by DL Cook
“Sorry about that,” Tom beamed with pride.
Don thought for a moment. “I have a job for you, Klump. Head on over to Town Hall. See what records you can find on the late Douglas Hadiger.”
“You got it, Mettler.” Tom slumped into a chair.
“Right now would be nice.”
“I'm on my way,” the stink lingered.
“So you were saying, Lucus?” Don wondered where his air filter was.
“That place creeped me out. We couldn't really look around. There's a vicious dog protecting the back. I did write down what cars were parked in the vicinity.”
“Good work.”
“Alright,” Peggy said and they all turned to her. “We have partial plates and the make of the car. They're—”
“What's the meaning of this?” Marcy barged in. “You're exhuming someone? How dare you question my legacy!”
Her outrage was directed at Peggy. Don remained quiet, letting the forensics expert take one for the team. He'd get her a nice Christmas present.
“Lucus,” Don began.
“I know the drill, boss.” Lucus wrapped his arm around Marcy's shoulder. “Ma'am, there's a matter that requires your urgent attention...” he escorted her out of the room.
“God bless that boy,” Peggy said. “How did she find out so fast? Anyway, as I was saying, the computer's resolved images of the car our suspect, the fake nurse, got into. Partial plates, out of state. The car's a Honda Civic, green, 1998 model.”
“Great work,” Don said.
“It's going to take a while for the other state to get back to us about possible owners. I've already put in the request.”
“Excellent. Now that we know the car, more or less, is there any way to track it? See where it's been? Where it went?”
“Hmm.”
“I mean, Tom's always sending me articles about how the government tracks our every move with drones and cell phones and cookies and satellites. Is there any way we can use these things?”
“We can try, but I doubt the Feds will share with us. What we can do is look at traffic light cameras and surveillance video from shops on the street and so on.”
“Great. Get on it. I want to know where that car's been and where it went.”
Libby got a good tip from Mrs. Marlow about seeing a couple of dogs by the warehouse on Pine Road. One of them could've been the beagle she sought. Sofia would be so happy to have her dog back. Libby waved her hand in front of her face and took a sip of water to fight back tears. There it was. Something furry scampered across the parking lot toward the dark entrance of the building. Libby got out of her car and followed it.
After she got over the shock of seeing a cop in her warehouse, Ingrid Quinton turned her mind to what to do about it. But how had she found the place? Did she know about the bodies? No. If she did, she would have backup. Ingrid could emerge from the shadows and introduce herself. She could steer this woman away from the refrigerators, tell her she trespassed on private property. She wouldn't have a warrant, and so she would have to leave. Ingrid could even inquire as to why the policewoman was there.
“Here Estrella,” the officer said. Her tone, to Ingrid's ear, sounded of discovery. The officer found something and was radioing a colleague. She had to be dealt with. Whoever came too. Then this place would have to be stripped down and burned.
Ingrid took out her gun and aimed.
But the officer pulled first. “Freeze!” she shouted. Her gun pointed straight at Ingrid. How could she see her in the dark? Ingrid raised her hands but didn't drop her gun. The officer fired. A bullet whistled past Ingrid's ear and ricocheted off the wall behind. Ingrid turned and fled as fast as her old legs could carry her.
“Estrella!” the cop yelled behind her, no doubt summoning her partner.
Libby entered the warehouse. The dog had to be around here somewhere. She wondered what attracted the animal to the place. It had a strange smell, like that weird Sharper Image air filter Don liked so much. Perhaps it was the buzzing of some sort of electronic equipment that attracted the dog. Though now that Libby was inside the building she began to doubt her hunch that the doggy was here. Maybe she saw a big squirrel or imagined the whole thing.
Just in case she called it, “here Estrella.” Nope, nothing.
It occurred to Libby that this was one of those creepy warehouses that they always had in the detective shows she watched with Don. She pretended someone lurked in the shadows ahead of her.
“Freeze!” she yelled. Libby thought it wonderful practice. One never knew when the real thing would happen. Wanting to put it away, she fumbled with the gun. She accidentally squeezed the trigger, firing into the darkness.
Libby flushed with embarrassment and adrenaline. Don always yelled at her about putting the safety on. She thought she heard something aside from the ringing in her ears and her thudding heart. Maybe the dog was here after all and she just scared it. “Estrella,” she said again, probably much too loudly. Good thing no one was around to see her. Libby felt fresh warmth rushing to her head.
She found the shell and went to see where the bullet had gone. Hopefully she didn't cause any noticeable damage. Libby got her flashlight out, scanning along the wall. She found the dent and followed its angle. She concentrated on the floor.
“Owww!” Libby rubbed her head.
“Stupid pipe.” It came out of nowhere. Who'd put a pipe there anyway? She shone the light on it, still rubbing her head. She decided not to tell Don about it. Or he'd insist on her wearing a helmet. Everyone would think she was special. But she was just a little clumsy, nothing more. The pipe ended at some sort of contraption. Libby moved to investigate.
She gasped when her flashlight beam hit a face. “Hello?” No, the person was dead. Frozen in a block of ice and looking up at the ceiling. And he wasn't the only one. These blocks of ice went at least as far as the flashlight. Libby called Don.
Peggy used traffic camera and shop surveillance footage to trace the green Honda's progress through town. She tapped the map on the computer screen. “This is where the trail ends.”
“And where the footwork begins,” Don said. “Good thing they didn't go to Methton.”
“Yeah,” Duncan replied. “All the cameras there have been stolen.”
“The people there are animals. Did I tell you I once drove there with Libby? We took a wrong turn and by the time we made a U they stole our hubcaps and nearly got a wheel.”
Peggy nodded. Don told that story once a week, each time with a fresh embellishment.
“Alright then. Good work guys. Keep me posted on the plate trace.” Traffic cameras yielded a full plate, so Peggy had submitted another request. With that Don left the station.
He drove to a gas station at the last intersection where the suspects' car was seen. Don asked the attendants whether they saw a green Honda with out of state plates. That didn't ring a bell. He thanked them for their time and was about to get back in his car when he had another idea. A long shot, really. Don whipped out the enlarged, pixelated photo of the suspect from the hospital security cameras.
“Have you seen this woman? I mean, it's hard to tell with all, I don't know what you call it—static? It's a woman, though. With blond hair. Looks like a nurse but that's not necessarily her profession.”
The attendant studied the photo carefully. “Hey Billy, come 'ere. You seen this girl?”
Billy also studied the photo, turning it this way and that.
Don grew impatient. He checked his desire to snatch the photo away from them and drive off. It was too blurry to be of any use. He wouldn't even know it was of a person if he didn't know where it came from. It looked more like one of Caspar's sketches than anything else.
“I seen her,” Billy said. “Yeah, she comes by here every once in a while.”
“Do you know who she is? Her name?”
“No, sorry.” He swatted at his colleague. “You seen her around, right? At first I was like, 'no, never seen her,'
but yeah, I know that chick. What made it hard was the hair. She ain't usually blond.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah. Now I see her. I thought she looked familiar. Ain't she like a stripper or something?”
“Yeah, I think so. She's got these...” he made squeezing motions with his hands.
“Is she usually by herself or with someone?” Don asked.
“I seen her with someone,” Billy said. “Like a boyfriend or something.”
“Can you describe him.”
“Nah. Not really. I wasn't looking at him, you know?”
“Does he have any distinguishing features?” Don paused to think of some examples. “Like a big nose, spots on his face, makeup?”
“Um. Does tattoos count?”
“Tattoos,” Don repeated, writing it down in his notepad. “Most criminals have tattoos, so it can go either way. You remember what they're of?”
“Nah. Like I said, I don't really look at him. He'd just get out and pump the gas, you know? The girl goes in here to pay and whatnot.”
“Do you have security tapes from those cameras there?” Don pointed.
“No. They're fake. We just keep 'em around as a detergents.”
“You mean deterrent?”
“Yeah.”
“So you say this woman in the picture is a stripper?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Billy said.
“Do you know where she works?”
“Nah. Not the strip club.” Unfortunately for Don, the town had a lot of strip clubs. “I don't go to the ones around here. But I think she's got this other job. Complained about her boss making her lift chemicals. Not something a dancer does, you know.”
“Good use of logic there,” Don said, relieved that he might not have to visit all of the strip bars—although Lucus might enjoy that...
The man nodded and pointed at his mullet. “First one in my family to graduate high school.”
“I didn't know I was in the presence of a scholar,” Don said.
“No shit,” Billy grinned with pride.
“Do you know where this other job she works might be?”
They thought about it for a moment. “Probably the warehouse by the tracks.”
“Yeah,” Billy agreed.
“Where's that?” Don asked.
Billy pointed down the road. “Five miles on Pine,” he said.
Don thanked the men and drove away, thinking that he'd been right all along that the suspect was a stripper. He found the warehouse easily enough. It was a large, squat building with no signs or logos anywhere. The weeds growing between the cracks in the concrete parking lot suggested that it had been out of use for a while. A squad car stood in the building's shadow. Don raised an eyebrow. He was about to contact the station to see what was going on when Libby called.
“Honey pie, I think I found something bad,” Libby told her husband when he answered the phone.
“Where are you?” he asked her.
“I found it by looking for Estrella. She's a doggy.”
“Where are you?” Don asked again.
She heard the crankiness in his voice, so she tried harder. “I followed her here, but I don't think she's here. Not a good place for a dog.”
“Where is this 'here'?” Don growled back.
“Honey pie, I found a bunch of bodies. They're all frozen and scarey looking.”
Don sighed into her ear and muttered something under his breath. “What did you find?”
“I'm at a warehouse on Pine Road,” Libby replied.
Her husband chuckled.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “You left your car running with the door open.”
“Yeah,” she was surprised. “How'd you know?”
“I'm outside.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Get in here my pompookalus.”
Don did as his wife asked. She saw his flashlight beam in the gloom.
“Over here,” she waved her own light to get his attention. “Be careful. There's pipes and stuff hanging from the ceiling.”
“Did you hit your head?” he said in his parental tone.
“No,” Libby did her best Tom-caught-red-handed impression.
“Did you rub it like I showed you?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“No,” Tom-red-handed.
“You sure?”
“Maybe it still hurts a little.”
They embraced and Don kissed her head. He sighed and said, “You should wear a helmet.”
“No I shouldn't. I don't need one and people will make fun of me.”
“You hit your head all the time. How many times did you hit it today?”
“I don't remember.”
“That's part of the problem. You should get a helmet. It can be bright pink with ribbons and stuff.”
“I'm not retarded!” Libby pushed him away but he grabbed her again and drew her close to him. “I'm just a little bit Klumpy.”
“I rest my case.” He squeezed her love handles gently. “Now, what is it you found?”
She pointed her flashlight at the frozen vats.
They decided not to call in their discovery just yet. “All of the corpses are frozen,” Don said. “We haven't done much to contaminate the crime scene. So we can wait a while to have Peggy go over everything. And there's an advantage to not having our guys crawling over all of this. We can wait and see who comes here and for what purpose.”
“A stakeout?”
“A good old fashioned stakeout,” Don nodded.
“Okay,” Libby said. “Let's go buy the potato chips.”
Ingrid Quinton wondered why there wasn't a swarm of flashing lights, cops, and coroner's personnel in her parking lot. The cop must have called for backup by now. Indeed, she heard her do it. The response wasn't this slow, this incompetent. Was it? She smiled at the thought of an article Finnemore Dunn might write if he ever got wind of this. Her choice of Don for Commissioner was shaping up to be the best long term business decision she made in a while, even with Marcy Klump's termination.
She made a U turn and came around for another pass, debating whether she should enter the parking lot. Ingrid had escaped through the back. When she drove out there was just the one police cruiser, no doubt belonging to the cop that shot at her. It was gone now. Shots fired and no other cops rushing to the scene? And the cop already there splitting? Was Don Mettler-Klump a dream come true?
Ingrid spotted a cruiser by the side of the road, surprised she hadn't noticed it previously. It wasn't exactly hidden by the couple of twigs and flowers on the roof. Ingrid only missed it because she so concentrated on her factory. That, or a senior moment.
Two cops sat in the front. Light reflecting off the windshield blocked her view of the one in the passenger seat. Mettler-Klump himself sat behind the wheel. They made eye contact, then he angrily waved her away. A stakeout. Good thing she didn't turn into the lot.
Ingrid stopped further down the road. She found one of her prepaid phones in the glove box. After dialing she said, “tell the expendable one to come to the warehouse on Pine with a truck. Tell him to move all of the equipment.” She ignored the objections. “And get Charlene to a safe place.” She pulled the phone's battery and sim card and threw everything out the window. Wally sometimes had good objections, but not this time.
“Honey pie, can we stop eating sugar for a while pretty please?”
“Sure.” Don munched on his chips.
“Starting tomorrow.”
“Why not starting today?”
“That fig newton is looking at me,” Libby batted her eyes.
Don smiled. “Every week you start your no-sugar diet. Just eat whatever you want. Exercise is key. That and moderation.
Libby nodded and took out a fig newton from the assortment of junk food on the dashboard. They'd been sitting there for maybe twenty minutes and already she was getting tired. Apart from calling Peggy to have her find out who owned the warehous
e, they'd done nothing but sit and eat things Libby promised her groaning tummy she wouldn't eat anymore. She could have exercised that morning. What was it that prevented her?
“Patience, my love,” Don patted her hand.
Libby resumed telling him about her search for the dog. “She has to be around here somewhere,” she said. “I feel it in my gut.”
“You sure it's not that fig newton?”
“No, silly.” She smiled and rubbed her belly.
“Look at this old lady,” Don fumed. “What the hell is she doing?”
“Don't worry about it my snugglespuss,” Libby tried to comfort her husband. “She's probably just lost or something.”
The woman stopped her blue Cadillac to stare at them.
“She's blocking my view,” Don complained. “Get out of here,” he motioned for her to continue driving. “Hurry up, we don't have all day.”
Seeming to remember herself the woman complied. “Old people,” Don muttered and shook his head.
“Will you be okay here by yourself for a while?” Libby asked.
“You want to look for the dog?”
“Yeah, and stretch my legs.”
“Be careful and keep your radio on. I'll let you know if anyone comes by.”
“Loves you,” Libby pecked Don on the lips and crossed the road. She pretended she was on safari. She spotted a blue jay and followed it to a large tree. It flew away. She had lived here all her life but had never seen this area. It was like a small woody nook, bounded by railroad tracks and the warehouse.
She would bring Don hiking here, if he ever agreed to go hiking. Several chirps got her attention. Maybe the blue jay had baby blue jays in the tree. But the chirps didn't come from above. She rounded the tree and found Estrella with two puppies and another dog. It was a happy family. She couldn't wait to tell Don all about it.
“Hello Estrella. Your Sofia asked me to find you. She misses you a lot. I am sure she will be happy to see your beautiful pups. May I touch them?”
Libby remembered that you should always let a new doggy smell your hand first. She held out her hand and Estrella licked it.
“I'm not sure what your name is mister dog but it is a pleasure to meet you. You look like a friendly guy,” Libby told the pit bull mix as he smelled and licked her hand.
She decided to take them all back with her since she heard it might rain later that day. She gathered the puppies in her shirt. Estrella and the other dog followed her to the car.
