Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery) (24 page)

Headlights broke the night from the far end of the block, growing as they drew near. Lia's black sedan pulled into the only available parking space, two doors beyond her two-family. Peter breathed a sigh of relief as she got out of the car.

A dark van pulled out of a driveway a half-block away. It slowed as it drew abreast with Lia. Before Peter could react, the back doors flew open. Someone wearing a visored motorcycle helmet tossed a pillowcase over Lia's head and dragged her in. Her screams were cut out as the van's lights switched off. Her abductors peeled out leaving Peter standing in the middle of the street, hoping for a plate number.

The light over the license plate was out.

Peter raced towards his car, beyond the spot where Lia had been taken. Something pink caught his eye and his step faltered. He coughed as he entered the residual cloud of pepper spray, his eyes lured by the rosy gleam on the pavement. The kubotan, his birthday present to Lia, lay on the pavement. The bulk of the shot must have hit the visor of her attacker's helmet. That's why it hadn't incapacitated him.

It'll just have to lay there.

Peter jumped into his Explorer, whipped it around and squealed his tires in pursuit. Kirby Road was two blocks away. He had to get there before the van disappeared. He pulled up to the stop sign, in front of the de-commissioned Kirby Elementary School, looking both ways. No vehicles in sight.

He slammed the wheel with his fist. Eenie, meanie, miney. . . . Left was better traveled and well lit, leading to the Northside business district. In that direction, it was a straight shot to the stoplight several blocks away at Chase Avenue, and not a van in sight.
Their lights were off. Maybe I just don't see them.

To the right the road darkened and curved, leading into the backroads. He went right, grabbing up the mic on his radio to call it in, Lia's screams echoing inside his head.

L
ia tensed
when the lights of a car caught her eye to the left. The van pulled past her, then stopped. She screamed as a sack of some sort came down over her head, but still managed to get off a shot of mace from her kubotan keychain. The pepper spray filled the air and she started coughing as rough hands dragged her back, into the cargo bay of the van.

Where's Peter? Why didn't the pepper spray work?
She kicked, twisted and squirmed while her abductor held her arms against her side, his fingers digging into her biceps.

“Jesus,” her abductor coughed. “Open the windows, will you, this stuff is killing me.”

“The windows are down. Fumes are coming off your helmet. Put your helmet in the garbage bag, like I told you, asshole,” Abductor Number 2 said.

“How'm I supposed to do that?” Abductor Number 1 spat out, coughing. “I gotta hold her, don't I?”

“Oh, for Chrissake.” The van veered suddenly, drove up a short incline, whipped around and screeched to a stop, rocking on bad shocks. Seconds went by. Lia felt a gun pressed into her shoulder.

She stilled.

“That's right, bitch. You be good now while my friend ties you up or I'm going to shoot your shoulder. You don't need your shoulder for what we want.” He coughed. “Get rid of that damn helmet and tie her up. And hurry.”

The worst of the fumes dissipated, then rough hands pulled her wrists together behind her back and wrapped duct tape around them.

“Tape that pillowcase around her neck. I don't want her seeing us.”

They don't want me to know who they are. They must not plan to kill me.
She prayed they didn't change their mind.

The coarse hands gathered the pillowcase around her neck. Fingers groped the chain of Desiree's necklace and pulled it out of Lia's shirt. “Nice,” Abductor Number 1 said, tugging on the pendant.

“Hurry up. We've got company.”

C
herie Jackson traced
one glittery nail across the well-muscled thigh of Officer Brainard, who was sitting in his patrol car behind Kirby Road School with his pants down around his ankles. She was satisfied when she heard his sharp intake of breath. “Jesus, you're killing me,” he gasped. “Put me out of my misery.”

“Sugar, you're spoiling all my fun. Don't be in such a hurry.”

“Your fun is about to spoil itsel—” Brainard's head jerked up at the sound of screeching tires. Annoyed that someone else was using his favorite break spot, he looked out the windshield and wondered why the headlights on the midnight blue van were off.

“Wait here. I need to check this out.” It had been easier to take his pants down than it was to pull them back up. The van sat, motionless. He zipped up his pants with difficulty and left the car door open after he exited, not wanting to alert his target until he was ready. Flashlight in his left hand, he unsnapped his holster with his right. He reached for his weapon when the memory of his unfortunate encounter with that jackass at the bank and the ensuing ass scalding halted his hand.

When he was 15 feet away, he switched on the flashlight, illuminating the van. There was no one in the driver's seat. He circled around towards the windshield so he could shine his light inside the back of the van.

A man in a ski mask popped up and fired three shots out the driver's side window. Brainard was raising his gun when the fourth shot hit him in the chest.

Cherie screamed as the van peeled out. When it got to the edge of the parking lot, the back door flew open and a body tumbled to the asphalt.

P
eter heard
the call for officer down at Kirby School and cursed himself.
That's why the van disappeared so quickly.
It pulled onto Innes and hid behind the school, and like an idiot, I drove right past them. I thought they'd be hightailing it. Makes no sense.

He followed an ambulance onto the lot. As he drove up the incline to the school parking lot, he spied a white blur on the pavement. It shifted, and he saw that it was attached to a body. Lia's body.

He forgot about his fellow officer, jumping out of the Explorer as a line of patrol cars blew past him towards an unidentified woman kneeling over the body he assumed was The downed officer.

“Hold on, Babe. I've got you. I've got you. Everything's going to be okay.” He prayed he was right as he felt her arms and legs for broken bones, then pulled out a pocket knife and began sawing through the duct tape binding her wrists.

“Peter?” Her voice was weak and muffled by the pillow case.

“I'm here. Are you okay?”

“I hurt.”

“Where, Babe? Tell me where?”

“All over.”

“I'm sorry, Babe. I've got to give you a redneck wax. It's going to hurt, but the sting will go away.”

“What are you talking ab—”

He ripped the duct tape off, taking all attached body hair with it. She screamed.

“It's like a Brazilian, but cheaper,” Peter explained.

Her wrists freed, she felt around for his arm and began hitting him.

“Ow! Hold on, you want me to get this pillowcase off, don't you?” She lowered her fists so he could reach her neck.

Sirens blasting, more patrol cars pulled up. He waved them on to the back of the lot.

An EMT approached. “Your man is stable. We're taking him in,” he said to Peter. “How are you feeling, Miss? Up for a ride to the hospital?“

“Can't you look at me here? I think it's just road rash and some bruises.”

“The young lady with Brainard said you were tossed out of a van. Did you hit your head? You might have a concussion.”

He checked her vitals, peered into her eyes.

“I'll look after her,” Peter said.

The EMT wasn't happy, but he gave them both instructions for the next couple days.

Brent joined them, stooping to keep the knees of his pants off the pavement. “Well, now, Lia, aren't you a sore sight for my eyes? Anything I can give you a hand with?”

Lia twitched one corner of her mouth in a ghost of a smile.

A line of patrol cars filed out of the parking lot, presumably to search for the van. One remained behind to secure the area for the crime scene techs.

“What's happening?” Peter asked Brent.

“Well, now, let's see. Brainard was on break, apparently having a chat with Miss Cherie, whose claim that she is 21 is entirely suspect, despite her possession of an official replica of an Ohio State ID Card. Incidentally, they were chatting with his radio off, which would be why he didn't hear the BOLO .”

“A chat?” Peter raised his eyebrows.

“Actually, I think it was more of a ‘chat.'” Brent hooked two fingers of each hand to frame the quote. “But I digress. Miss Cherie says the van pulled in and Brainard thought it was strange and decided to investigate, though I think he wanted to chase it off so it wouldn't disturb his tete-a-tete with the young lady. When he approached the vehicle, the driver fired several times, hitting Brainard once in the chest. Then he drove off, discarding our lovely Lia on the way out.”

“How's Officer Brainard?” Lia asked.

“Lost some blood. Doesn't seem to have hit any organs, but they won't know for sure until they get him on the table. Good thing he's unconscious. Come morning, he's going to have some ‘splainin' to do.”

“Why is that?” Lia asked. “He got shot saving me.”

“That was just dumb luck, emphasis on dumb. If he'd had his radio on, he'd have known about the van, and he'd have called for back-up before he approached. And if he'd been wearing his Kevlar vest, he would be bruised but not bleeding. Then there's the questionable presence of Miss Cherie, who is well known to the constabulary for her entrepreneurial activities and her official replica state ID.”

Lia's mouth made a big ‘O.' “Why do I think this doesn't bother you?”

“Well, now, it's just so nice to know that God still looks after drunks and idiots. I'm so very happy he didn't die, because I'd hate like hell to give a hero's send-off to an officer who bungled himself to death.”

“I think you're afraid he'll take your title as the department pretty-boy.”

“No one, Miss Lia, not even Officer Brain-dead,” he reached out and flicked her on the nose, “is taking away my title as department pretty-boy, if I have to ream his colon with my Manolo Blahnik knock-offs. Let's get you home before the vultures—I mean press—show up. Can you walk?”

Brent and Peter helped her stand. She took a few steps and pronounced herself fit.

“I know why I'm going home with Lia, but why are you coming?” Peter asked Brent.

“Because I am the detective in charge and I need statements from both of you.”

“You go detect something. I'll get Lia's statement.”

“You, sir, are a witness. Besides, the powers that be wanted someone working this case who doesn't have carnal knowledge of the victim. You should thank me. Captain Roller wanted to give it to Heckle and Jeckle, but I suggested that since they were too busy with Desiree's murder to respond to Miss Anderson's reports that she was being targeted for unknown nefarious purposes, that maybe someone else should take it, if he wanted the victim to cooperate.”