Case of the Poodle Doodle

by Erik Schubach

  “You too, Angelo. Say hi to Courtney for me.”

  “Will do.”

  I hadn't got more then three steps inside the hall that divided the professional office spaces of businesses that shared the building with the gallery, when someone stepped down off the steps halfway down the length. “Finnegan! What are you doing here! I told you not to... what's wrong?”

  My mouth was working, but nothing was coming out as my eyes bulged at Detective Jane McLeary-May as she strode toward me in a shimmering black evening gown, and matching stiletto heels. It was an Andre Garramond if I've ever seen one, and it draped elegantly off her womanly assets. It was a ten thousand dollar dress, and the shoes alone would have paid for most of my sundress collection.

  Her ears, wrist, and neck were adorned with sparkling gemstones set in white gold jewelry, her hair pulled up in an elegant bun to showcase her long and graceful neck, and she was made up to look like a runway model out of my wildest fantasies.

  I mean, I've seen Jane in a dress, twice. But this elegant creature standing before me, with her elbow-length shimmering black gloves and clutch purse was... I don't think I've ever been more aroused in my entire life.

  The frustration, annoyance, and protectiveness creasing her face bled away as she approached, replaced by something more carnal and seductive. She reached up and closed my mouth for me as she purred, “You like? Got it from the undercover unit so that I could blend in at the showing. But if I even lose a sequin, I'm sure my paycheck is going to be nonexistent for quite some time.”

  I blinked again, as Calvin sniffed at her and sat. I whispered out in awe, “You could never blend in like this. All eyes are going to be on you.” I swallowed when I realized I was salivating.

  She booped my nose with a finger, then her smile was instantly replaced with a scowl. “Now, do you mind telling me why you're here when I expressly told you not to be?”

  I blinked again... I was doing a lot of that. Then I stepped back, saying hoarsely, “Just a sec.” Then I pulled out my cell, and before she realized what I was doing, I took a picture of her with Calvin sitting regally at her feet.

  “Fin!”

  “Nobody's going to believe me.”

  She growled out as she grabbed at my phone. I smirked at her and drank her in again as I said in my most innocent tone, “Sorry, too late. I texted it to our family group.”

  She muttered to the sky, “For fuck's sake.” Then she looked at me. “I'm going to kill you, brat.”

  “I'd die happy.” Then more seriously, “Jane, you're a vision.”

  Did the tough as nails detective just blush? She sputtered, “Finnegan?”

  I sighed and stepped over to a fainting couch which was part of the décor of the entry hall and took her hand gently and sat. She sat next to me, crossing her legs at the ankle, almost demurely. Mind out of the gutter, Fin... mind out of the gutter. No matter how much you want to, you can't tear her clothes off here.

  Once I took a deep breath to center myself, I started to explain. “While I was out walking my clients today, I came across some interesting information about Darryl Beckett.” Before she could reprimand me, I held up a hand to stop her as Calvin curled up on my feet. “I wasn't looking for it! It was just in my news feed when I was catching up at lunch. The current events feed highlighted the art showing here tonight.”

  She exhaled and nodded once, indicating I was only in a little bit of trouble, not a lot. I continued, “It mentioned that Mr. Beckett is not a New York native. He moved here two years ago to finish his art degree.” I paused, and she looked at me as if there was more. I smiled as I watched it soak in. She was damn good at her job, and a moment later, her eyes widened, and she looked to the southwest as if she could see Hell's Kitchen.

  I started to navigate to my photo albums, when she placed a hand on my arm and touched her ear then stood as she said, “Affirmative.” Then she looked down the long hall and asked, “Flannery?” She listened a moment, and I realized I could see the earbud in her left ear. She sighed and said, “I'll check the roof access after I get Finnegan out of here. Yes... What? It would be like juggling rabid ferrets man, you try. That's what I thought, putz.” She was smiling.

  I squinted an eye at her and asked, “I'm not the rabid ferrets, am I? If so, then someone's not getting any tonight.”

  She was pulling me to my feet and dragging me back toward the building entrance, Cal's nails clicking on the polished marble floors. “Higgs was spotted in the area a couple minutes ago, but the spotters lost him, Flannery has the back door covered. Time for errant dog walkers to vamoose.”

  I was holding up my cell, “But...”

  “No, butts, love. I don't care if you think he's harmless. I won't have you put in harm's way. You can show me what you found later.” Her expression showed no compromise, and I exhaled in frustration. Just as we reached the door, which Angelo started to open for us, we heard shouting down the hall behind us.

  Jane was spinning pulling her gun from the little clutch to hold down along her leg as she hissed at me, “Get out now. We'll talk later.”

  Then she was rushing down the hall and entering the glass doors on the right, into the Uptown Gallery, her heels clicking rapidly as she went. She looked like some sort of glamorous super spy just then. Equal parts beautiful and dangerous.

  I saw her raise her gun as she slipped in, calling out, “NYPD, drop the knife, Higgs. Don't make this any worse, sergeant.”

  My heart was racing. I went chasing after her. “Jane, don't.” I came skidding to a halt when Detective Sean Flannery, Jane's sometimes partner, raced down the hall from the other direction with a uniformed officer. He gave me 'the look' then dashed into the gallery. Were all cops issued that same jerk cop warning look when they graduated from the academy? I harrumphed down at Calvin and followed them through the door in defiance.

  It was all out chaos in there, Beckett was screaming, “Shoot him, he tried to kill me!” Guns were drawn, the gallery workers were gathered behind Beckett, eyes wide. Jane was kicking away a large combat knife sitting on the floor in front of Sergeant Higgs, who was on his knees, hands clasped behind his head under one of three paintings which had long gashes through them. A fourth of those emotion evoking canvases was undamaged in the grouping.

  Higgs called out as he cooperated as Jane tucked her gun in the sash of her dress and produced cuffs from somewhere to cuff him, “Oh cool your jets, you fuckin' plagiarizing asswipe. I never once threatened you or anyone else. As much as I'd like to for you trying to pass my pain off as your own.”

  I noted on all the paintings, at the corners, there was a stylized signature adoring them. D. Beckett. My eyes scanned the paintings, one which I remember from the loft. It hadn't had this signature on it before as it sat near the door covered in a heavy layer of dust. I stared at the painting, then that signature, realizing something was off.

  Jane was asking Higgs politely, “Go ahead and stand Staff Sergeant.” Then she swung a finger toward Beckett who was hysterical as he screamed accusations that Higgs was trying to kill him to steal his work, and to shoot him because he was dangerous and had attacked him before. Was he trying to get Higgs killed? She growled out, “Someone, please shut him the fuck up!”

  Flannery holstered his sidearm and walked over to the group of people to calm the red-faced man as the uniformed officer stepped over beside Higgs who was saying to Jane, “Oh for fuck's sake, just check the gallery surveillance video. I never went near pussy boy. I came here to make sure he couldn't sell my art.”

  That shut up the squealing man, and I noticed that Floof was hiding under a display table, tail tucked between his legs, stressed out over all the yelling. I hustled over with Calvin to soothe the poor baby.

  Jane saw me and snapped, “Fin!”

  I challenged her, “I'm here for the dog. He's scared to death!”

  One of the Gallery personnel said to Flannery, “He's destroyed three Darryl Be
ckett originals.”

  I spun on my heel as I kept stroking Floof's ears while he and Calvin, went about cleaning each other's jowls, tails wagging. “No, Sergeant Higgs destroyed his own works.”

  Beckett snapped out, “I painted those.”

  I looked at him incredulously and asked, “Are you really going to maintain the lie? It's over, Beckett. It would be to easy to have someone have both of you paint a fresh canvas to show whose art this really is. But they don't need to with all the holes in your lies.”

  Jane was walking over, warning, “Finnegan. Stop.”

  Higgs chuckled. “Let her go, she's on a roll.”

  I challenged her with a glare. She held her hands up in frustrated surrender as I stalked over to Mr. Beckett, leaving Cal to deal with Floof. I knew I could do something she couldn't, get the man to talk without reading any rights. “You say these paintings are yours?”

  He snapped out, “Damn right.”

  I muttered to myself, “Heh, interesting choice of words, saying right. I'll get to that in a second.” To him, I prompted, “How long have you lived in New York out of curiosity?”

  He smirked like I was making a mistake. “Two years. I finished my art degree here so that I could create this art.” He indicated the damaged display with a hand.

  “You've never been in Manhattan before that?”

  He exhaled like I were simple and said, “No. But I live here now. I rent a studio loft in Hell's Kitchen. You've seen it, filled with my art... where this sick fuck attacked and nearly killed me.”

  I pulled out my cell and stepped up to the curators and started scrolling through the pictures I had taken earlier. “Then how has your art shown up on buildings here for over a decade? Including on the remains of a building that was torn down almost a decade back? And on a display in the Bronx dated ten years ago?”

  The curator's eyes widened, and they looked over at the man who was at a loss for words. I turned my head and waved from my hip and smoothed out my skirt as I said, “Hello, Staff Sergeant Higgs.”

  The man was all smiles for me as he inclined his head, “Mrs. McLeary-May. I take it this is that cop wife of yours?” I nodded, and he said appreciatively, “Hat's off.”

  I beamed at him and then asked, “Right-handed?”

  His brow furrowed up in confusion as he nodded. I spun back to Beckett, causing my dress to flair as I stated, “I noticed when you signed the release paperwork for Floof here, that you're left handed. And I see your signature on those canvases there are done with a left-handed brush stroke.”

  He was still responding like he was speaking to a simpleton, “So what? A lot of people are left-handed, it isn't a crime.”

  I shrugged and said, “Of course not, but it might be when you are adding your signature to the artwork that was clearly done with right-handed brush strokes. If it's not illegal, at the very least it is morally bankrupt. Though I am pretty sure selling someone else's art as your own qualifies as fraud at the very least.”

  Higgs made a hissing sound and said, “Ooo that must sting a bit, fraud-boy.”

  The woman I took as the senior curator was hustling over to the paintings, and she scrutinized them as she said absently, “She's right.” Then she turned an accusing glare toward Beckett.

  I told him as I raised a foot to stomp his, “And to fake an attack? If Higgs had thrown you over the railing, how did you land directly down on a coffee table that was half under the loft? You probably didn't expect it to break and injure yourself more severely than you anticipated when you hung down from the railing and let go.”

  I started to bring my foot down as I said, “Shame on you,” but Sean was faster than me and pulled the man toward him, causing me to miss. Damn.

  Flannery turned him around. “Darryl Beckett, your under arrest for fraud. And I'm sure once we investigate, we'll add a few more charges.”

  The man was almost squealing. “I want to speak with my lawyer.”

  Sean droned on, “You have the right to remain silent... and please do, your whining is giving me a headache... anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” He continued reading him his rights as he led him out in cuffs.

  Higgs called out, “Hooah, Finnegan!”

  I smiled at him as Jane told the uniform, “Separate cars. Treat this man with respect, he served our country.” The officer nodded, and Jane said to the Sergeant, “I'm sorry, but I'm sure you understand that we have to bring you in until we sort this clusterfuck out.”

  He gave her a nod in the affirmative and told her, “You've a hell of a woman on your hands there.”

  Jane chuckled and said, “Among other things. I'll see you at the station, Staff Sergeant.”

  I told him, “I'm almost positive it isn't illegal to destroy your own art. My lawyer will be at the Precinct for you when you get there.” I was already texting Polly as Jane snorted and shook her head at me.

  She exhaled and was about to read me the riot act, but I blurted, “Nothing to see here, I'm just here for the dog. And looks like you need Animal Control, oh would you look at that, I'm already here. I'll be taking Floof. Have a nice night, detective.”

  She sighed and said, “I thought I told you not to show up here tonight.”

  I said tongue in cheek, testing the waters, “Good thing I did though, someone had to do your job.” I gave her a cheesy grin, and she just sighed again, dropping her head and shaking it again.

  She said almost formally, “Mrs. McLeary-May, if you would accompany me to the precinct, I have a few questions for you.”

  I stabbed a finger at her. “You're not arresting me again!”

  She smirked. “Interfering with an ongoing police investigation?”

  I growled. Then said, “You can't have me until I drop Floof off at CPT.”

  “Fair enough, I'll give you a ride after I speak with the gallery people.”

  I nodded and exhaled. Then I started swishing side to side and whispered, “You look so beautiful tonight.” Then I basked in her blush as she turned to do her job. I whispered out, “Could you borrow that dress for another day?” She cackled evilly. I had the most amazing wife ever!

  Epilogue

  Beckett wound up confessing to everything. Though to be spiteful, he did have Sergeant Higgs charged with the only thing he could, misdemeanor trespass, since he had entered his loft without permission. Polly is pushing to see that he doesn't get any jail time, and only pays a fine, which an anonymous donor will help him with, thank you very much, and a few hours of community service at none other than Central Park Tails dog rescue.

  It seems that after graduating a few months back, Beckett decided he had a better chance in Manhattan of finding a position in commercial art, which he had gone to school for, than back home in Oregon. So he tried to find an apartment here. The only one he could find, without having to have roommates to mitigate the outlandish cost of living here, was in the mostly abandoned building in Hell's Kitchen.

  The building owner said the previous tenant had disappeared six or seven years back and nobody had been interested since. Beckett was surprised to find all of Sergeant Higgs' things still there, including all of the paintings the poor man had painted to try to relieve himself of his emotional pain.

  When he showed the art to some people, he realized what a valuable stash he had stumbled upon, and started telling everyone that he had painted them. The lie snowballed, as people told him that he should contact the local galleries and set up showings to display and sell it.

  It was the perfect plan, he had hundreds of canvases he could sell for years and be set for life, and nobody would be the wiser since the artist had disappeared the better part of a decade before.

  What he hadn't counted on, was that Higgs was released from the psychiatric facility, and would try to stop him from claiming the art as his own. He had hoped his ruse of the attack and the fact that the sergeant had been committed would work in his f
avor to make anyone discount Higgs' assertion that he had been the one to paint the canvases.

  Jane thinks the judge will be lenient on Beckett since his record is clean. Fraud, filing a false police report, and fencing stolen goods would give him two to seven years normally. Jane thinks he'll only do like eighteen months to two years then be released on parole since the prisons are overcrowded.

  I introduced Higgs to the owner of the building he had painted the mural in the alley on. They hired him to paint murals on five of their buildings throughout the city at a generous salary. He'd have steady employment for at least the next two or three years.

  That left the problem of Floof. Beckett's parents aren't interested in coming to New York for the dog, so we found a great solution. After working with veteran's affairs, to find the intrepid staff sergeant affordable housing, Central Park Tails started training Floof to be an emotional support working dog and placed him with Higgs. I saw how being around the dog seemed to ease that pain in the man's eyes. So he and Floof were a smart match.

  Luce was on my cell, prompting, “Are any liquids isolated in a separate quart size bag?”

  “Check.”

  “No liquid greater than three point four ounces?”

  I grinned. “Check.”

  She was going down the checklist we had come up with, for Jane and my travel to Northern Ireland, which Luce and I had devised and printed out then laminated. She was giddy to have access to the laminator in the business office at the girl's home now.

  This was our third time through, just to make sure. Jane, Jess, Kerry, Mom, Garrett, Becky, and Alyx were gathered in our apartment to see us off. Oscar and Killer were busy somewhere, saying goodbye to Calvin.

  It was such a relief to find that the quarantine laws for pets had changed drastically in the past decade, and now all that was required was proof of Calvin's shots. And because he was a service animal, he could travel in the cabin with everyone else instead of being treated like luggage in the belly of the plane in a cage.