by Roger Hayden
“How did this jewelry end up in Morris’s trailer?” Dobson asked. “They were taken from the crime scene and planted somewhere else, incriminating a man we would have no problem putting behind bars.”
Captain Nelson spun around, glaring at the lieutenant, who stood and shifted in place with increasing distress.
“No. You have no proof of this, Dobson,” he began with nervous laughter. “This is bullshit.”
“My parents never gave me a thing!” Evelyn suddenly shouted from the back of the room. Sergeant Peterson had just handcuffed her. “They left me with nothing after they died. I had to work for every little scrap! My aunt… she wanted me to learn the value of hard work. As though reeling from the deaths of my parents in an accident wasn’t hard enough. She wouldn’t let me see a dime of her money after all I did for her! Don’t you get it? I’m the victim here!”
Fitzpatrick backed away from his chair and looked toward the other exit at the front of the room.
“Tell them, Phillip!” she said, pulling toward him. “You understood me. That’s why you agreed to help. Tell them that I’m the victim.”
“Shut your mouth!” Fitzpatrick shouted, throwing a chair across the room. The police backed up and took cover as Fitzpatrick turned to the captain with a sheepish grin, only to be met by harsh disapproval. “I don’t know what she’s talking about, sir.” He then pointed at Dobson, his voice rising. “And I have no idea what he’s talking about either.”
“That’s enough,” Captain Nelson said. “We’re going to look into this. I suggest you find a lawyer.”
Fitzpatrick turned around, stunned, and found one of the officers behind him, ready to escort him into custody. His face dropped as they led him away, his eyes glancing at Dobson before he was pushed out of the room.
“I hope you’ve done your homework here,” Nelson said somberly. “This is a black eye for our department either way.”
“It’s the truth, sir,” Dobson said. “That’s all that matters.” He then looked toward the door where Harris had been watching and exchanged a thumb’s up.
* * *
One Week Later
The case against Evelyn Bailey was well on its way to becoming national news. The real estate heiress proclaimed her innocence each step of the way while deploying a highly-skilled legal defense team to tackled each charge against her, from conspiracy to commit murder to false statements to the police.
She admitted talking with Salazar, even knowing him, but said that he had been hired to fix the plumbing in the Bailey mansion while claiming no knowledge of his plans to break into the place and murder her aunt. Salazar, of course, told an entirely different story.
There was no doubt, however, that he was going to face most of the charges. Financial transactions showed only two hundred dollars from Evelyn Bailey to Salazar, justified as payment for an estimate. The audio of her discussing bilking her aunt with dozens of fraudulent charities was questioned as well. Regardless of the outcome, Dobson was satisfied with simply seeing the truth come to light.
And then there was Lieutenant Fitzpatrick. While in custody, the young star detective admitted to planting evidence in Randall Morris’s trailer and was charged with a number of felonies he would soon face in court. He admitted to being seduced by Evelyn and manipulated into putting Morris away for good, since he was such a burden on the community. Strangely enough, Dobson felt little gratification in seeing the lieutenant placed in handcuffs. The entire department was prepared for the fallout of negative press, but it was Dobson who was blamed by the other officers for the black eye to the department.
He arrived home Wednesday evening after a particularly uneventful day spent reading files of an open case and finding both Rachel and Penny home and in low spirits. Penny’s condition, Rachel said, was going steadily from bad to worse, and earlier, she’d had a bad episode. Dobson knew the prognosis. As a twenty-three-year-old cystic fibrosis patient, the doctors told them that Penny would soon need to consider the possibilities of a lung transplant. The thought terrified him, as it did Penny and her mother.
He sat down on the couch with his TV remote in hand and turned on the evening news. Rachel was making spaghetti in the kitchen as Penny lay in her bed, sleeping from the litany of medications she was on. For a moment, Dobson felt strangely alone. The aura of the house seemed empty and bleak, foretelling darkness on the horizon. Rachel and Penny weren’t acting like themselves. Neither had had much to say about the case he’d broken the week prior. His name had been in the news. He was something of a small-town celebrity. His wife and daughter, however, didn’t seem to notice. They had other, more important things on their minds. Dobson could understand. Yet part of him wanted to get away. To get away from the house and maybe the entire town. He needed a break; a vacation from everything.
A breaking news bulletin suddenly came on the TV that piqued his interest. He turned up the volume as the screen displayed a mugshot of Randall Morris. At first, he thought it yet another recap of the Bailey murder, but no, something was different. They weren’t referring to that case at all.
“Newly released former convict, Randall Morris, has been shot and killed after a standoff with police that involved the fatal shooting of thirty-four-year-old convenience store clerk, Adam Hopkins, and police sergeant Devin McNeal, a twenty-year veteran of the force. McNeal was shot and killed while trying to apprehend Mr. Morris following the deadly afternoon robbery that occurred a few hours ago in Nashville, Tennessee, where investigators say Morris was planning a nation-wide crime spree.”
Dobson froze in his seat, aghast as the reporter continued.
“The baffling crime spree happened only days after Mr. Morris was released following a wrongful arrest, in which Summerville Police Department Lieutenant Phillip Fitzpatrick was charged with planting evidence to implicate Morris in the death of Andrea Bailey, the wife of wealthy real-estate magnate George Bailey. Some in Nashville say that Morris should never have been released.”
Dobson’s cell phone suddenly rang as a wave of sickness gripped his stomach. He slowly reached for the phone and tried to speak, but words could barely come out.
“Yes…”
“Hey, buddy. Did you hear about Morris?” Harris’s voice said.
Dobson swallowed as his body tingled and his heart thumped wildly in his chest. “I… I just saw it on TV. Is this for real?”
“Unfortunately, Mike. Don’t beat yourself up about it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I don’t know, Jack,” he said, lowering the cell phone, eyes locked on the screen. “I don’t know.”
No Police
It had been a restless night for Victoria. She might have had two or three hours’ sleep. By the next morning, she woke up, staring at the ceiling, her mind drifting, the blurred line between reality and fantasy not too clear. She hadn’t seen Todd in almost two days. The affair still jabbed at her insides like a dull knife. His betrayal was still fresh in her mind. She felt angered and vindicated, but it wasn’t all about Todd. Her mystery stalker was a close second in her growing emotional turmoil. She’d make him pay too, if given the chance.
It was a Saturday morning, and normally she’d be up and making pancakes. Instead, she lay paralyzed with grief and hurt—a stomach in knots and a dazed sickness that consumed her in the darkness of her room. She could hear the TV on in the living room. Brooke was up and no doubt expecting breakfast.
Victoria pulled the covers off, sat up in her T-shirt and underwear, and then crawled to the bathroom, where she washed her face under the glow of the circular bulbs above. The stone-cold reflection in the mirror was barely recognizable.
She slipped on her blue bathrobe and left her room, not quite prepared for the sunlight radiating from the open windows throughout the house. As she entered the kitchen, she saw Brooke at the table eating cereal with the TV blasting in the distance.
“You’re up,” Brooke said, smiling.
“Good morning,” Victoria said in a s
trained, croaky voice.
Brooke eyed her suspiciously. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, trudging toward the coffee maker. “Just a little under the weather today.”
“I wanted to make you breakfast, but we’re all out of milk.”
“What are you using there?” Victoria asked, pointing to her cereal.
Brooke held her hands out. “There was barely enough for this.”
Victoria smiled and continued to the counter with her back toward Brooke. “That’s fine, honey. I’ll find something..”
“Remember, I’m going Katie’s slumber party tonight,” Brooke said.
Victoria set the coffee maker and turned around. “Do you have any homework?”
“Yes,” Brooke said. “I’ll do it today before I leave.”
“Good then.” She then walked over and gave Brooke a kiss on top of her head.
Brooke then got up and left the kitchen with her bowl of cereal, sitting on the couch to watch TV. Victoria opened the blinds of the kitchen window and stared outside to a seemingly peaceful street, Todd’s spot in the driveway empty. She thought it better for Brooke to be staying at her friend’s house anyway. They could visit her parents next weekend and get away from it all. That was what she needed.
The morning paper rested at the end of the driveway. Normally, it was Todd who grabbed it first thing in the morning. She couldn’t believe he had snuck into the house while she wasn’t there and left a note. But it was just like him to do so. Part of her was relieved that he had made no attempts to call her or Brooke. Another part of her wondered why. While the coffee was brewing, she decided to take a walk outside and retrieve the paper.
She put her slippers on in the foyer, where she often left them, and then opened the front door. The porch was shaded under a small roof and as she stepped out, her foot bumped against something resting up against the doorstep. She froze and looked down as a shiver traveled down her spine. A large green box sat there, three times the size of the last one, with a red ribbon tied around all four sides and a bow on top. She backed away, petrified as she heard a muffled whimper and scratching, as if something alive were inside.
She looked around the yard beyond the front porch and saw no one. Not a single trace. The morning paper no longer mattered. She ducked back inside the house, trying to remember where she’d left her cell phone. Detective Weaver’s card was somewhere as well. The whimper inside the box suddenly shifted to a faint yelp. Or was it a bark? Brooke appeared behind her mother, curious.
“What’s going on, Mom?”
Victoria raised her hand up. “Stay right there, Brooke! Don’t come an inch closer!”
Another muffled bark followed as the box shook, the sound of claws scraping inside. Brooke couldn’t help but squeeze past to get a better view.
“What did I say?” Victoria shouted.
“There’s something in there,” Brooke said, staring down at the box. “Don’t you hear that?”
“Go get my cell phone,” she said. “I’m calling the police.”
Brooke went to her knees and pressed her ear against the box, listening. A smile suddenly came across her face, her eyes widening. “Oh my gosh…”
Victoria leaned forward and pulled Brooke toward her, hoisting her up. “I said to stay away.”
“It sounds like a dog, Mom! Don’t you hear it?” she said, trying to squirm from Victoria’s grip.
“I don’t care. I don’t want you near that box. Do you hear me?”
Brooke held a finger to her lip, shushing her. “Listen.”
Victoria went quiet as the box shook with several unmistakable barks from what sounded like a puppy.
Brooke lunged forward, freeing herself and dropping to her knees at the doorstep. “You can’t keep him in there, Mom. Let him out!”
“Stop it,” Victoria said. “We don’t know what’s in there.” But the continual barking proved otherwise. Her mind raced with an explanation. Was it Todd’s doing? He was crazy enough to put a puppy into a box and leave it on their doorstep. If that was the case, she was even angrier with him than before. How long had the poor thing been sitting there, cramped up in a little box? Or were her senses deceiving her? Was there really anything living in the box?
“Step back,” she said sternly.
Brooke glanced up and then slowly moved back as Victoria crouched down and carefully lifted the box with both hands. There was no note or writing on the box. Its anonymous delivery had been deliberate. She ducked back inside, struggling with the box, and walked to the kitchen with Brooke eagerly following. The barking continued as the weight shifted inside. Victoria was quick to set it down, and she carefully backed away.
“Well…” Brooke said from behind. “Are we going to open it?”
Victoria brought a hand to her forehead. “Just… give me a minute, okay?”
But Brooke already had a pair of scissors in her hand for the ribbon. “Maybe Dad dropped it off.”
“I don’t know,” Victoria said. “But hand me the scissors and stay back.”
Victoria took the scissors and approached what resembled a present under the Christmas tree—colorful and neatly wrapped, just like the smaller package she had received two days before. She snipped at the ribbon on all sides and then carefully lifted the lid a few inches from the box. She saw a puppy’s nose immediately stick out, sniffing the air.
Brooke pushed her way forward, full of excitement, leaving Victoria little choice but to remove the lid altogether.
“I can’t believe it!” Brooke shouted, ecstatic. “You got me a puppy!”
Inside the box, a small Golden Retriever began jumping on its hind legs, excited and trying to claw its way out. Brooke dipped her hands inside and grabbed the puppy, pulling it out and holding it above her head. “He’s adorable! This is the best birthday present ever!”
Victoria stood back, unsure of what to do or say. The puppy’s tongue was hanging out, as if it might be smiling, its tail kept wagging, and there was no separating Brooke from what appeared to be love at first sight.
“Hold on,” Victoria said. “We don’t even know if it’s had its shots yet.”
“It’s a boy,” Brooke said, holding him up. “I think I’ll call him Henry.”
“Are you listening?” Victoria asked, stepping forward.
Brooke turned to her, innocent-like and cradling the puppy in her arms. “Can we go to the vet today, then? Please?” The puppy licked her face, tail wagging. “Just wait until I tell Katie. She’s going to be so jealous.”
Victoria leaned forward and peered into the box to see what else might be in there. Inside was a plastic dog bone and a DVD case with her name scribbled across it in black marker.
“Can I take him for a walk, Mom?”
Victoria stared into the box, hesitant to touch anything.
“Mom?”
Victoria turned, shaking her head. “Go to your room. Take-take the dog and put him in the bathroom or something.”
“But, Mom!”
Victoria cut across the air with her hands. “Brooke. Now!”
“I don’t want to leave Henry. He’ll be afraid.”
“Give me the dog,” she said, reaching for it.
“No, Mom. Please!” Brooke cried.
Victoria looked at her sharply. “We don’t know where this came from. It’s not safe.”
“He’s just a puppy. And if you didn’t get him for me, then it must have been Dad.” She pulled the puppy closer and protected him from Victoria’s grasp. Its innocent brown eyes glanced up at her as it licked Brooke’s cheek.
“Fine. Take him into your room, and give me a minute to sort this out. It’s not even the kind of dog you wanted.”
“I don’t care,” Brooke said, leaving the kitchen with Henry in her arms. “He’s perfect.”
Victoria stared into the box with her hands on her hips as Brooke’s door closed. She then turned and went to the sink, looking out into the front yard. Gray storm clo
uds had formed on the horizon, and the trees in the front yard swayed with a building breeze. She wished that she had woken up sooner and caught the person who left the box. The situation was uncanny, impossible to figure out. Why a dog? Unless it was Todd, how did they know?
Victoria reached into the box for the disc, storming out of the kitchen and into the living room. Her cell phone rested on the coffee table, within reach. She paced the room, trying to decide what to do, deciding there was choice but to call Todd.
Then, stopping at the TV, she had second thoughts. No, she told herself. You can do this on your own. you don’t need to call Todd.
She opened the case and took the disc out, inserting it into their DVD player. She then backed away with the remote in hand, staring hesitantly at the television’s blue screen. But she couldn’t make herself push the Play button.
She looked at the phone, picked it up and held it against her ear, calling Todd’s number. It went to straight to voicemail. She hung up and called again, feeling increasingly desperate.
“Hi, this is Todd Owens. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back with you as soon as I can. Thank you.”
She waited for the beep and spoke. “Damn it, Todd. A puppy? Are you serious? I have to know. Was this you? Do you really think that’s going to make everything better? I just… I don’t understand. Call me back.”
She hung up with a wellspring of frightened emotions running through her. The phone dropped from her hand onto the coffee table as she walked to the couch, defeated, and pressed the Play button on the DVD’s remote.
The screen flickered to a grainy shot of a darkened room where a camera remained the sole light source. Victoria inched forward as the camera panned down to a man tied to a chair with gray duct tape wrapped across his mouth and eyes, his face almost entirely covered, and blood oozing down his neck. She gasped, and a small cry escaped. The man grunted and shifted around as he wheezed for air through his nostrils. His hair fell in sweaty strands. His white T-shirt was covered in blood.
