Paw Enforcement 02 - Paw and Order (35 page)

“Oh, right,” Loretta said. “I asked did she have a Kroger card and she said no. Well, I hated for her to miss out on the sale prices. I mean, there's no sense in somebody spending more money than they have to, right? Especially a young woman like her who's probably not been on her own long. I told her that all it takes is a few seconds to fill out the form to get the card and the discounts, but she refused. Said she was in a hurry and she'd get a card the next time she came in.”

“Did she say why she was in a hurry?” the detective asked. “Did she mention somewhere she might be headed to?”

“No,” Loretta said. “She was a little short with me about the card so I didn't try to engage her in small talk after that.”

“Did the woman say anything that might provide a clue regarding who she was or where she lived?”

Loretta shook her head. “Not that I can remember.”

“Have you seen her in the store again?”

“No. Not since that night.”

“Do you recall having seen her in the store before that night?”

Again Loretta responded in the negative.

“Was there anything about her that was distinctive?” Bustamente asked. “Did she have any piercings, scars, birthmarks? Maybe a tattoo? A gap between her teeth? A lisp or accent? Anything like that?”

Loretta shrugged. “She was just your typical pretty blue-eyed blonde.”

Bustamente opened his briefcase and pulled out a stack of photographs, handing the first to Loretta after holding it up to show me. “Take a look at these pictures and tell me if any of these could be the young woman you rang up.”

Loretta looked down at the first photo. “This definitely isn't her. This woman looks like she hasn't washed her hair in a week.”

“Try to see past that kind of thing,” Bustamente told her. “I need you to focus more on her facial features. The shape of her eyes and lips. Bone structure. Brows. Nose.”

Loretta took a second look at the photo. “I still don't think this is her.”

“Okeydoke,” the detective said. “Set that one aside and take a look at this one.” He handed her a second photo.

“No,” Loretta said. “This isn't her, either. This woman looks like she's got some type of disease. The girl who came in the store looked healthy. Like she took good care of herself.”

The two continued through the stack. Loretta set a couple of the photographs aside as possibilities, but even so she seemed to think they were slim possibilities. Most of the photos depicted women who were emaciated from drug use or showed other signs of hard living. Dark circles under their eyes. Bruises on their cheeks. Broken teeth. Scars. I found myself wondering what crimes each of them had committed. I also found myself wondering why. I also found myself hoping that these women would be able to turn their lives around. None of them looked like they'd ever had it easy.

When he reached the end of the stack, Bustamente made a note of the photos Loretta had picked out and gathered all of them up. He returned them to his briefcase and stood. “Thanks for your time.” He held out his hand to shake hers again.

I gave her a nod and shook her hand again, too.

The detective, my partner, and I headed out to the parking lot.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think this thief is a new kid on the block,” he said. “I showed these same photographs to the other victims yesterday and nobody could make a positive ID. They said pretty much the same thing as Loretta did in there. That the girl looked well. Her last victim, the one she injured, speculated that she came from money. Said she seemed well dressed and well mannered. At least up until she put her knee in his howdy-doodies.”

 

FIFTY

WHAT? NO DOG TREATS?

Brigit

Brigit had no idea what type of cruel trick Megan was trying to pull. She leads Brigit into a grocery store, but then fails to take her to the pet food aisle to pick out a treat? Why had Megan teased her like that? It was downright mean.

Brigit would have to come up with a revenge plot. She'd already ripped through the closet door and chewed up the last of Megan's shoes, so that wasn't an option. The only food Megan kept in the apartment was tofu, soy milk, and vegetables. Eating any of that would be more of a punishment for Brigit than Megan. She supposed she could pass gas in the cruiser, but she'd already pooped this morning and couldn't muster up a respectable toot.

Wait. Is Megan pulling into the drive through of the burger place?

She was!

Megan talked into the speaker and pulled up to the window. She handed some money to the lady, and the lady in turn passed a white bag to Megan. Brigit's partner pulled the burger from the bag, unwrapped it, and tore it into smaller chunks, shoving them through the small gap at the top of Brigit's metal enclosure. The burger pieces fell to the platform at the dog's feet.

Lunch!

Do I have the best partner ever or what?

 

FIFTY-ONE

NEVER SAY DIE

Robin Hood

She had brought a frozen Lean Cuisine for lunch today, and headed into the employee break room to heat it up in the microwave. She didn't even mind that her lunch would be cheap and tasteless. After days of her flirting and dropping hints, Kevin Trang had finally asked her out for Friday night. He'd even suggested they have dinner at Reata, one of the city's fanciest steakhouses. Things were definitely looking up.

I'm finally getting what I deserve.

She slid the meal into the microwave and punched the buttons to nuke it.
Beep. Beep-beep. Beep.
While the food warmed in the oven, she stepped over to the television to catch snippets of the noon news.

A male reporter stood in front of the Stockyards Hotel. Behind him, paramedics could be seen wheeling out a body completely covered in a white sheet.
What the hell?

The reporter angled himself toward the ambulance. “As you can see, folks, the body of Sam Gunderson is just now being taken to the medical examiner's office for an autopsy. Hotel housekeeping found Mr. Gunderson dead in his third-floor room yesterday afternoon. Sources say a pillow had been placed over his face and that all valuables had been removed from the room. Police suspect foul play. Anyone with information is asked to contact the Fort Worth Police Department.”

The room spun around her. Robin Hood—no,
Amber Lynn Hood
—had to reach out and grab the table to keep from falling.

Ohmigod-ohmigod-ohmigod!

One of the older ladies who worked as a secretary on the first floor looked up from her table. “You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

She might not have seen one.

But she might have
made
one.

Amber Lynn forced herself to look at the woman. “Just having a dizzy spell. That's all.”

Just found out she was a killer
was more like it. Had she accidentally smothered Sam when she'd put the pillow over his head?

No! It can't be!
She hadn't pushed the pillow down or anything. She'd just laid it across his face. She did the same thing herself when she had a hangover and too much light was coming through the bedroom window. Besides, he'd been snoring when she left the room, hadn't he?

Yes! Yes, he had!
Of course the snoring had been softer, weaker.

Had he slowly been suffocating?

Had Amber Lynn ended his life?

Am I a murderer?

 

FIFTY-TWO

SHOTGUN WEDDING

Megan

Detective Bustamente and I pulled into the parking lot of the Justin Boots outlet store on west Vickery and parked. I cracked the windows on the cruiser so Brigit could get air, and left her in the vehicle. After all the shoes that damn dog had chewed up, there was no way I could trust her in a boot store. She might go berserk and destroy the entire inventory. I wasn't sure the FWPD insurance would cover that and, even if it did, the chief would can my ass. He wasn't exactly my biggest fan.

I had the printout of the boot selection in my purse, ready to show to the manager on duty. It was probably a long shot, but we had to see whether he or she could help us track down those customers who had purchased the particular models of boots the victims had ID'd as belonging to the crutch-wielding accomplice.

The detective held the door for me and I stepped inside the store. The place smelled like leather and boot polish. No big surprise there. My nose also detected faint undertones of rubber from the work boots, and a few hints of a floral cologne.

I glanced around as I followed Bustamente to the counter. So many cute styles. I'd never been much into western wear, but I had to admit that these boots were fun and fashionable, much more chic than the cowgirl boots of yesteryear. I was still checking out the footwear when I heard a female voice ask, “How can I help you?”

Bustamente put a hand on my back and guided me forward. “My wife here would like to try on some boots.”

His
wife? Whuh?

My gaze met his. I saw something in his eyes, a warning perhaps? I turned to the clerk. She was a woman about my age. Plain, with mousy brown hair.

Again,
whuh?

A glance at the name spelled out on her plastic badge answered my question.

CRYSTAL
.

Whoa.

All of the sudden it made sense why she had so many pairs of boots. She worked in a boot store!

Obviously, Bustamente was role-playing for some reason, pretending I was here as his wife rather than in an official capacity. I wasn't sure what his reasons were, but I knew I had to play along.

I forced a smile at the woman I would've much rather throttled. Thanks to her and whoever her two cohorts were, the chief had jumped down my throat. This woman and her coconspirators had not only ripped off and physically injured their victims, they'd made Fort Worth PD look bad and hampered sales of tickets to the stock show and rodeo. They'd cost a lot of people a lot of money and caused untold amounts of frustration and heartache.

Crystal stepped out from behind the counter. “Were you looking for any particular style?”

“Something with a pointed toe,” I said.
You know, the kind that would be good for putting in someone's ass. Yours, perhaps?
“Maybe with a shorter shank?”

“Got just what you're looking for.” She led me to a display.

I picked up a pair in tan and ivory. “These are cute.”

“What size do you wear?”

“Eight and a half.”

Bustamente and I waited on the sales floor while Crystal retrieved the boots from the stockroom.

“What would you like me to cook for dinner tonight?” I asked my new husband as I tried to get into my role.

“Enchiladas,” he replied. “Rice and beans. Flan.”

“Okay. I'll have it ready when you get home.”

When Crystal returned with the box, I sat down on a bench, removed my loafers, and slid my feet into the boots. I stood and took a few steps in them, pretending to admire them in the mirror.

“What do you think, honey?” I asked the detective, hoping I sounded wifelike.

“Meh.” He angled a bladed hand in a so-so motion. “I can take 'em or leave 'em. You know I prefer you in spike heels and fishnets.”

He'd delivered those words so convincingly there must have been some truth to them.

“Well,
I
like these boots,” I said. “But I'm not sure we should spend the money right now.” I turned to Crystal. “I think I need a night or two to think on them.”

“No problem,” she said, sliding the boots back into their box. “Y'all have a nice day.”

Bustamente and I left the store and walked back to our cars.

“Just FYI,” he said, “no wife asks her husband what he wants for dinner. She just makes it and sets it in front of him and tells him to shut up and eat it.”

“Duly noted,” I said.
Make. Set. Shut up. Eat.

Now that we were a safe distance from the building, he told me that we needed to run the license plates on every car in the lot and see if any of them were registered to a Crystal.

“That way we can get her full name and address,” he said.

“Why don't you just arrest her now?”

“Because if I did she'd get a defense attorney and refuse to talk. We might not ever find out who she was working with. She'd probably get off, too. You saw what a hard time that cashier had identifying the thief. The witnesses who saw Crystal only remember her boots. None of them would be able to give a positive ID. Better to do some digging first, some surveillance of her house, see where she goes and who she goes with. Maybe she'll meet up with the other two women involved in these robberies. If she doesn't, we can always come back and put the screws to her, see if she'll talk then.”

What the detective said made sense. A bird in the hand wasn't always worth more than two in the bush, especially if the bird in the bush was the bird you wanted most to get. Nevertheless, my eagerness to put the thieves behind bars had me feeling impatient and frustrated and wanting to do something
now.

Bustamente motioned for me to get into his unmarked cruiser. Once we were seated, he handed me his laptop. As he rattled off the license plate numbers of the vehicles in the lot, I ran them through the system. The first three cars were registered to a John Fremont, a Mary Anne Murdock, and a Yusef Diswali, respectively. The fourth, a 1997 Buick LeSabre, was registered to a Crystal Dawn Hood.

“Bingo.” I angled the laptop screen so Bustamente could see the information.

“See where that address is located.”

I input the address into my cell phone's GPS app and consulted the map. “Looks like it's in a trailer park north of town.”