Megan
Friday morning we finally got a break in the lollipop theft investigation. A few minutes after ten, Brigit and I were cruising past John Peter Smith Hospital when I saw a man with short, sandy hair walking up the sidewalk from the opposite direction. He had a medical mask hanging around his neck and what appeared to be a surgical cap tucked into the pocket of his green scrubs. He also had a white sucker stick protruding from his mouth.
Is this him? Is this the Lollipop Bandit?
My heart pulsed double time as I pulled to the curb and unrolled the passenger window. “Excuse me, sir?”
He cast a glance my way and froze in his tracks, his eyes wide and wary.
I gestured to the stick in his mouth. “By any chance is that a grape Tootsie Pop in your mouth?”
He shook his head emphatically but said nothing.
I raised a finger. “Stay right there.”
He waited on the sidewalk while I climbed out of the cruiser and walked over to him. His lips were pursed so tight around the lollipop stick it was a wonder the thing didn’t snap in two. The wild look in his blue eyes told me he might be thinking of swallowing the evidence and was contemplating the potential health consequences.
I gestured to his mouth. “Mind showing me your sucker?”
He shook his head.
“No you don’t mind?” I asked. “Or no you aren’t going to show it to me?”
He opened his mouth as little as possible when he spoke, but it was still enough for me to see that his tongue and lips bore a purple tinge. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“That’s true,” I replied. “Your purple tongue just spoke for you.”
His eyes flashed in alarm as I pulled my handcuffs from my belt.
“Where’d you steal the suckers from today?” I asked.
He opened his mouth as if to respond, said, “I … uh…” and turned to take off running. Sheesh. Petty theft of candy would be a Class C misdemeanor, punishable only by a fine, but now he could add resisting arrest to his charges. Resisting arrest was a Class A crime, punishable by up to a year of jail time.
Though I might be able to catch the fleeing thief myself, it was always best to be prepared, just in case. As quickly as I could, I yanked open the back door of the cruiser and let Brigit out of her enclosure. I issued her the order to stay with me as I took off after the man, who had a one-block lead on me.
“Stop!” I hollered after him. Not sure why I bothered. Nobody who’d ever taken off on me had experienced a sudden change of heart.
He ran past the hospital and continued onto St. Joseph Court, which circled behind an adjacent medical building. My feet and heart were pounding, my ears flooded with the sound of blood rushing through my veins. Knowing I couldn’t keep up this pace much longer, I deployed my partner to go after the guy. She’d get the man, and quick. Brigit’s nails scrabbled on the asphalt as she took off in pursuit.
When the street ended at a parking lot, the man darted between the building and the train tracks, running along a row of trees that had been planted there. Brigit was gaining on the man when I realized a train was gaining on us, a northbound freight train roaring up the track to our right. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.
I glanced back and saw the engine coming under the Allen Street overpass. My heart leaped into my throat and I turned to holler to Brigit, to call her back to safety. No way in hell would I risk her life to catch some petty thief!
Though I yelled as loud as I could, Brigit didn’t hear me over the sounds of the train. Her legs ate up the ground ahead as she hurtled after the man.
The train sped past me now, kicking up dirt and pea gravel, and a warm rush of air.
“Brigit!” I screamed again, so loud it seared my vocal chords. “Come back!”
Still she didn’t hear me, running after the Lollipop Bandit with everything she had. Brigit reached the man just as the train reached the two of them. The man swerved to the right, directly in front of the train. I gasped, sucking in dust, as the conductor laid on the horn. WAAAAAAH!
“No!” I cried, as much to God as the dog. Dear Lord! Please don’t let Brigit follow him! She’ll get hit by the train, too! I fell to my knees next to the track, gulping air in terror, white sparks erupting like fireworks at the edge of my vision.
Brigit snapped her teeth at the thief’s scrub shirt in one last attempt to catch him, but instead veered off to the left, loping in a half-circle to head back my way.
My first and foremost thought was, THANK YOU, GOD!
My second thought was, The Lollipop Bandit is dead. Holy crap!
When Brigit ran up I grabbed her in a bear hug, inadvertently tackling her to the ground. I’d never been happier to see the furry beast, and I didn’t want her to get anywhere close to the train again. She didn’t seem to mind my embrace. She wagged her tail and wriggled playfully under me as the train continued on. I supposed it would take it a while to stop with all of the weight and momentum it had going. I could only imagine the gruesome gore that would be waiting for us.
As the last car went past, I released Brigit and sat back, wiping the tears from my cheeks. She sat up, too. Wait. What’s that in her teeth?
I reached out and pulled a white laminated identification card from her mouth. It was an ID tag featuring a photograph of the Lollipop Bandit, as well as information identifying him as Gregory Higginbotham, M.D. At least now we know whose remains we’ll be scraping off the tracks. I could hardly believe a doctor would risk his life to avoid arrest for such a small crime. But people did irrational things when they were frightened. I saw it all the time.
I looked down the tracks, surprised to see the train continuing on its way out of sight. The conductor’s not going to stop? He’d obviously seen Dr. Higginbotham run in front of the engine or he wouldn’t have blasted the horn. It wasn’t unusual for people driving cars to be involved in a hit-and-run. But a train? It didn’t seem to make sense. Then again, maybe another train was on its way and the conductor planned to stop somewhere safe down the tracks.
I clipped Brigit’s leash onto her collar and stood. Taking a deep breath to prepare myself, I raised my head and ran my eyes down the track, looking for a mass of bloody flesh that had once been Dr. Higginbotham. But my eyes saw nothing on the track other than a flattened copper penny gleaming in the sun.
What the—?
Leading Brigit, I jogged up the track. Had his body been carried away by the train? Maybe thrown to the side?
My eyes searched and scanned the surroundings but saw nothing. No fingers, toes, or limbs in the brush. No ears or nose. No severed head lying aside the tracks, a purple-stained tongue lolling out of it. My partner and I walked a full half mile of track but saw not a single drop of blood or body part.
I looked across to the other side of the tracks. “He made it across, didn’t he?” Lucky bastard. I supposed that I was lucky, too, though. Law enforcement officers had to make judgment calls, weigh the benefits of catching a suspect against the potential costs. Cops who pursued small-time criminals with deadly results often found themselves the subjects of internal investigations and lawsuits. The last thing I wanted was to garner the attention of the ACLU, especially now that they had millions upon millions of dollars in their coffers thanks to a deluge of recent donations inspired by the president’s executive orders. Heck, some of those dollars had once been mine. I was all for civil rights and liberties, but I much preferred to remain on the organization’s mailing list rather than their shit list, thank you very much.
I led Brigit back to the approximate place where the elusive doctor had run in front of the train and issued the order for her to trail him. She put her nose to the ground and snuffled around a bit before heading over the tracks. I jogged along behind her, keeping a tight hold on the leash.
She led me over several more sets of tracks until we reached a brushy area. Behind the brush was a fence. Brigit led me up to the fence and stood on her back legs, her front paws extended up on the boards, her nose scenting the air at the top of the fence. She looked back at me, communicating without words. This is where he hopped over.
“Good girl!” I said, giving her a liver treat. I put my hands on the top of the fence and pulled myself up to take a look over it. Without anything to leverage my feet on, I could only get a quick glimpse, but it told me the man was no longer in the barren yard. He must’ve escaped out the front gate. I pulled myself up for another quick look at the house, taking mental note of its features. Light blue. White shutters. Light gray shingles on the roof.
We stepped back and I scanned the fence in both directions, looking for a break that Brigit and I might squeeze through. Unfortunately, I saw none. Dang!
We hurried back to the cruiser, climbed in, and drove around to the neighborhood the Lollipop Bandit had escaped into. When I spotted a house painted light blue with white shutters, I pulled to a stop and retrieved Brigit. Leading her over to the gate, I again issued the order for her to trail the escaped thief.
She performed her usual preliminary sniff test, and headed off through the yard into that of the house next door. We continued on down Arizona Avenue, passing East Morphy Street, until we reached Magnolia Avenue, a major thoroughfare that ran north of the JPS hospital complex.
We’d begun to make our way west on Magnolia when my shoulder-mounted radio came to life. “Officer Luz, you and Brigit are requested for a vehicle search on I-30 between Jennings and Main.”
I let loose a frustrated breath. My partner and I were so close to nabbing the Lollipop Bandit! But I supposed there was no telling how far he’d continued to run. We could be tracking him for another hour or more. He might have even retrieved his car and driven off. Who knows? But what we did know was his name. There’d be no hiding from us now.
We returned to the cruiser and headed north, merging onto I-30. I could see Officer Hinojosa with a car pulled over up ahead. A black, high-end SUV with lots of chrome, the kind often driven by successful drug dealers. Really, if they didn’t want to stand out, they should drive minivans. Standing beside the car with his palms on the back of his head was a white guy with short hair and a full, bushy beard in the same tannish-gold color as much of Brigit’s fur.
I put on my flashing lights and blinker and eased to a stop in front of the SUV, backing up to block the vehicle in case the suspect should get the dumb idea to try to flee in it. Keeping an eye on the guy, who was cutting me every which way with his sharp gaze, I let Brigit out of her enclosure. I walked her over to the car.
My eyes met Hinojosa’s, asking a silent question. He angled his head toward the driver’s window, which was open. I stepped closer and took a quick glimpse inside. I saw nothing that would give rise to probable cause. No drugs. No drug paraphernalia. No rolls of cash. What I did see was a scented cardboard pine tree hanging from the rearview mirror and four of those special automotive air fresheners that clipped on to each of the air-conditioning vents. My first intake of breath and I nearly became high on pine and lavender fumes.
Nobody needed this much scent in their car. Not unless they were trying to mask another smell. Fresh bud, perhaps?
Hinojosa chimed in. “He says someone got sick in his car and that’s why he’s got all those air fresheners.”
I looked back into the SUV, eyeing the floor mats. Looked clean to me. So did the leather seats.
I opened the door and removed each of the air fresheners. No sense overwhelming Brigit’s nose or making her job any more difficult than it had to be. I stepped back and gave Brigit the order to sniff for drugs.
She began at the driver’s seat, sniffing around the padded seat, the seat back, and the floor. No alert. I opened the back door and she repeated the process, working her way up and down. No alert. The same thing happened when I led her around the front of the car so that she could sniff the passenger side. But when I led her back to the door of the cargo bay, she took one sniff near the handle and immediately sat, giving her passive alert.
“There’s something back here,” I told Hinojosa as I opened the door. While nothing was immediately visible, all it took was me lifting the carpeting to find multiple bricks of marijuana in clear wrap tucked in around the spare tire and jack. I turned to my partner. “Good job, Brigit.” She’d earned two liver treats for her efforts.
Brigit followed me as I picked up one of the bricks and carried it over to Hinojosa. I handed it to him. “There’s a half-dozen more of them back there.”
The glare the man locked on me was so heated it was a wonder my skin didn’t catch fire. He began shuffling back and forth on his feet and clenching his fists, his eyes darting from me to my partner. Yep, he’s going to blow.
He charged at Brigit and cocked his leg back to kick her, but I was faster. I whipped out my baton and flicked my wrist to extend it. Snap! Before he could land his kick, I’d smacked his calf aside with a solid whap!
Nobody hurts my dog.
The dealer screamed in agony and grabbed his lower leg, hopping around next to the cars on one foot. Passersby probably thought we were performing an unusually difficult sobriety test on the guy.
Brigit and I kept watch while Hinojosa grabbed the man, cuffed him, and loaded him into the back of his cruiser, beard and all.
“Thanks for your help, Luz,” my fellow officer said.
As if she knew she was deserving of some sign of appreciation and praise, Brigit bent in half, backed toward Hinojosa, and looked up at him.
He looked down at the dog. “What the heck is she doing?”
“She wants you to scratch her butt.”
He chuckled. “All right, girl. You got it.” He reached down and scratched the sweet spot at the base of her tail. She lifted her snout and closed her eyes in bliss.
I raised a hand in good-bye. “See ya.” With that, Brigit and I loaded ourselves back into our squad car. One down, one to go.
I whipped out my cell phone and ran a search on the Internet for Dr. Gregory Higginbotham. According to my search, he was a pulmonary specialist with admitting privileges at both Cook Children’s Hospital and JPS. His medical office sat on Oleander Street, about equidistant between the two facilities. He was part of a practice that included two other pulmonologists.
I started the engine and turned back to Brigit. “Let’s pay the doctor a little office visit, shall we?”
I drove to his office, taking a spot near the edge of the parking lot where he’d be less likely to spot us approaching. I attached Brigit’s leash and we stepped inside. The waiting room was heavily populated. An adolescent boy in the corner sat wheezing alongside his mother, who was rubbing his back. A middle-aged man took a puff from an inhaler. An elderly woman coughed so hard it was a wonder her lungs didn’t collapse.
The receptionist looked up from behind the counter, her eyes moving from me, to Brigit, and back to me again. “May I help you?” she asked as we approached.
“I need to see Dr. Higginbotham. As soon as possible.”
“Would you like an appointment?”
“No. It’s not medical related. It’s a police matter.”
Curiosity sparked in her eyes. “He’s handling rounds at JPS today,” she said. “With all the ozone alerts we’ve had lately we’re seeing a lot of severe asthma cases. He’ll be back here in the morning.”
I thanked her for the information and turned to go.
As I stepped away, she craned her neck and called after me. “Can I let him know your name and why you stopped by?”
Though her voice was cordial and professional, I suspected her reasons for asking were more out of nosiness than any desire to keep her boss informed. I turned back as I reached the door. “No need,” I told her, forcing myself to sound casual. “I’ll catch up with him another time.”
I’ll catch up with him all right. In just a few minutes, at the hospital.
We drove the few blocks to JPS. I parked in the outdoor lot and led Brigit inside. We checked in at the desk in the main lobby. “I have a personal matter I need to discuss with Dr. Gregory Higginbotham. Could you page him for me?”
“Certainly.” The receptionist picked up a telephone receiver, consulted a chart posted at her desk, and dialed his pager. “I’ll let you know when he calls.”
I leaned in and whispered. “Don’t tell him there’s a police officer here to see him. Tell him it’s a patient with a question, okay?”
She stared at me a moment as she mentally processed my request, and nodded nervously.
I stepped aside to get out of the way, but remained close enough to overhear the calls the woman took. When a call came in a few minutes later, she turned my way and waved her hand to indicate it was Dr. Higginbotham on the line. “There’s a patient here to see you. She says she has a question.” She paused for a moment. “I think she said her name was…” She glanced around, as if looking for inspiration. She found some on her desk, where an African violet rested in a small pot. “Violet. Violet Potter.”
Nice improvising. I gave her a thumbs-up.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell her.” She hung up the phone. “He’ll be right down.”
And we’ll be ready for him.
Brigit and I took up places against the wall next to the swinging doors that led from the hospital into the reception area. No sense letting him spot us through the window and attempt to escape out another entrance.
A minute or so later, the man we’d chased earlier in the day came through the doors. He glanced left and right ahead of him, but failed to notice me and Brigit behind him. He stopped at the reception desk. “Where’s Miss Potter?”
I walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Here I am.”
When he turned, the smile on his face turned into a gape and his eyes bulged. Before he could bolt, I reached out and grabbed his bicep. Below me, Brigit issued a warning growl. Grrrrr. “Don’t even think about it,” I whispered.
“How’d you—”
I held up his badge, which bore two puncture marks from Brigit’s teeth.
He groaned. “I was wondering where that went.”
I looked at his chest to see that he was wearing what appeared to be a recently minted replacement. After ordering him to turn around and affixing the cuffs to his wrists, I turned to the receptionist. “Get me someone from the hospital security team, please.”
She nodded and picked up her phone. “We need a security guard to reception,” she said into the receiver.
I squeezed my shoulder radio and called for transport. I also let Dr. Higginbotham make a call to one of the other doctors in his practice to let him know he’d need to put an early end to his golf game and cover the remaining rounds.
While we waited for security and transport to arrive, Brigit and I stood guard over the doctor. He stared at the tile floor in an attempt to hide his face from the patients and other medical workers going in and out of the facility. There were whispers and murmurs among the staff, people wondering what was going on. They’ll figure it out soon enough.
Shortly after security arrived, transport also arrived in the form of Summer and Derek Mackey. They must have been close by. While Summer waited in the cruiser in the drop-off area outside, Derek came into the building, walked up to the doctor, and looked him up and down. “What’s the charge? He kill someone or something?”
“Misdemeanor theft and resisting arrest.”
Derek scoffed. “What did he steal?”
“Grape Tootsie Pops.”
He looked from me to the doctor. “No shit?”
“No feces at all.”
Derek scoffed. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
As Derek led Dr. Higginbotham out to his cruiser, I turned to the security guard and asked to search the doctor’s locker. He led me to a dressing room for male staff at the end of the hallway, made sure those inside were decent, and allowed me to enter. He opened Dr. Higginbotham’s locker with a master key. Sure enough, I found a dozen grape suckers inside. Also a number of stethoscopes, blood pressure cuffs, thermometers, and other medical supplies and equipment, many of which bore the names of other doctors or nurses.
The security guard whistled when he saw the stash of stolen property. “This guy’s got a real problem.”
Maybe now he’d get help for it.
* * *
By the end of the day Friday, the crime scene techs had called me with confirmation. Unfortunately, it was confirmation that the GPS device had no prints on it. Whoever had put it in Adriana’s car had been careful to wipe the device clean. Still, even without prints, it seemed clear, to me at least, that Ryan must have put it there. He seemed to be the only person with both a motive to do so and access to Adriana’s car. When he began to sense that their relationship was failing, he could’ve snuck her keys out of her purse and planted the device.
I spoke with Detective Bustamente before heading out for my swing shift. “What did the prosecutor say? Does this change anything?”
“He said it might. He called the defense attorney to see if he wanted to work out a plea deal based on this new evidence. You’ll never guess what he came back with.”
“What?”
“He said after hearing about the device Ryan went out and checked his car. He claims he found one under his hood, too. Ryan brought it to his attorney’s office and the two of them drove his car here. Our tech guys removed it.”
“Was it the same model as the one in Adriana’s car? Or different?”
“Yep. They were the same.”
That likely meant the same person placed both of them. But who?
“Any prints on it?” I asked.
“Nope,” Bustamente replied. “It was clean.”
“So the evidence is inconclusive.”
“Yep. The DA said he’d try to get Downey to agree to a lesser charge, but if they don’t come to some kind of agreement soon he’s going to move on. He doesn’t think there’s enough evidence to get a conviction on any bigger charges.”
In other words, Ryan Downey would get away with just the citation I’d written him for reckless driving. I closed my eyes for a few seconds before releasing an elongated breath. “This has been an extremely frustrating investigation.”
Bustamente opened a drawer, pulled out a plastic container, and held it out to me. “Here. Have a piece of fudge. My wife made a fresh batch.”
I fished out a piece, said good-bye to Bustamente, and ate the fudge on the go. Dang, that’s some fine fudge.
On my way out the door, I was stopped by Melinda as I passed her sitting behind the front counter. Melinda was a bleached blonde in her forties, and she served a dozen or more roles around the station. She was the receptionist, office manager, and assistant to Captain Leone, who ran the station. She was also the keeper of keys to the supply cabinet and many little secrets about all of us officers. But while she’d gladly give you the keys if you could justify your need for yet another ballpoint pen or notepad, she wouldn’t share secrets to spare her life. Nope, definitely not a gossip.
She held out a thin manila envelope. “This just came in for you.”
I took the envelope from her, opened it, and pulled out the single sheet of paper inside. It was a subpoena issued by the lawyer Adriana had hired and it required me to be in family law court at 8:00 Monday morning. I would’ve voluntarily agreed to attend the hearing on her protective order, but I knew lawyers liked to make everything official, so I took no offense at the legal summons.
“Thanks, Melinda.” I folded the document and tucked it into my breast pocket.
“You were quite popular today.” She reached over to her stacked bins on the counter and pulled out another envelope. “This came for you, too.”
I opened the second envelope to find a virtually identical subpoena, though this one had been sent by Ryan’s attorney. Looked like everybody wanted a piece of me.
I drove by Adriana’s place to give her the news about the GPS. We spoke on her porch.
“There were no prints on the GPS in your car, and Ryan claims to have found a device in his car, too.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she cried. “He probably put it there!”
I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. “I really don’t know what to tell you at this point.”
“What does this mean for me?” she asked. “Is Ryan going to get off scot-free?”
“The DA’s trying to work out a plea deal.”
“A plea deal?” Her mouth gaped. “The guy threatens me with a gun and tries to run me off the road and they’re going to give him a plea deal?” She covered her face with her hands, as if unwilling to face this decision. “I’m going to end up dead, Officer Luz. I just know it.”
My stomach turned and twisted inside me, pangs of guilt cutting through as if my organs were being processed through her Cuisinart. “Is there somewhere else you can stay for a while?” I asked her. “Maybe with a friend?”
“I’m not particularly social,” she said. “I’m friendly enough with people at work but there’s nobody I’d feel comfortable staying with.”
“What about a vacation?” I asked. “Maybe you could go visit your parents for a few days, let things settle down.”
“Ryan and I spent a week in Austin in July,” she said, “and I took two days earlier this year for my cousin’s wedding. I’ve only got three vacation days left and I wanted to use them at Christmas.”
“How about a hotel?”
“I could afford a night or two, maybe,” she said. “But dietitians don’t make a lot of money, and staying in a hotel isn’t going to solve anything. I’d have to come home sometime. Then what?”
At that point, I was out of ideas.
“We’ll continue the patrols,” I assured her. “If he keeps this up, we’ll catch him sooner or later.”
Her face hardened. “No offense, Officer Luz. But that doesn’t make me feel better.” She said nothing more before turning and going back into her house.
I stared at her closed door. Was there anything more I could be doing to help her feel safe? I thought and thought and thought, but I couldn’t come up with a damn thing.
Woof? Brigit barked from the cruiser. Funny, even though it was only a sound and not a word, I could tell it was a question. She was probably wondering why I was standing there staring off into space. Hell, I was wondering the same thing. It was an exercise in futility.
* * *
As I poured food into Brigit’s bowl Saturday morning, I noticed we were running low. Once she’d crunched down her kibble and I’d polished off a bowl of equally noisy granola, I loaded her into the car to head to the pet-supply store.
To our delight, a local pet-rescue group was holding an adoption day on the front sidewalk. Cages and portable enclosures were lined up along the walkway. Brigit woofed and wagged her tail as we rolled by, searching for a parking spot.
On our way into the store, Brigit insisted on introducing herself to each of the dogs, which ranged in age from a trio of three-month-old boxer-mix puppies to a middle-aged collie to a twelve-year-old senior Scottish terrier. While Brigit and the dogs made canine small talk, I struck up a conversation with one of the volunteers who was holding an adorable fluffy dog who was mostly gray with touches of brown on her face. When the dog looked up at me with her bright brown eyes and wagged her tail I felt my heart melt.
I reached out a hand to ruffle the dog’s ears. “Who’s this cutie?”
“This is Maya,” the woman said. “Maya’s mother was a miniature Doberman pinscher and her father was a Maltese. She was my surprise Christmas present a few years ago. My husband claimed he didn’t think we had time for a puppy, but then I found her in a box under the tree Christmas morning. We’ve been inseparable since.” She went on to tell me that Maya’s addition to their family had not only brought her endless joy, but had also led her to an acute awareness of animal-welfare issues. The overpopulation problem. Puppy mills. Dogs left chained and unattended in yards for long, lonely days. “Now I foster dogs who are up for adoption. Maya is wonderful about welcoming them into our home. She’s calm and sweet and never jealous or resentful.”
“Pretty and sweet, huh?” I angled my head to indicate Brigit, who’d grabbed the end of a colorful rope hanging from the mouth of a pit bull for an impromptu game of tug-of-war. “My dog’s a stubborn pain in the butt with a squirrel obsession. Want to trade?” I was only joking, of course. I was as crazy about Brigit as this woman clearly was about her precious little Maya.
We shared a chuckle before I rounded up Brigit to go inside. “Good luck with the adoption day.”
“Thanks!”
I led Brigit inside where we filled a cart with a forty-pound bag of her favorite food and a nylon chew toy, as well as a catnip-filled mouse toy for Zoe. Three boxes of liver treats made their way into the basket, too. Brigit sure had been running through them lately. Of course she’d earned every one. I also grabbed a bottle of peach-scented flea shampoo. Nobody needed to know that particular purchase was for myself.
On our way out of the store, we were met with squeals of delight from two young boys whose parents had just given them the green light to adopt one of the boxer pups. Both the dog and the boys would have years of fun ahead of them, as well as new best friends. I gave Maya a final scratch under the chin. Yep, she’s irresistible. “Bye, sweetie pie.”
She wagged her tail and gave me and Brigit an arf in good-bye.
That afternoon, I left Brigit home with Zoe while Frankie, Zach, my sister Gabby, and I went to Frankie’s Roller Derby bout. Seth was working today, so he couldn’t come along. As I watched the women skate round and round and round the rink, I thought how similar it was to the stalking investigation. The case had me and Detective Bustamente going around in circles and seemingly had no end. Hell, at least in Derby they could keep score. I had no idea what the score was where Adriana Valdez and Ryan Downey were concerned. Only the two of them truly knew which of them had won each of their battles. The brick through the window. The woman with the red balloons. The sex-site profile. The visit to Toby at day camp. The car chase.
Frankie skated at warp speed, blowing by us in a blue-haired blur as we stood at the rail cheering her on. “Frank-ee! Frank-ee!”
Gabby pumped a fist in the air as she chanted along with us. She turned to me. “This looks like fun! Maybe I should give Roller Derby a try.”
Just then, another skater cut Frankie off and the two of them locked skates, wiping out, and slid across the polished wood, slamming into the half wall that surrounded the rink. Next to me, Gabby cringed. “Ouch! That had to hurt!”
Despite that fact, Frankie somehow made the fall look graceful, rising back up to her feet in a seamless motion.
I nudged Gabby with my elbow. “Still thinking you’ll give it a try?”
“Maybe I should give it some more thought first.”
We shared a laugh.
Zach turned to me. “I’m really glad you asked Seth to set up me and Frankie. I’ve never met any woman like her before.”
“You’ll never meet another one like her, either.”
Frankie was certainly unique. Fearless and ferocious, but with a soft and tender side, too.
“I worry about her,” he said. “You know, with the new job and all. Firefighting is such a dangerous profession.”
“Tell me about it,” I said. Not only was Seth a firefighter, but he served on the bomb squad, as well. The job came with a lot of risks. But the two of them had willingly accepted those risks, and if we wanted to be part of their lives, we had to accept them, too, even if it meant developing ulcers in the process. Besides, I supposed the risks of my job had given Seth a sleepless night on occasion.
We turned our attention back to the track. Frankie’s teammate Raven skated by, her dark hair pulled back in jaunty pigtails, the lights glinting off the multiple piercings in her ears. Mia, a petite Asian woman, followed her, looking both fierce and feminine in her pink skates and lacy fingerless gloves.
It was an exciting bout. The Fort Worth Whoop Ass and Shreveport She Devils were evenly matched, and the score went back and forth. As soon as the Whoop Ass got a lead, the She Devils would come from behind, score, and get ahead. But at the end of the bout the Whoop Ass emerged both bruised and victorious, the final score 161 to 158.
The teams exchanged sportswomanlike high fives on the track, rolling past each other in a procession before skating off. Zach, Gabby, and I exchanged our own high fives with Frankie as she skated over to us, sweaty and exhausted, but happy with the win. “That was a tough one!”
“You pulled it off, though,” I said. “Good job.”
After dropping Gabby back at my parents’ place, the rest of us returned to the house. Frankie spent a few minutes showering and freshening up before she and Zach took off for a dinner date, leaving me behind with only Brigit and Zoe for company. With Seth on a shift at the fire station, I’d be dateless tonight. Sigh.
I fixed myself an organic peanut butter sandwich on whole-wheat bread, making a second for Brigit. She and I curled up on the couch together to watch television.
After a half hour or so I realized that I was lonely, dammit. I’d always been a bit of a loner, a maverick who did just fine on her own. Not that I hadn’t had friends. But because of my childhood stutter I’d often kept both quiet and to myself. Even as my stutter abated as I grew older, I found the old habits hard to break. I’d attended events with groups of kids from band while in high school, and in college there had always been groups from the dorm to hang out with, but I’d never grown particularly attached to anyone. Now, though, I realized I’d grown attached to both Seth and Frankie, in different ways, of course, and for different reasons. But I had to admit I felt very lonesome here without one or the other of them to keep me company.
I looked over at Brigit, feeling a twinge of guilt. While I loved having her as a partner, there were some roles she simply couldn’t fulfill in my life. It dawned on me that she likely felt the same way. Maybe it was time to get another dog to keep her company when I wasn’t around, to be her friend in a way that only another canine could. Of course if Seth moved in, like he seemed to be doing even though he wasn’t acknowledging it, we might soon be sharing the house with him and Blast on a regular basis.
Despite my loneliness tonight, I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. Moving in together would be a big step, not to mention that I already had Frankie to think about.
Oh, well. None of these things had to be decided tonight.
It also dawned on me that Adriana must feel lonely like this a lot. Even if she was an introvert, everybody needed someone, even if only on occasion. With Ryan out of her life now, even if it had been her choice, she must be feeling this same type of emptiness and heartache. On top of that feeling, she had the fear that Ryan might be out to kill her. I could only imagine how awful it would be to live with that kind of thing hanging over you. I hoped my fellow officers who were out on patrol tonight were keeping an eagle eye on her place.
* * *
The following week I was back on the night shift. Ugh. The only good thing about it was that it would give me the chance to keep close tabs on both Adriana’s house and Ryan’s apartment. While I knew the other cops in W1 wanted to keep everyone safe under our watch, the situation between these two was personal to me given how involved I’d been. I couldn’t help but think that I’d pay a little more attention than anyone else, be the most likely to notice something that was awry.
But first things first. And first thing Monday morning I had to appear in family law court. I’d been subpoenaed by Adriana’s attorney to testify on her behalf in the hearing on her protective order. Of course Ryan and his attorney had come to fight the order. If the judge granted the order, Ryan would no longer be allowed to possess a gun. Besides, these types of things could follow a person for life. It wasn’t something to be taken lightly.
Family law court had to be one of the most depressing places on earth, the portal to hell. It was where dreams of happily-ever-afters were crushed, where once-loving relationships were officially and finally severed, where children were legally—and sometimes physically—torn from one parent and given to another. The place was a maelstrom of rage, grief, disappointment, and despair. In other words, it sucked. Big-time.
When Brigit and I walked into the crowded room, the effect of all those people and their negative emotions were suffocating. I had to pause for a moment to mentally adjust. As we stopped, Brigit’s tags jingled. The people turned to see what had caused the noise and spotted my partner.
I’d been in family law court before, but that was before I’d been partnered with Brigit. As it turned out, a furry, friendly dog was like a breath of fresh air in the room. People who’d been scowling or holding tissue to their crying eyes before now smiled and pointed at Brigit, telling their children to look at the “doggie.”
We made our way slowly up the aisle, stopping to let everyone who wanted to pet Brigit have a chance. By the time we made it to a seat on the second row, she’d had dozens of hands on her and a couple of Cheerios were stuck to her fur, but she’d enjoyed every second of it. She also enjoyed licking the Cheerios from her back. I admired my partner for many reasons, but her ability to be not only fierce and formidable, but also sweet and loving, was definitely one of them. Some police dogs couldn’t be trusted to be touched and hugged, but Brigit ate that stuff up. She was an incredibly intelligent animal, with good instincts. Hell, sometimes I thought she was smarter and had better instincts than me. I know the same thought crossed her mind on occasion, too. The disdainful looks she sometimes sent me said it all. Oh, you poor, stupid human. What would you do without me? Fortunately, she forgave my faults and failures.
I slid onto a bench to await instruction, Brigit lying on the floor at my feet. Both Adriana and Ryan were already seated at opposing tables at the front of the room. Adriana had sucked it up and hired an attorney this time. She’d been smart to do so. Only fools tried to represent themselves. The two stared straight ahead, not casting so much as a glance in the direction of the other, probably on the advice of their attorneys. Still, Adriana’s shrunken posture said how uncomfortable she felt to be here. Ryan, on the other hand, sat up tall and rigid in his seat, seemingly both confident and angry at the same time.
While the male judge looked down on her, passive and expressionless, Adriana’s attorney stated their request for a protective order and, in support thereof, began to run through the events of the past few weeks.
“A brick was thrown through my client’s bedroom window,” she said. “Given that my client has no conflicts with anyone else, we believe Mr. Downey had to be behind the incident.”
Ryan’s attorney leaped to his feet. “Your Honor, Mr. Downey was not arrested for the incident and there is no solid proof he committed that act of vandalism. To say he threw the brick is pure conjecture and speculation.”
Given that conjecture and speculation were synonyms, I thought the attorney’s words were redundant and repetitive, but who am I to judge? The judge was to judge, not me.
The judge looked from Ryan’s attorney back to Adriana’s. “Go on, please.”
“The brick was only the first of a series of stalking incidents, which became progressively more threatening and dangerous.” She looked back to where I sat in the gallery. “Your Honor, I’d like to call Officer Megan Luz to the stand, please. She’s the officer who responded to the various calls and is familiar with the police department’s investigation.”
The judge waved me up. “Come on up, Officer Luz.”
I led Brigit over to the witness stand, where I raised my hand like a dutiful Girl Scout. Brigit looked up at me and raised her paw, too.
“Do you promise to tell the truth,” the bailiff asked, “the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
Truth. What an elusive concept. When you only knew parts of the truth, those parts could be misleading and taken out of context. If only I had complete knowledge of what the hell was going on between Adriana and Ryan and who was at fault. Then I could set the record straight, enforce the law. But I knew that even if the facts I had were incomplete, it was all the court had to go on. I was the only unbiased witness here.
I answered the bailiff’s question. “I do.”
As if she, too, were swearing to tell the truth, Bright let out a bark. Woof-woof!
The bailiff reached down and ruffled her ears.
Adriana’s attorney launched into a line of questions for me. “You collected a pair of shoes and a brick from outside Mr. Downey’s apartment the night my client’s window was broken, correct?”
“I did.”
“And the Fort Worth PD’s crime scene lab determined that Mr. Downey’s shoes had been used to make the prints on the patio behind the house leased by Ms. Valdez.”
“That is correct.” Of course, they weren’t certain the prints had been made naturally, or whether they’d been faked. My gaze reflexively went to Ryan’s attorney, anticipating that he would raise the issue.
As expected, he leaped from his seat with an objection. “No arrest was made after that incident, Your Honor. In fact, the crime scene team concluded it was probable the prints had been manufactured.”
“Possible,” I corrected him. “Not probable.”
The judge looked down and admonished me. “Only speak in response to a question, Officer Luz.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge looked at Adriana’s attorney. “Continue.”
She eyed me and asked another question. “The brick you collected from Mr. Downey’s apartment was the same brand and type as the one that had been thrown through Ms. Valdez’s window, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When she moved on to the next incident, the judge said, “Let’s take these events one by one, okay? Otherwise I’m going to have a hard time keeping it all straight.” When the two attorneys murmured in agreement, he looked to Ryan’s counsel. “You got anything else you want to ask about the broken-window incident?”
He stood. “I do.” He gestured at Brigit. “Did you have your dog track that night?”
“I did,” I said. “She sniffed around but seemed to only go to the side fence and around the yard and kitchen door.”
“So that meant whoever had thrown the brick came from inside the house,” he said.
It was a statement, not a question, but I knew in this instance the judge would want me to correct the attorney. “Not necessarily,” I replied. “The person could have gone over the fence into the adjacent yard. Unfortunately, the neighboring gate was locked. I shined my flashlight over the fence but didn’t see anyone.”
“No arrests were made in relation to the broken window; isn’t that true, Officer Luz?” he asked.
“That’s correct.”
Ryan’s attorney indicated he had no further questions about the window and sat down.
Adriana’s attorney glanced back at the courtroom full of families and addressed the judge. “Your Honor, could you ask the parents to cover their children’s ears for just a moment?”
“This ought to be good.” He banged his gavel to get the attention of everyone in the gallery. Bam-bam. “Cover your kids’ ears or take them outside,” he instructed. “We’ve got some adult content to discuss.”
Once the parents had either cupped their hands over their kids’ ears or shuffled them out the door, he waved his gavel at Adriana’s attorney to indicate she could continue.
“We believe Mr. Downey is behind a later incident in which a profile of Ms. Valdez was entered into a cell phone app known as Kinky Cowtown.”
The judge’s brows lifted. “Did you say Kinky Cowtown?”
The two male bailiffs exchanged glances from either side of the room, both of them fighting grins.
“I did, sir,” Adriana’s attorney continued. “It’s a site people use to find sexual partners who live in the area. A photo of Ms. Valdez was uploaded to the site along with her address and a request that men who responded bring both a leather whip and marshmallow whip.”
The bailiff on the right couldn’t take it. He snorted in an attempt to rein in a guffaw, but tried to cover his blunder with a cough. I supposed I might find the situation humorous, too, if I hadn’t seen firsthand how terrified Adriana had been when creep after creep had come to her house looking to hook up with her.
Again, Ryan’s attorney argued that there was no proof Ryan had committed the crime. “In fact,” he said, “the tech specialists with the Fort Worth Police Department determined that the profile had been uploaded via the server at the rehabilitation center where Ms. Valdez works. Isn’t that right, Officer Luz?”
“That is correct,” I replied.
Adriana’s attorney pointed out that Ryan had accessed the rehab center’s Wi-Fi system at a previous time and could have retained the information he’d need to log into it remotely.
Ryan’s attorney scoffed. “That seems awfully farfetched, wouldn’t you agree, Officer Luz?”
Hell, I didn’t know if it was far-fetched or not. I barely understood how the technology would work.
Before I could respond, Adriana’s attorney objected. “He’s asking for an opinion, not facts, Your Honor.”
The judge agreed the question was objectionable and didn’t require me to answer it.
Over the next half hour, the two went back and forth over every event, pulling me metaphorically back and forth between them as if engaged in a game of legal tug-of-war. Yes, I’d questioned Adriana regarding the woman with the balloons who’d come to Ryan’s complex and attempted to gain access to his apartment. No, I had not arrested her afterward. No, I hadn’t arrested Ryan the first time Adriana had called about him following her. Yes, I’d seen Ryan swerve toward Adriana’s car in his Camaro. Yes, I’d found a loaded gun, ammunition, zip ties, and duct tape in his car. Yes, the gun was within his reach. Yes, I’d decided to have him arrested that particular night. Yes, I’d found a GPS device affixed to Adriana’s engine. No, prints were not found on the device.
Adriana’s attorney mentioned that charges were still pending against Ryan relating to the night of the car chase. “He’s likely to be found guilty of various charges,” she said, “including assault. He should’ve been charged with attempted murder, if you ask me.”
“Well, we didn’t ask you!” snapped Ryan’s attorney.
The judge raised his gavel in warning. “Speak to me, not each other. I’ll not tolerate rude behavior in my courtroom.” He pointed the gavel at Ryan’s attorney to let him know he now had the floor.
“The prosecutor offered a plea deal. Six months’ probation for attempted vehicular assault.” The attorney forced a chuckle. “They obviously know they can’t prove anything more. We’re not planning on accepting the offer. They’ll end up dropping the case.”
“They don’t know that,” Adriana’s attorney said sharply. While her eyes were on the judge, it was clear her comment was directed at Ryan’s lawyer.
The judge let this one slide and instead turned to me. “Has the police department closed the investigation?”
“We’re not actively pursuing other suspects or witnesses,” I told him, “but we’re planning to continue having extra patrols drive by both of their residences.”
“For how long?”
As long as it takes. “Indefinitely.”
The judge sat back, the handle of his gavel in one hand, the head in the other, as he contemplated his decision. Still hunched, Adriana leaned forward in her seat, her face pained and pensive. Ryan’s face, on the other hand, looked slightly smug.
His smugness didn’t last long.
The judge looked my way. “The gun he had in his car is still in the possession of the police department, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s in the evidence locker along with the ammunition, zip ties, duct tape, box cutter, and bandana.”
The judge turned away and gave Ryan a pointed look. “Do you own another gun, Mr. Downey?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I bought another one over the weekend.”
Wow. He hadn’t wasted any time replacing the weapon we’d seized, had he?
The judge said, “I’m granting the protective order. Mr. Downey, be aware this means you cannot possess a gun until such time as the order is revoked.” He banged his gavel once to indicate the finality of his decision. “Officer Luz, I order you to take custody of Mr. Downey’s weapon.”
Ryan’s mouth gaped and he turned to his attorney. “What the hell?” he shrieked.
The attorney quickly silenced him, and whispered in his ear. I wasn’t sure what he said to Ryan, but whatever it was didn’t seem to sit well. He shoved his chair under the table after they stood, taking his anger out on the furniture.
I nodded to Adriana and her attorney as I followed Ryan and his lawyer out of the courtroom and across the street to the parking garage where he’d left his car. We took the steps up to the second floor. Ryan wore no smirk now. In fact, his countenance bore more than a little trepidation. Was he scared of how the protective order might affect his life? Or was he scared of Adriana? How I wished I could get inside his head and find out!
As we approached the Camaro, I asked, “Is the gun in the console like the one you had the other night?”
“Yeah,” Ryan said softly, sounding a little choked up.
“You unlock the doors,” I said. “I’ll get the gun.” No way in hell would I let him reach in for it. He might turn around and blast me in the face. That would be a closed-casket funeral.
He stood back several feet with his attorney and aimed his fob at the car. Bleep-bleep. Click.
I instructed Brigit to sit. Keeping one eye on Ryan, I opened the car and, as quickly as I could, grabbed his gun and the new box of ammo he’d purchased.
He looked at me, his expression troubled. “If she comes after me, and I can’t defend myself, it’ll be all your fault, Officer Luz.”
Oh hell no. He wasn’t going to lay responsibility for his or Adriana’s actions on me. “All I did was tell the truth.”
“You don’t know the truth!”
“Then tell me.”
“Dammit!” he screamed, bringing his fists down on the trunk of his car. “I’ve tried!”
His attorney looked at me. “I think it’s best you leave now.”
I thought that was best, too.