Case of the Great Danish

by Erik Schubach

  It isn't like I've ever got my partner shot or anything, besides that first time the day after I landed my detective's badge. But that wasn't my fault, and Graves doesn't blame me either. At least not to my face. He had said to wait for backup when the murder suspect we had been staking out, bolted.

  Of course, I didn't listen and dashed after the man, yelling out, “Stop! Police!” The asshat spun on us with a weapon and fired. I ran the little bastard down in fifty yards. It was when I was kneeling on his back, knee to his spine and slapping cuffs on him, that I looked back to see Dan leaning against our car, hand to his side, with blood oozing out between his fingers, that I realized he was hit.

  Ok, so maybe it was my brashness that got him his very own flesh wound. And maybe that's why I prefer to work alone when I can, so nobody else gets hurt. But it was a good collar, and we stopped the asswipe from hurting anyone else.

  But sometimes you need extra sets of eyes. Flannery always bitches about it, but he always comes through for me. It may be because he's just as big a pain in the ass as I am. Now here I was eating up his family time with a wild assed guess. But Mrs. Havermail needed justice, who would speak for her if we didn't do this? It's some really fucked up shit to die on Christmas because some reprobate stole your dog, and I wasn't going to let that stand.

  I checked the time as I rubbed an ear with my other hand, rolling the practically frozen lobe between chilly fingers and almost snorted. If I had gloves and earmuffs like Fin, neither would be so friggin' cold. I could imagine the endless teasing at the station if I caved to her pressure and wore some. It would destroy my reputation as a stone cold ice queen, and I had to work twice as hard for the respect from the other detectives and our superiors as the men did.

  It was almost twenty after and there had only been two people through the lobby of the hotel in the past hour, neither of them even looking around, and just heading to the elevators to go up to their rooms. So unless the perpetrator had a room at the hotel and Mrs. Havermail knew about it, I figured this was a bust. Hell, the storm could have put a damper on the dognapper's parade.

  I radioed Sean, “Looks like he's a no-show. Why don't you get back to your family? I'll revisit the scene and the evidence tomorrow to see if there is a new angle we can work.”

  I had to grin as he growled back, “Fuckin' waste of a perfectly good holiday. You owe me, McLeary.”

  I nodded to myself, yes, I did, and I guarantee he won't let me forget it. I added, “Thanks, Sean. Tell Kjerstin and the kids I'm sorry to have taken you away from your celebration.”

  After a second of silence, the Flannery not everyone saw responded, “Any time, Jane. Catch you tomorrow.”

  I sighed. Well, this was a total waste of time I could have spent with a certain sexy dog walker in my arms. God, that woman's smile was always on my mind. I caught myself absently twisting the ring I wasn't used to on my finger. I, was engaged.

  If you would have asked me a year ago if I thought it possible, then Jessie would have come to mind. But now, it wasn't just an idea I would entertain. It was an all-consuming joy that this ring tied me to the most impulsive, reckless, clumsy, contrary and argumentative, beautiful, loving, intelligent woman I have ever met.

  Don't get me wrong, I had loved Jessie too. It is odd how two different loves can be so completely different and all-consuming. Where my relationship with Jess was an explosive physical thing, punctuated with these amazing glimpses into the woman beneath her armor of sarcasm and confidence, my time with Fin was something that had this fire growing and growing. And just when I think it couldn't get any more intense, the fire redoubles again. Fin doesn't hide any part of herself behind any shields, and she is not afraid of me in any way.

  I once thought I had a type, now I'm not so sure since besides both being smart and hot as hell, they are almost polar opposites and I fell in love with both. And the short and feminine women were never my thing, but Fin is all I can think about now. If it came down to just one thing, I think it is that I am in love with her heart, which seems to have this effect on people, and it has endeared her to so many that she just naturally stumbles into success.

  At first glance, I had thought, “Here's a naive girl who came to New York City with big dreams, and is going to be eaten alive by it.” But after speaking with the defiant girl, I learned there was a hell of a lot more to the woman that I could imagine. When Finnegan May set foot in Manhattan, she took the city by storm inside of a week. I wish I had her strength.

  I faux saluted Sean as he came out the front doors, looked at me, and flipped me off. He grinned and headed toward his car as I headed inside. It wouldn't hurt to see if I could find a friendly manager or concierge who would supply me with a list of guests without a subpoena. It would save me twenty-four hours on the investigation. I know it was a long shot, but it pays to be thorough.

  The heat hit me like a wave as I entered, making me want to surrender to it. Damn it was frigid out there. It was rare to have two blizzards so closely stacked like this, and worse, the weather service said there was a third chugging its way along the coast toward us.

  I took just a moment to bask in the welcomed heat, but just a moment. As soon as I did this, I could get back home to my... fiance. I could think of a lot of non-Christmas-like things I wanted to do to her. She squeaked adorably when I... wait, why am I telling you this? Don't egg me on like that.

  I approached the counter, and a well-coiffed thirty-something black woman leaning on the front desk with her elbows on the counter and chin rested on her fists, looking incredibly bored. She could easily have come from some sort of fashion weekly the way her hair flowed back over her shoulders. She saw me coming, and she stood quickly, straightened the hem on her impeccable uniform skirt and smiled at me.

  She was appraising me appreciatively as I stepped up to her without being obvious, it was only her eyes that moved slowly up me that gave her away. She was broadcasting on the rainbow frequency, and I slowly smiled at her. This just doubled my chances of getting the list from not at all to slim.

  I cocked my head at her as she said in a bubbly tone, “Hello, miss. Welcome to the Paris Suites, my name is Wendy, how may I help you?” Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a well-hidden flirt she was hoping I was picking up on. I know, I don't put off the lesbian vibe, or the straight vibe, since I am so used to putting up all my shields for my job.

  I let myself smile and was a little more obvious as I looked the pretty woman up and down. I cocked my hip, placing a hand on it beside my badge, drawing her eyes to it as I said, “Hi Wendy. I'm Detective McLeary, NYPD. But you...” I pointed at her and finished, “Can call me, Jane.”

  She straightened her blouse, looking impressed as she asked in a perky tone, “And what can the Paris Suites do for Manhattan's finest, Jane?”

  God, I felt like I was cheating on Fin by flirting like this. But it was ok, wasn't it?

  I mean Fin flirted with anything that moves, and that's one of the reasons I love her. She sees people in a unique light, and it is a black and white light too. Either she liked you, or she didn't. There was no middle ground. And if she liked you, she found you attractive, man, woman, or otherwise and she flirted almost sub-consciously. She always left people smiling in her wake.

  I told the eager, now overtly flirty woman, “I was wondering if you might be able to help me out. I'm investigating the death of a woman and was hoping I could get a peek at your guest list to see if any names pop with me. I won't be able to get a subpoena today, it being a holiday and all, but I'm trying to bring the people responsible for such a tragic event to justice.”

  Her eyes widened, and she leaned closer to me over the counter, whispering in intrigue, “Murder?”

  I gave an exaggerated sigh. “I'm sorry. I can't talk about an ongoing investigation, Wendy. I'm sure you understand.” I nodded, getting her to nod too. That was an old trick Jess taught me.

  She looked around and whispered, “I'm
really not supposed to. Only if we have a court order.” Then she turned the monitor beside her so I could see the screen as she typed on a virtual keyboard that was part of the glass top of the counter. She whispered, “I can't supply you the list, but we only have eight rooms occupied right now. I'm sure it wouldn't be my fault if you happened to look over my shoulder when the list was up.”

  She scrolled down the list as I took out my notepad and scribbled down two of the names as the copies of their IDs scrolled past with their room assignments. The other six were from out of town or visiting from overseas. The two I jotted down were locals. Since the dognapper seemed to know the decedent and assumed she'd know what he was referring to in the note, my gut screamed it was a local.

  These probably wouldn't pan out, I mean how stupid would they have to be to take the ransom money at the place they are staying at. But you never know... leave no stone unturned and all. Besides, I have met some pretty dumb-ass criminals in my time.

  I tapped the counter twice and said with genuine gratitude, “Thank you, Wendy, you've been invaluable.” I pulled out a card to hand to her with my contact information at the station. “If you see anything out of the ordinary, people loitering in the lobby or anything, please give me a call.

  Ok, I admit it, I'm an asshole. The smile on her face melted to disappointment when she saw the ring on my finger as I held the business card out between fingers. But I didn't want her calling for anything but police business. I was a terrible person.

  I gave her a big apologetic smile as I told her again, “Thank you. You're the best, lady.”

  This got the smile back on her face, and she straightened slightly with pride. She gave a little wistful wave. I didn't feel as bad as I should, because a cutie like her was a magnet for any single lesbians out there, how was she not already taken?

  I paused at the doors when my cell buzzed. I pulled it out of my back pocket then grinned like a loon as I answered. “Well if it isn't the sexiest dog walker I know. I'm on my way home now, Finny. It was a bust here, sorry I wasted part of our night.”

  I stood stock still when a young man's voice said, “Umm... hi? My name's Greg Knapp. I, uh, found Finnegan's phone in the snow. She looked to be running from some old dude. The phone was unlocked, and this contact was up. Should I, um, call the police or something?”

  I was running the last couple feet to the doors and burst through them as my heart started hammering at my chest. I didn't even feel the arctic air around me as I said in my practiced authoritative tone, “I'm a police detective, Greg. Where are you? And where is Finnegan?”

  My windshield had two inches of snow and ice on it. Damn it! I started the SUV and started scraping the windows as the boy spoke. “I'm across the street from the Gulliver's Gate exhibit at Times Square. I'm going back in to keep warm. The last time I saw Finnegan, the old dude was following her toward Times Square.”

  The kid was starting to sound really stressed, “I didn't know if she knew him or not. He looked like he was giving her trouble when I asked if she was ok and stopped the guy, she ran off with the dogs.”

  Dogs? I continued in an reassuring tone, “Greg. It's ok, you're doing good. Stay where you are, and I'll be right there. What dogs did she have with her?”

  He was muttering, “Mom and dad are going to be so pissed I'm missing dinner.”

  “Greg, stay with me.”

  I could imagine him nodding as he said absently, “The working dog she had at the exhibit. The black and white bandit looking one, and that giant one, a Great Dane?”

  Oh my god, Finnegan found Tinkerbell? I almost smacked my own forehead when I realized there was an Eiffel Tower at Gulliver's Gate. But what made Fin think of that? Did I miss something? What had she found that I had missed? And why was she putting herself in harm's way instead of just telling me?

  Because you ass, she probably didn't want to upset you on a hunch. Greg did say my contact info was up on her phone, so she had attempted to contact me.

  I tried to keep him talking, he sounded like a teen who was in over his head, and I could hear the stress in his voice. “You're doing great, Greg. So they all left on foot toward Broadway?”

  “N-no. Finnegan and the dogs were. The little dude went back to his van and was slipping and sliding after her.”

  Shit. He had a vehicle. Wouldn't make very good time on these streets even with the plows out in force like they are. I kept him on the line as I made my way slowly through the city, and alternated between him and the radio as I called in an APB for Fin and the man I had Greg describe the best he could.

  As I pulled up to Gulliver's Gate, it looked like they were shutting down for the night, they sign said they were usually open until nine, but they closed at six on Christmas. I was halfway out my car when dispatch contacted me to let me know there was a disturbance reported twenty minutes ago a few blocks away, and a man abandoned a van when he hit a snowbank in the Times Square area.

  Ok... I tried to calm myself. That means he is on foot like Fin. That just upped my girl's chances. She may be small, but she is quick, wily, and orders of magnitude smarter than most people give her credit for. They just see her quirky personality and almost supernatural klutziness and assume she's an extraordinarily cute ditz.

  Even though my guts were still tied up in knots, I had to grin at the gangly boy standing at the door who looked to be hyperventilating as he held a cellphone with a Border Collie case. Ok, so Fin is a tad obsessive-compulsive, and she's pretty obsessive about dogs.

  I asked as I stepped up, moving my hand to my hip to tilt my badge up at him, “Greg?”

  He nodded. I put my hand out, and he handed me Fin's phone. I told him, “It's ok, son, you're not in trouble. I'm Detective McLeary.”

  He chuckled out, “You haven't met my parents.”

  Ok, he was a funny kid. I smirked and handed him my business card. “If they are upset about you being late for dinner, have them give me a call. You've been invaluable to me. Now, can you show me where you saw Fin with this man, what you witnessed, and which way they went? Close your eyes and just let it play out slowly in your head.”

  He nodded, pointing into the blizzard toward Shubert Alley, which we couldn't see through the snow that seemed to be falling even harder. As I was turning to follow him, I caught one of the flyers in the window for the exhibit, and I noted that at the bottom it had the logo from Havermail's Baked Goods, stating that they were a donor and sponsor for Gulliver's gate.

  I almost broke out laughing. I saw some flyers at the bakery too. Leave it to Fin to catch every tiny detail of the world around her. I'm sure she remembered the flier in excruciating detail, and something got her thinking about the Eiffel Tower, and it clicked for her. She'd make a phenomenal detective herself if she weren't such a danger to herself and others around her.

  He showed me where he saw them, what he heard, and he described the man the best he could. Though he kept referring to the person he saw as an old 'dude,' I took that as mid fifties since his qualification for it was, “Like, twice your age.” I felt like an old lady with that comment. But to a teenager, I guess I was an adult.

  I told him to get home after I got his contact information, “And thank you, Greg. Merry Christmas.”

  He nodded and said in earnest, “Merry Christmas, Detective. I hope you find her, and that she is ok. She was really nice.”

  Yes. She is really nice. And befriends almost everyone she meets. I looked out into the storm and whispered, “I'm coming Fin.”

  Chapter 10 – Breadcrumbs

  I hadn't gone more than three blocks, my lights flashing and siren off, when I came upon a tow truck hooking up a van to pull it out of a snowbank while a snowplow waited, it's big orange strobe-light rotating on top of the cab that was lighting up the night and cutting through the heavy falling snow.

  I stopped in front of it and got out quickly, striding over to the tow truck driver, who didn't seem very happy to be out on
a holiday to haul the results of someone's idiocy off the road. I indicated my badge when the man looked up at me, apparently ready to growl and chomp through rebar. “I'll need you to bring this vehicle to the police impound.”

  He started to argue, and I informed him as I looked at the Gilbert Kennels decals applied to the van, “We have reason to believe this van was used in conjunction with crimes including manslaughter.”

  He huffed then needlessly pointed out to me, “But the impound yard is miles in the other direction.”

  I shrugged in genuine apology to the man. I understood.

  He muttered under his breath, “Fuck my life.” Then asked, “Case number?” He had obviously dealt with the police on many occasions to know the impound yard's procedures.

  I quickly scribbled the case number on the back of a business card and handed it to the man, then walked around the vehicle, looking in the windows. I wasn't allowed to open it up and go through it without a warrant, and I wouldn't be able to get one until tomorrow. But if I could see something through the windows that would indicate a crime, then all bets were off. Unfortunately, it was impeccably clean, and there was nothing to indicate any foul play from a cursory look.

  I radioed in the plates to get the registration, which would likely be a momentary dead end as it was likely registered to the kennel. I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn't. It was registered to Mortimer Renfield Gilbert. Did his parents hate him or something? Giving a name like that sets a kid up to be a target at school for bullying.

  One of the benefits of modern investigation is the Internet. Where a lot of research and footwork used to be involved in tracking down leads or getting information about things, nowadays we can do a simple Google search.

  I typed in the man's name and then cocked an eyebrow. He was all over the web, and not in a flattering way. It seems he is a dog breeder known for his confrontational attitude and... wait... what's this? A couple years back the man made a big stink when his toy poodle, Fifi, lost Best in Show to Mrs. Havermail's Great Dane, Tinkerbell.