Lia parked, hoping the destruction of her earbuds wasn’t an omen for the rest of her day. David and Zoe were due at eleven. Lia had ninety minutes to feed the fur kids, take them to Alma’s, shower, put on something that didn’t make her look like a mud-wrestling bag lady, undo the puppy proofing in the living room, and arrange her paintings in an orderly fashion that suggested she was a professional.
Long-time patrons would laugh about her MacGyvered protective measures, but Zoe was new and you never got a second chance to make a first impression. Better tour the house for puddles. Can’t have a potential client dipping designer pumps in dog pee.
Normally Lia took time to appreciate the architectural details that still dazzled her: the circular tower topped with a slate witch’s hat; stained glass transoms and leaded sidelights; wall-climbing ivy planted before she was born; and the wide, wonderful porch—which was fine, no matter what Terry told Dick Brewer.
Today she blew past them, Chewy’s legs churning to keep up as she raced up the steps. Lia unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the door open. Pup woke, barking and scrambling as if she was about to take on Mike Tyson. Lia dropped Chewy’s lead and struggled to untangle Pup from the wrap.
Pup launched from her arms, leaving behind a flurry of scratches on her way to the floor. Girlfriend raced to the base of the stairs, growling, desperate to hurl herself up the steps she hadn’t yet learned to climb.
“Hush! What is it?”
Pup kept up the cacophony. Chewy cocked his head, looking at Lia expectantly. Whatever was wrong with Pup, Chewy wanted his breakfast.
Something thudded upstairs.
Peter should be at work. Lia looked out the sidelights. A white Cadillac—a sleek, pearlized beast in a neighborhood that trended to new Kias and vintage Volvos—sat where Peter’s Blazer had been that morning.
She scooped Pup up and grabbed Chewy’s leash, scanning the street as she ran out of the house. No Blazer. No department-issue Taurus. She stuffed an annoyed Pup back in the Moby wrap, then dug her phone out of her pocket.
Peter picked up immediately.
“Hey gorgeous.”
“Thank God. Where are you?”
“Heading to Hughes High School. Why?”
“Someone’s in your apartment.”
“Get out now.”
“Already did. Pup started barking as soon as I opened the door. I heard someone moving around upstairs and ran out.”
“Call 911. I’m on my way.”
A young, earnest officer named Cal Hinkle pulled up less than five minutes later. Lia was relieved to have someone she knew, though Cal’s freckles and haystack hair made him look about as dangerous as Howdy Doody. He rounded the front of the patrol car, hand resting on the gun at his hip.
Pup began a new fit of barking.
“Is your prowler still here?”
“Upstairs, in Peter’s apartment. Unless he went out the back.”
“The front door open?”
Lia nodded. Cal’s face settled into lines of firm resolve as he headed inside. Lia clutched the squirming Pup to her chest as she waited. Chewy whined. Missing his breakfast.
In less time than she expected, the front door opened. A petite woman emerged, a poor man’s Nicole Kidman with porcelain skin and delicate features a shade short of classic. A sophisticated blonde cut framed her bewildered expression. Dressed in a mauve suit with a patterned scarf, she looked ready for lunch at the museum or maybe the corporate takeover of Avon. Her new client, arrived early?
Cal followed her out, looking sheepish.
The woman talked non-stop in a soft Kentucky drawl as she descended the steps. She arrived on the sidewalk and bent over, her outstretched hand hovering over Chewy’s head. “What a cute schnauzer!”
Chewy backed away, hiding behind Lia’s legs. The woman looked up, smiling into Lia’s stony face. “Honestly, I don’t understand what the fuss is. I have permission to be here.”
“Permission from whom?” Lia demanded.
She tilted her head. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“This is my house.”
“Your house? Did I walk into the wrong house? … No, that can’t be. I used Peter’s spare key and his name is on the mailbox. It says ‘second floor,’ right next to his name. That’s where I was, on the second floor. Really, this is a mistake.”
“How did you get Peter’s key?”
“He keeps it in a little fake rock. His uncle makes them. We all have them.”
“Even if you had Peter’s consent, his entrance is on the side. You had no business entering my apartment.”
“He wouldn’t have a front door key in his rock if he didn’t use it.”
Lia blinked. Then she lied. “Peter gave me that rock. That wasn’t his key, it was mine.”
Faux Nicole huffed, stating the obvious. “You can’t expect me to know that.”
Lia tamped down a rare surge of temper. “When did Peter say you could waltz into his apartment? Because I just talked to him and he wasn’t expecting anyone.”
The woman appeared oblivious to the steam now escaping Lia’s ears. “I wanted to surprise him.”
Cal inserted himself, apologizing. “Miss, I need to see your identification. For my report.”
She reached into a vastly overpriced designer handbag and fished out a matching and equally overpriced wallet.
“This is just a silly misunderstanding. I’m sure a report isn’t necessary.” She looked up, focused on something over Lia’s shoulder. “Peter!” Faux Nicole waved, taking two steps toward the street, brushing past Lia.
Lia turned to see Peter exiting his work car two houses down. Pup, roused by the commotion, lunged out of the Moby wrap, snagged the trailing end of Faux Nicole’s scarf, and tugged.
Faux Nicole screamed. “Get him off! Get him off me! That’s Hermès!”
Peter jogged up the sidewalk, then stopped. “Susan?”
Susan?
“Peter! Get this monster off me!”
Peter stuck his hands in his pockets and did nothing.
Lia pried the scarf from Pup’s jaws and slapped it into Susan’s hand. “For pity’s sake, she was never on you, you twit.”
Susan gasped. She wrestled the dog drool-enhanced scarf from around her neck and shook it in Cal’s face. “That’s assault! Arrest her! That dog needs to be put down!”
Cal turned to Peter, desperation on his face. Peter strolled up and pulled Pup out of Lia’s Moby wrap, scratching the furry neck. “This little girl?” Peter said of the creature he claimed was part velociraptor. He held Pup up to his face. Pup licked his nose, desperate for understanding, or perhaps protection from the crazy woman. “Doesn’t look like a vicious beast to me.”
Cal cleared his throat. “You know this woman?”
“Sure I know her. Susan Sweeney. We used to be engaged. Book her for criminal trespass.”
“She says she has permission to be here.”
“I don’t know how, since I haven’t seen her in years.”
“Peter Dourson, we’ve been running in and out of each other’s houses since we were in elementary school.”
Peter handed Pup to Lia. “Have you searched her purse? Maybe we’re talking about breaking and entering, or burglary.”
“Honestly, Peter, your mother—”
“Your proprietary rights ended when you broke our engagement to marry the furniture king. Lia, I’m late for a conference and I need you to handle this. Check our stuff to make sure Susan didn’t do more than let herself in.”
Cal looked miserably after Peter’s retreating back. “You want me to press charges, Lia?”
Normally Lia would let it go, if only to save Cal the paperwork. But Susan Sweeney’s honeyed entitlement rubbed her like a cheese grater.
“You heard Peter.”
“You’ll sign a complaint, then?”
“Let me get a pen.”
The disbelief on Susan’s face made Lia want to laugh.
“What abo
ut my scarf!”
Chewy whined.
Lia shifted the squirming pup to her hip. “Cal, what’s the difference between criminal trespass and breaking and entering?”
Cal rubbed his forehead. “Two hundred and fifty dollar fine or thirty days, versus six months to a year in jail.”
Susan dropped the sopping scarf. Chewy barked at it as it fluttered to the ground.
“You can have the damn thing.” She turned to Cal. “Give me my ticket and I’m out of here.”
“Sorry ma’am. There’s no ticket for this class of misdemeanor. I have to book you.”
Susan stiffened, incredulous.
Cal continued, “You have to ride in the back of my car, but I’ll leave off the cuffs.”
Susan flashed a forced smile. “I guess Peter must have his little joke.”
Lia gave her a ferocious grin in return. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“And what could that possibly be?”
Lia held her palm out. “My key. Hand it over.”
Fourteen-year-old Stacy Bender sat across the conference table from Peter, staring into her lap. Lank dishwater hair obscured a face peppered with acne. He’d had a brief glimpse of eyes wide with panic lurking behind the hair.
Panic inspired by the woman beside her. Prematurely wrinkled skin marked Stacy’s mother as a chain smoker, as did the odor of smoke permeating her hair and clothes. Or perhaps the dull, burnt smell was a product of the rage leaking out through Ms. Bender’s rapidly tapping fingernails.
He exchanged a glance with Kim Freeman, the Hughes guidance counselor sitting at the end of the table. They’d both smelled Ms. Bender’s wake-up beer under the smoke. Tobacco and alcohol aged the skin. Stacy’s mother had to be ten to twenty years younger than the fifty plus she appeared to be.
“Sit up, Stacy,” Joyce Bender snapped. “I had to take off work to be here. Officer Dourson asked you a question. You’ll damn well answer it.”
Peter caught a flash of defiance under the curtain of hair and exchanged another look with Kim. Stacy was less likely to tell the truth if it would bring her grief at home, but the law was the law. Children had to be interviewed in the presence of a parent or guardian. Not that Joyce Bender was much of either.
“It’s all right, Ms. Bender,” he said. “Stacy just needs a minute.” It wasn’t the first time he’d played good cop/bad cop with a parent. It was a game he disliked because Joyce Bender’s bad cop would only turn into worse cop at home, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Her minutes are costing me money. I have three kids to feed. She’s taking food out of their mouths.”
Two hours lost pay would be minor compared to Bender’s weekly spend on beer and cigarettes.
Peter picked up his phone, tapped the screen several times, then placed it in front of Stacy, face up. A blurry photo of a girl holding a shipping box was visible to everyone at the table.
Stacy gave the phone a quick look. “That’s not me. You can’t even see my face.”
“The hair is unmistakable, Stacy.”
Stacy said nothing. Her hand crept up to rub at an acne scab on her chin, then jerked away.
Joyce Bender leaned over, squinted at the photo. “That’s the shirt grandma gave you.” She turned to Peter. “What is this?”
Peter kept his voice gentle as he spoke to Stacy. “We have a photo of you holding a package on a porch on Haight Avenue. What were you going to do with it?”
Stacy shrugged. “I was just looking at it. I didn’t take it.”
“No, you dropped it after a neighbor took your picture. He said you were with an African American girl. Was that Taneesha?” Taneesha was Stacy’s best friend, according to Ms. Freeman.
Stacy’s head jerked up, mouth gaping.
Joyce Bender exploded, her arm drawing back as if to administer a slap, then dropping as her eyes sneaked a look at Peter. He wondered if her outrage was due to Taneesha’s character or the color of her skin.
“I told you to stay away from them!” Joyce glared at Kim, whose skin was darker than Taneesha’s. “What kind of school are you running here?” Her chair shrieked as she shoved it back. “I have no time for this. Do what you want with her.”
Ms. Bender slammed the door as she exited, the sound releasing the tension in the room like the popping of a balloon.
Stacy muttered miserably, “Take me to Twenty-Twenty. Anything is better than home.”
Twenty-Twenty was the juvenile facility located at 2020 Martin Luther King Boulevard. Stacy was probably right.
After Peter had broken the ring of copper thieves wrecking older homes in Northside, he’d been assigned to chase down the assholes stealing Amazon deliveries off porches. He’d made little traction in the case until an alert neighbor caught Stacy in the act and took her picture.
The clerks at the Northside UDF recognized her picture but didn’t know her name or where she lived. She wasn’t known at the branch library. His next stop had been Happen, Inc., a neighborhood organization with empowerment programs for teens. The kids said they didn’t know her, but he’d caught their sideways glances.
His quarry might attend any school in Cincinnati’s Byzantine system. Knowing which one would save him days. He’d shrugged, put his phone away, and let them show off the T-shirts they were printing. Then he asked where they went to school.
Kim had been a mine of information, providing background not only on Stacy, but on Taneesha and Taneesha’s family.
Peter did quick mental calculations. A parent had to be present when questioning a minor unless they gave permission otherwise. They had something resembling consent on tape. In addition, schools served in loco parentis when parents were not available. Kim could fill that position. He caught Kim’s eye and quirked a brow. Kim twisted her mouth, shrugged.
Stacy dropped her head onto the table, wrapped her arms around it. “My life is over.”
Peter gentled his voice. “I know you didn’t want Mrs. Robinson’s support hose. What were you going to do with it?”
Stacy moved her head back and forth in negation while keeping her face to the table.
Peter played a hunch.
“Did Jamal ask you to take those packages?” Jamal was Taneesha’s nineteen-year-old brother.
Stacy’s head shot up again, her face white. She said nothing, but her eyes affirmed Peter’s suspicions. Jamal probably had a stable of young girls ripping off packages for him. He wondered how long it would take Jamal to turn those same girls into prostitutes.
“How many of Taneesha’s friends are stealing packages for Jamal?”
Stacy was shaking. “I don’t know anything. I didn’t say anything. You can’t say I said anything!”
“Did Jamal threaten to hurt you if you told anyone?” he asked.
She stared at him with big eyes, her mouth quivering. Peter could fill in the blanks. It was possible Jamal fed someone with a flea market table, but flea markets were going out of style. More likely he or someone he knew sold the stolen items on eBay or Facebook.
She’d dropped the package, which meant he didn’t have grounds to take her into custody. Too bad. Considering the home situation, that might be the best thing for her. A confession would make it easy to get the search warrant he wanted, but Stacy was too scared to talk. He wondered if he’d blown the case by interviewing her.
Maybe not.
“I’ll make you a deal, Stacy. Did Taneesha see Mr. Weston take your picture?”
She gave him a cautious look and shook her head.
“Did you tell her about it?”
“No.”
“Nobody knows you’re talking to me. They just know you had to see Ms. Freeman.” He turned to the guidance counselor. “What’s a legitimate reason for you to see Stacy?”
“Aren’t you on the health technician track, Stacy?” Kim asked.
“That’s what Mom wants. I want the zoo program.”
“Getting arrested will ruin your chances for an
internship at the zoo,” Kim said.
Peter followed Kim’s lead. “I bet Jamal has a lot of kids like you stealing for him. I bet he told you if you got caught, it was no big deal. You’d only get a slap on the wrist because you’re a minor and your record would be clean when you reached eighteen. I bet he didn’t tell you it could ruin your education and your chances for having a career you want.”
“He’s right,” Kim said. “What you do in high school affects the rest of your life.”
Stacy’s lip trembled.
“Maybe Stacy can still get that internship,” Peter said. “Maybe Stacy can say she was talking to you about the zoo program. We just spoke about it, so it’s not a lie.”
He caught a flicker of hope on Stacy’s face. He gave her a deliberate look as if he were considering something new.
“Maybe Stacy can tell Taneesha her mom is angry with her and she can’t go around with her for now. That wouldn’t be a lie, would it?”
Stacy worked her mouth.
“I don’t think you’d be a very good liar and I don’t want you to have any trouble with Jamal or Taneesha. I need you to stay out of the way while I do my job. Can you do that?”
Stacy gave him a suspicious look. “I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”
“I’ll be straight with you. Trouble is coming. You can’t stop it. I think you might be a decent kid with the wrong friends.”
Stacy opened her mouth to protest. Peter barreled on. “Anyone who asks you to do something that could get you arrested isn’t a friend. Whatever they promised you, it will never make up for what it will cost you.
“If you don’t tell anyone about talking to me and you stay out of the way, I can give you a pass. You’ll still have a chance to get into that internship program. If you go back to helping Jamal, you’ll be caught in a criminal conspiracy and I won’t be able to help you. If Jamal moves his operation because you told him about me, I won’t want to.”
“All I have to do is keep quiet?”
“And wait. I have to gather evidence. That could take weeks. You might find yourself under pressure.”
Stacy squirmed.
“If I knew more about Jamal’s operation, I could pick him up within forty-eight hours, maybe tomorrow. It would be over.”
Swamp Monster Page 5
