she give it to you when she ordered?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I remember because we joked about it. It's Robin. I said it was like the bird, and she said it was like the guy in green tights who stole from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Robin Hood?”

“Yeah. She said something about how Robin Hood redistributed wealth. Then she gave me a three-dollar tip.”

Interesting …

What did it say about the thief that she'd been generous with the barista? And could her tip even be called generous when it was paid with someone else's money? I wasn't sure what to make of that, but I made a note of it.
Three-dollar tip.
I also wrote down the name she'd given.
Robin.
Surely it was made up, but it might mean something.

I found myself wondering what fake name I might use in such a situation. Maybe Aphrodite. She'd had numerous lovers, both gods and mortal men. Or perhaps Phoebe, just 'cause it kind of rhymed. I just knew it wouldn't be Apple. Really, what had Gwyneth Paltrow and her husband been thinking? Had they lost a bet? And was the kid named after the fruit or the computer company? Either way, it was ridiculous.