Megan
The Lollipop Bandit had been lying low, no further reports coming in. Of course I’d been making extra circuits around the medical center. Maybe he’d spotted me and decided not to risk another Tootsie Pop heist. Or maybe all that sugar had caused his teeth to rot and he’d moved on to softer contraband, pudding cups, perhaps.
When I’d had no word from the spoiled rich boy or his parents by Thursday, I decided another in-person visit was in order. When I went to the door this time, I brought Brigit up to the porch with me. While she was of no help in formulating questions during an interrogation, her presence tended to encourage people to tell the truth, almost as if they thought she could smell bullshit when they spewed it. Or maybe they just didn’t want me to sic her on them if I thought they were lying. Either way, here we were.
I rang the bell. Once again, the ding-dong echoed through the large house. I stood there a long moment, staring at the peephole, waiting. There were no cars in the driveway, but that didn’t mean no one was home. They’d have multiple parking options inside the three-car garage. Heck, the house even had a narrow garage door for the golf cart.
I was about to push the bell again when Brigit’s ears pricked up and angled toward the door. Still, nobody responded.
“I know you’re looking out the peephole,” I said loudly. “My dog just alerted to your presence. Open the door.”
There was a short pause, followed by a metallic sound as the dead bolt was released. The door swung open only a few inches and a woman with perfectly coiffed copper hair poked her head out like an elegant jack-in-the-box. While her mouth offered a broad smile, her eyes attempted to cut me like lasers. “Hello, Officer. How are you today?”
“I’m doing fine, thanks. I left my business card at your door Monday afternoon with a message to call me.” I’d recently dealt with people who thought they were above the law. I had no more patience for people who thought their position or bank account balance gave them the right to misbehave without penalty. The rules applied equally to everyone, and I was going to enforce those rules. “Care to explain why you ignored a direct request from a police officer?”
“I never saw the card,” she said. “Are you sure you left it at our house?”
“I’m absolutely certain,” I said. “I remember these purple petunias.” I angled my head to indicate the flower pot. “They looked dry so I poured some bottled water on them.”
The woman looked down at the petunias as if noticing them for the first time. Heck, that might be the case. She probably had a lawn service that replaced her plants, and many people entered and exited their homes through their garages, hardly ever crossing their front thresholds.
“I need to speak with your son,” I said.
“I’m sorry.” She pulled the door even closer to her neck. Much more and she’d choke herself. “He’s not here. He’s with his grandparents in Aspen this week.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw Brigit’s nose twitch. Yep, girl. I smell the bullshit, too.
“Aspen, huh?” I said, going up on tiptoe and peering through the narrow opening over her head. Not that I could see much. Just a wall. “When did he leave?”
“Last Sunday.”
Yeah, right. “Well, then. I must be mistaken. I thought he might have been involved in an incident with your golf cart on Monday.”
The woman thought she had me. Oh, how wrong she is.
“Yes, you’re mistaken,” she said. “Have a good day.”
I put the steel toe of my tactical shoe on the threshold to prevent her from shutting the door. “Since I’m mistaken, I’m sure you’ll have no problem letting me take a look at your golf cart then.”
Her eyes flashed in anger and alarm, but she tried to play it coy. “I wish I could show it to you. But it’s not here.”
Uh-huh. “Did it go on vacation to Aspen, too?”
That snarky comment wiped the smile off her face. “No,” she snapped. “My husband has it. He’s got a hitch on his SUV he can attach it to. He’s playing another course today.”
“Where?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
From inside the house a boy’s voice bellowed. “Mo-om! We need more pizza rolls up here!”
“Aspen, huh?” I arched my brows.
She pursed her lips. “Well. It looks like I was the one who was mistaken.”
I stepped closer to the door. “Hey, kid!” I hollered. “Get down here!”
A second later the voice called, “Who’s at the door?”
Realizing the jig was up, the woman swung the door fully open now. “Just get your butt down here, Brock.”
Footsteps thundered down the stairs, and a boy with gelled hair and a golf shirt with the collar pulled up stepped up beside the woman. When he saw me, his mouth went agape. Sure enough, he had braces on his teeth and the rubber bands were blue. His lip quirked as if he were disgusted by the presence of police officers who dealt with scumbags on a regular basis. Yep, you little twerp. You’re only one degree of separation from killers, drug dealers, and rapists.
“I’ve got something that belongs to you, Brock,” I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the baggie with the broken blue band in it.
“That’s not mine!” he snapped. Unfortunately for him, one of the bands he was now wearing snapped, too, shooting out of his mouth and landing on top of Brigit’s head. She looked up, her eyes nearly crossing.
I plucked the band off her head. “Cut the crap, kid. You want to be charged with property damage, hit-and-run, and lying to a cop? End up in juvie with a bunch of gang members?”
He shrugged, as if the thought didn’t scare him. Idiot. The kids in juvie would eat this pampered little prick alive.
Before he could speak, his mother answered for him. “No, he doesn’t want to be taken to juvenile detention. We’re not going to admit anything, but we’ll pay any damages. Out-of-pocket. We don’t want this going on our insurance.”
Finally, one of them was using their sense. I told her the owner of the Mercedes would be in touch. “If you give him any grief, I’m coming back here. Understand me?”
“We understand,” the woman hissed.
I pointed to the kid. “You could’ve killed yourself or your friends driving the way you did. You’re grounded for two weeks. No TV or Internet.”
“You can’t do that!” he cried.
“No,” I said, “but your mother can. And unless she wants me to come back and arrest you on those charges I just mentioned, she’ll enforce it.”
I looked from Brock to his mother. She scowled, but gave a small nod of agreement.
Ah, justice. It comes in so many forms.
The boy now hopefully saved from a life of crime, Brigit and I returned to the cruiser, but not until after I let her take a dump in the ivy growing about their mailbox. I didn’t pick it up, either, but rather left it there as a memento, a reminder of who was boss. I phoned the owner of the Mercedes and told him his losses should be covered.
“Thanks, Officer Luz.”
“They give you any guff,” I told him, “call me right away.”
“Will do.”
It sure was nice when cases essentially solved themselves. Was it too much to wish the stalking investigation would solve itself, too?
* * *
After my shift, Seth picked up some takeout Chinese food and brought it to the house. He’d bought enough for Frankie, too, so the three of us fixed our plates and took them out onto the patio to eat. Between chasing bugs and romps around the yard, Brigit and Blast begged for bites of our egg rolls and lo mein noodles.
I handed a packet of soy sauce to Frankie. “How’re things at the station? Are you still on latrine duty?”
“Yeah,” she grumbled. “I’ve been out to two fires but all I’ve gotten to do so far is hold the hose.”
Seth cut a glance her way. “Entering a burning building is dangerous stuff. You’ve got to work your way up to it.”
“I know, I know,” she muttered. “But I want to show off my mojo.”
“Don’t you get enough of that on the derby track?” I asked, referring to her Roller Derby bouts with the Fort Worth Whoop Ass.
A grin played about her lips. “You can never get enough of it.”
I had just cracked open my fortune cookie when my cell phone came to life. The readout indicated it was Detective Bustamente calling. I grabbed the phone. “Hi, Detective.”
Brigit nuzzled my hand, snagging the fortune cookie and wolfing it down, paper fortune strip and all. Now I’d never know my destiny. It was making its way through my K-9’s digestive system.
“Come on over to Adriana’s,” Bustamente said. “We’ve got ourselves a sticky situation.” He ended the call without further explanation.
“Duty calls,” I told Frankie and Seth.
“When will you be back?” Seth asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll check in with you once I know something.” I scurried to my bedroom. Rather than put my full uniform back on, I opted for a FWPD tee along with my pants, tactical shoes, and belt. I rounded up Brigit and out the door we went.
We transferred to our squad car at the station and made our way to Adriana’s place. I found Detective Bustamente standing on her curb, shooing at cars that were cruising slowly by. What the hell is going on?
I pulled to a stop behind his plain sedan, retrieved Brigit from the back, and met him on the walkway. “What are you doing out here?”
He responded by holding out his phone. I took it from him and looked down at the screen. He was logged into an app called Kinky Cowtown. The screen showed a pic of a smiling Adriana in a tank top. Below her photo was a bio. I’m Adriana. I live alone and would love your company. Bring a leather whip and marshmallow whip and let’s get nasty. The short bio was followed by her address.
“Holy crap!” I looked up from the phone. “What is this?”
“Sexual hookup app. Someone put Miss Valdez’s profile and address on it.”
“Ryan Downey?” It had to be him, right?
The detective shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”
As the detective and I spoke, a dented orange Ford Fiesta pulled to the curb and parked. A man in his forties with a beer belly and three days’ growth on his face climbed out. He had a jar of marshmallow fluff in one hand and a horse whip in the other. With hardly a glance in our direction, he headed past us up the walk. Instinctively, my hand went to the baton on my belt and yanked it out. I flicked my wrist and it opened with a snap!
“Hey!” Bustamente yelled after the man. “Where do you think you’re going?”
The man stopped and pointed at Adriana’s door with the whip. “Right here.”
The detective gestured to me and Brigit. “You see these police officers standing here, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but it’s not illegal to meet for sex so long as I don’t pay for it.” The guy gave a grunt. “Learned that the hard way.”
To borrow a phrase from the maintenance worker, cheese and grits.
“Hit the road!” Bustamente barked. “Now!”
The guy threw up his hands, inadvertently causing the whip to snap. Snap! “Chill out, man!” He tossed the marshmallow fluff aside and returned to his car, muttering and slamming the door. Bam!
I was tempted to write the creep a citation for littering, but the thought of getting any closer to him made my skin crawl. Poor Adriana. I wondered how many strange men had come to her door before she figured out what was going on. She must be disgusted and terrified.
Bustamente turned from the man back to me. “I’ve spoken briefly with Miss Valdez, but she specifically requested that you come.”
“She did?” That was surprising. The last time I’d seen her she had been less than happy with me.
“Yep,” Bustamente said. “I guess she trusts you.” He angled his head to indicate the door. “Let’s talk to her. Then I’d like the two of us to go have a little chat with Ryan Downey. I’ve put in a call to get an officer out here to stand guard.”
The detective held out a hand to indicate I should lead the way. With Bustamente following, I led Brigit up to the porch and knocked on the door. “Miss Valdez?” I called. “It’s Officer Luz and Detective Bustamente.”
A moment later the door swung open. Adriana stood there, a blanket wrapped around herself despite the warm temperature. Her eyes were pink and puffy from crying, but that didn’t prevent her from giving my cheekbone a pointed look. “Now do you believe me?” she asked, an involuntary whimper following her words.
I swallowed the lump of emotion in my throat. “I’m really sorry you’re having to go through this.”
“Me, too,” Bustamente added. After a short pause, he asked, “Why marshmallow whip? Any idea?”
“I know exactly why.” She rolled her puffy eyes. “Because Ryan loves it and he got angry with me when I threw out a jar of it that was in his pantry. It’s full of corn syrup and sugar and artificial flavors. It’s basically poison. I was only trying to look out for him, but he never seemed to appreciate it.”
Bustamente cut me a look that said, Yeah, funny how men don’t appreciate their women throwing out their beer and potato chips and porn collections.
The mystery of the marshmallow fluff solved, I moved on to other matters. “I’ll cordon off your yard with police tape. We’ve got an officer on the way who will keep an eye on your house. After the detective and I speak with Ryan I’ll come back and stay the night out here, too, make sure you’re safe.”
She expelled a shuddering breath. “I’d appreciate that. This is a nightmare.”
I could only imagine. “I’m worried about your safety,” I told her. “Even after your profile is taken down, there will be men who know you live here alone. It might be time to think about moving.”
“I can’t. I’ve got over seven months left on my lease.”
Bustamente chimed in now. “Texas law allows a tenant who’s been the victim of domestic violence to break a lease without penalty. What’s happened here, the brick through your window and these men tonight, would qualify you for relief.”
She looked down at the floor before looking up again, her gaze going between me and the detective. “But I like this house. It’s close to work and I’ve got my garden. I just moved in a few months ago. It costs a lot to hire movers and pay deposits. I can’t afford to move again. Besides, it doesn’t seem fair that I’m the one who has to move when Ryan is the one causing problems.”
She looked so scared and small and alone. While we police officers could see to her physical safety, she looked like she could use some emotional support. Having some company inside the house couldn’t hurt, either. “What about your new boyfriend?” I asked. “The doctor? Could he come stay with you?”
“He…” She hesitated a moment before finishing her sentence. “Didn’t work out.”
“Oh.” Too bad.
She looked past us, where a young man with a pizza delivery sign atop his car had slowed to a crawl. The sign promised delivery in thirty minutes or the pizza was free. If the driver stopped for some nookie, he wouldn’t make it in time. Then again, he looked all of seventeen. He’d probably finish in two minutes flat and have his pizzas delivered with time to spare.
I waved my baton while the detective yelled, “Beat it, kid!” Ironic words, huh?
The boy hit the gas and pulled away with a screech.
We turned back to Adriana.
She chewed her lip. “I know it will be impossible to prove Ryan entered the profile, but it’s obvious he did this. You’ll arrest him, won’t you?”
“It depends,” Bustamente replied. “We’ll have to see what he says to me and Officer Luz tonight. No guarantees, but we may also be able to get a search warrant that would enable our tech specialists to trace the profile.”
“You mean they can figure out who input the information on the app? I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Not exactly,” he said, “and I can’t even pretend to know how all that tech stuff works.”
Neither could I. While I could use technology as well as the next person, its inner workings were beyond my pay grade.
The detective continued. “Our tech people can sometimes get the code that identifies the computer that was used in a crime. It’s called an IP address. IP stands for Internet Protocol. If they find an IP address for a computer that belongs to Ryan, we should be able to bring him in. Of course the process will take a few days.”
“A few days?” She expelled a long exhale that said just how frustrated and disappointed she was. She looked past us again, though this time there was no sex fiend at the curb, only one of the swing-shift officers pulling up to keep watch. “I’m going to go back inside now, okay? I don’t want any of the men driving by to see me.”
“I understand,” I said. “If you need anything tonight, just call my cell and I’ll be at your door in seconds.”
“Thank you, Officer Luz.” With a final nod, she closed the door and it latched with a soft click.
I returned my baton to my belt and stepped down from the porch, leading my partner with me. Bustamente stepped over to the curb to speak with the officer who’d just arrived and give him an update on the situation.
Back at my cruiser, I retrieved a roll of bright yellow cordon tape from my trunk and tied an end to Adriana’s mailbox as a starting point. I dropped Brigit’s leash to give her the freedom to sniff around while I worked. I navigated the perimeter of the yard, affixing the tape to a bush, a fence post, and a scraggly Bradford pear tree on the property line, keeping the tape at waist level where it would act as an impediment to anyone attempting to enter the property. When I had the entire front yard roped off, I used my teeth to chew through the tape and returned the rest of the roll to my trunk. Brigit trotted up to the car, the jar of marshmallow fluff in her teeth.
I wrestled it from her. “Sorry, girl. This stuff will give you cavities.”
Bustamente came over and reached for the jar. “I’ll take that. My wife uses it in her pecan fudge.”
Yum! I held the jar back, out of his reach. “Promise you’ll bring some to the station?”
He chuckled. “I will. Can’t promise how long it will last, though.”
A van from a Dallas TV news team pulled to the curb. I issued an involuntary groan as Trish LeGrande hopped down from the passenger seat dressed in her trademark pink, tonight’s outfit being a formfitting knit dress and strappy wedges. Her circus-peanut hair was pulled up in a French twist on the back of her head. Before graduating to more hard-hitting news stories, Trish had handled the feel-good fluff pieces for the channel. I supposed tonight’s story was the first literal fluff piece she’d be covering.
Though she’d been on the scene and spoken with me at the mall bombing, when a pickpocket and purse snatcher was targeting people at the rodeo, and on various other cases, the woman never seemed to remember me. It could be due to the fact that she interacted with a lot of people and simply couldn’t recall everyone she’d met. Or it could be that she didn’t truly care about the stories she was reporting, she simply liked to be where the action was and be the center of attention. My money was on the latter.
She stepped over to me and the detective. “We heard something about an unusual stalking incident here?”
They must’ve been listening on a police scanner.
The detective and I exchanged glances before he addressed her. “This is an ongoing investigation. We have no comment at this time.” When the cameraman stepped up with his camera on his shoulder, Bustamente turned to him. “We’d appreciate it if you don’t put the residence on the news. This is an extremely sensitive situation.”
All Trish said was, “We’ll see.”
Grrr. The media and law enforcement had a tenuous relationship. While news outlets could be of great help in tracking fugitives and helping us solve cases with their crime-stopper programs, other times the journalists could hinder our investigations, getting in the way or revealing facts we had hoped to keep under wraps.
A car slowly rolled up and Trish raised an arm and trotted toward it on her heels. “Sir?” she called to the driver. “Would you be willing to speak to me on camera?”
When the driver spotted the TV van and cameraman, he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He floored the gas and burned rubber, sending up a cloud of dust. Screeeeech!
“Dammit!” Trish sputtered, waving dust out of her face.
While Trish attempted to stop another car cruising by, I loaded Brigit into her enclosure. Bustamente climbed into his car and pulled out. Just as he vacated the spot at the curb, a motorcycle pulled into it. The rider held a whip in one hand and a jar of marshmallow fluff cradled between his legs.
Once again, I yanked my baton from my belt and extended it with a snap! I used the baton to point at the jar of marshmallow whip and wiggled my fingers in a give-it-here motion. Technically, I had no legal right to confiscate the sugary stuff, but if he voluntarily turned it over without question, that was on him. After he handed me the jar, I swung my baton in the direction the man was facing and gave him a look that said keep moving or I’ll take this baton to your boys. He scowled, revved his engine, and was gone.
I followed the detective to Ryan’s apartment complex. Luckily, both his blue Camaro and his work truck were in the lot, which meant he was likely to be home.
We parked in a couple of adjacent, unreserved spots. After I handed the second jar of marshmallow whip over to Bustamente, we made our way up the steps to apartment 206. While Bustamente knocked on the door, Brigit snuffled around the bottom of it, probably scenting the fast food wrappers that comprised a significant part of the apartment’s décor.
Ryan opened the door. Fortunately for me, he was fully dressed this time. He wore a pair of gray pants and a white short-sleeved button-down with the name Interstellar Communications embroidered on the breast pocket. The lowercase is were dotted with silver stars.
Before either the detective or I could say anything, Ryan kazooed at me. “You got Danielle all pissed off at me. Thanks a lot!”
I took a breath to keep myself from kicking him in the kneecap. “You realize I was only doing my job, trying to keep you safe. Right?”
“I guess.” He exhaled a loud breath. “It just sucks, that’s all. I still don’t see why you had to drag her into it.”
The detective extended his hand. “Hello, Mr. Downey. I’m Detective Hector Bustamente.”
Ryan tentatively shook Bustamente’s hand before looking from one of us to the other. “Did you prove Adriana was the one who came by with the balloons? Did you arrest her?”
Bustamente and I exchanged glances.
“That’s not what we’re here about,” I told Ryan.
He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “It’s not?”
The detective didn’t hold back. “I hear you’ve got quite a hankering for marshmallow whip.”
Ryan snorted out a laugh. “Love the stuff. How’d you know?”
“How?” Bustamente repeated. “Because half a dozen men have brought jars of it to Miss Valdez this evening.”
Ryan’s smile faltered and his expression froze for a few seconds as he purportedly tried to make sense of what the detective had told him. Seemingly unable to do so, he said, “Say what now?”
Bustamente responded by holding out his phone to show Ryan the profile of Adriana on the Kinky Cowtown app.
After reading the bio, Ryan belted out a belly laugh and slapped his leg. “Holy shit! That’s priceless!”
It wasn’t priceless. It was criminal.
“Sure was original,” Bustamente agreed, taking the phone from Ryan’s hand. “Can’t fault you for putting up the profile given what Officer Luz has told me about Adriana trying to get you in trouble. I’d have been upset about that, too.”
There was that empathy the detective had mentioned.
“Wait.” Ryan’s eyes narrowed, his expression becoming wary. “Are you saying you think I put that profile up?”
The detective offered a casual shrug that I knew was anything but. He was trying to throw Ryan off his guard, procure an accidental confession. “Certainly couldn’t blame you if you did. I’d be madder’n hell if some woman attempted to frame me for breaking her window and then tried to sneak into my place to do God knows what.”
Ryan’s eyes popped wide. “I had nothing to do with this! Interstellar is running a free-tablet-with-new-service promotion. We’re busy as hell. I had back-to-back installations today, barely had time to stop and take a piss. Another guy was working with me to speed things up. He’ll vouch for me.”
In other words, Ryan had a potential alibi. Still, it was far from ironclad. After all, he could’ve used his phone or computer during a coffee break or when, as he’d so eloquently put it, stopped to take a piss.
“C’mon, Ryan,” Bustamente said, offering a placating smile. “We know Adriana’s been harassing you. It’s only natural to want to even the score.”
Ryan’s mouth gaped and he looked from the detective to me, his expression incredulous. “I can’t believe this is happening! This is bullshit! Adriana’s behind this, not me!”
Bustamente switched tactics, going from friend to foe in five seconds flat. “You expect me to believe that a young woman would go so far as to invite total strangers to her house with the promise of kinky sex just to get back at an ex? That sounds pretty far-fetched to me. I think it’s far more likely you posted that profile. Stalking is a third-degree felony, Ryan.”
Ironically, though stalking convictions came with some stiff penalties, stalking statutes were relatively new. In fact, the first stalking law wasn’t enacted until 1990, after a young, promising actress named Rebecca Schaeffer was shot to death by a crazed fan in California. Other states soon followed suit, enacting laws to punish stalkers and protect their victims.
“If you confess,” Bustamente continued, “I might be able to swing you a deal, have the charges reduced to a misdemeanor or maybe even get you deferred adjudication so you’ll remain free and it’ll stay off your record. If not, you’re likely looking at some jail time.”
“What the hell?!?” Ryan sputtered and threw up his hands. “I’m not going to confess to something I didn’t do! That’s crazy!”
“If you didn’t do it,” Bustamente said, “then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I get one of our tech specialists out here to take a look at your computer and phone, check your browser history and whatnot.”
Ryan’s facial features hardened. He looked the detective directly in the eye as he ground out his words through gritted teeth. “Bring it on.”
Wow. I had to give Bustamente credit. He might not have been able to get a confession out of Ryan, but he’d successfully goaded the guy into agreeing to a voluntary search. We wouldn’t need a court order now. Yippee!
Ryan turned to me and damned if there wasn’t hurt in his eyes. His voice sounded hurt, too. “I thought you were on my side, Officer Luz.”
“If you’re innocent,” I told him, my guts squirming inside me, “I am.” My Lord, this case had pulled my mind and emotions in so many directions it was a wonder my brain and heart hadn’t snapped like taffy.
Who was the victim here?
Who was the guilty person?
What was it going to take to find out?