Forensics Squad Unleashed

by Monique Polak

  It is hard to believe Lloyd was ever out of shape. Especially when he demonstrates how to do the obstacle course.

  He has set things up behind the Life Sciences Building, where there is a large concrete terrace and two sets of stairs leading to a rooftop vegetable garden. It is a quiet spot, so we are not likely to get in anyone’s way.

  Stacey approves of the garden’s rainwater collection system. “That’s for harvesting rain,” she says, pointing to a giant barrel. It seems weird to use the words harvesting and rain together, but there isn’t time to discuss that with Stacey, even if I wanted to.

  Lloyd is doing ten push-ups on the terrace. His back is stick straight, and his elbows are slightly bent. When he is done, Samantha tosses him a red medicine ball (“Those things are a lot heavier than they look,” Nathaniel says), and Lloyd runs up and down the stairs—twice. Next he bounces the medicine ball, slamming it against the concrete five times before catching it again and dashing to the next station. The guy has not even broken a sweat.

  Nathaniel nudges Mason. “How’s your stomach?”

  “Not so good.” Mason looks pale. Maybe it is from the thought of having to do ten push-ups.

  Next Lloyd crawls through two narrow, ten-foot coiled tubes that are set up on the terrace.

  We can see the outline of Lloyd’s elbows as he pushes his way through the tubes. “That looks really hard,” Stacey says.

  “You think that’s hard? Wait till you see him jump over the wall!” Samantha tells her.

  “Jump over a wall?” Mason gulps. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Do I strike you as the joking type?” Samantha asks. “But hey, don’t worry—the wall here is only four feet high. You’d have to jump a lot higher than that to get into the police academy.”

  The wall is actually a concrete divider at the shady end of the terrace. “I want you to watch Lloyd’s technique,” Samantha tells us. “He’s going to use his upper body strength to lift himself up and over.”

  We all watch as Lloyd places both hands on top of the wall, a foot or so apart. He hoists one leg up, then the other. He seems totally calm and focused. But when he swings his legs over the wall and drops to the other side, he makes this wild whooping sound, and we clap and cheer for him.

  “Don’t think this obstacle course is over yet!” Lloyd shouts back at us.

  We follow Samantha under the stairway so we can catch up with Lloyd and see the final obstacle.

  “Oh my god,” I say when I see what is lying on the concrete: a life-sized rubber dummy. Why are its wrists wrapped in duct tape? I figure out the answer when Lloyd, who has finally started to sweat, grabs the dummy by its wrists and starts dragging it over the concrete. I guess the duct tape gives him something to grip.

  “Do you see how he’s bending his knees?” Samantha says. “That’s because he’s letting his legs do most of the work.” Lloyd’s calf muscles are twitching.

  When he has dragged the dummy past a yellow chalk line on the concrete, Lloyd squats down and shakes out his arms. When he looks up at us, the sweat is pouring off his face. “You guys think you can do that?” he pants, still trying to catch his breath.

  “No,” Nico says, “but it’s nice of you to ask.”

  Samantha checks her cell-phone stopwatch. “The obstacle course took Lloyd precisely two minutes and forty-two seconds.”

  Lloyd has stopped panting. “Any of you think you can beat that?” he asks.

  Nathaniel straightens his shoulders. “Maybe.”

  Muriel eyes the dummy. “If you don’t mind my asking, how much does that thing weigh?”

  “One hundred and fifty pounds,” Lloyd tells her. “Say you’re a police officer and your partner falls unconscious. You have to be strong enough to drag him—or her—to safety.”

  Muriel shakes her head. “One hundred and fifty pounds? That’s double what I weigh.”

  “You guys only have to drag the dummy as far as the chalk line—which is about three feet. If you ever do the police-training obstacle course, you’ll have to drag him a lot farther than that.”

  “Are you doing the obstacle course too?” Stacey asks Samantha.

  “I’m not dressed for it,” Samantha says, pointing down at her gray skirt. “Otherwise I would. Definitely. What about you, Mason? You up for it, or are you still feeling queasy?”

  Mason drops his eyes to the ground. “Yeah, I’m still kinda queasy…”

  The counselors allow Mason to rest on a shady bench. They ask if he wants a bottle of water, but he says no.

  Samantha uses the stopwatch on her cell phone to tell us each when to start. She is timing it so there will not be two of us at the same station. “Go!” she tells me, and I start doing the push-ups. I have never done ten in a row before, and when I get to six, I collapse on the ground.

  “You can do it!” Samantha tells me, and I manage to complete the other four though I know my back is sagging.

  Bouncing the medicine ball is harder than I expect. “You’re doing great, Tabitha!” Lloyd calls out, only his voice sounds like it is coming from far away.

  Nico is ahead of me. “Lemme out of here!” I hear him call from inside the first coil. “I’m getting claustrophobia!”

  Which doesn’t exactly make me look forward to that station. But when I get to the coils, it’s not the narrowness inside that bothers me; it’s the heat. The nylon coils have been baking all morning in the sun, and it is boiling inside them.

  Somehow—don’t ask me how—I manage to get over the wall on my first try. But I don’t know how I’ll ever pull that dummy. I tug with every ounce of my strength, but the monster refuses to budge. What’s inside it? Lead? “Bend your knees!” Samantha hollers, but I am too tired even to do that.

  “Bend your knees!” she shouts again, and when I do, the dummy begins to bump along the concrete. “Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds,” Samantha says when I manage to get the dummy’s head as far as the chalk line. “Maybe you’ll be able to trim some time on your next go!”

  My next go? I hope she’s kidding!

  But Lloyd has a different plan. “This time we’re going to make two teams. And there’ll be a prize at the end.”

  “What’s the prize?” Nathaniel asks.

  “I don’t know,” Lloyd says. “I haven’t figured that out yet. What do you say—boys against the girls?”

  “We can’t make teams. Five’s not an even number,” Stacey points out.

  “Shoot,” Lloyd says, “I forgot about that.”

  Everyone is looking at Mason. Am I the only one who knows he’s faking?

  “Teams would’ve been cool,” Nathaniel says in a loud voice.

  When Mason gets up from the bench, I actually feel a little sorry for him. He hates team sports, probably because he is so bad at them. “Okay,” he says, “I’m starting to feel a bit better. So I’ll do it.” He pauses for a second, then adds, “Just don’t get mad if I mess up.”

  I know how hard this must be for Mason. But he is doing it. I have to admit I am ever-so-slightly impressed—not that I’d ever tell that to Mason.

  Nathaniel punches Mason’s arm, and Mason punches Nathaniel back.

  “Come on, Tabitha!” Muriel yells.

  “Let’s show those boys!” Stacey adds.

  Somehow, being part of a team makes the obstacle course less grueling.

  I can hear Nathaniel and Nico cheering Mason on. From the corner of my eye, I can see him lumbering up the stairs with the medicine ball.

  “Girls rule!” Muriel high-fives me when I finish.

  Mason is trying for the third time to climb over the wall. “Use your upper body strength!” Lloyd reminds him. We all clap when he finally gets over. It is going to be painful to watch
him trying to drag that dummy.

  But Mason has no trouble with the dummy. He grabs hold of its wrists, and the dummy slides along the floor like it’s filled with feathers.

  Lloyd claps Mason’s shoulder. “You’re not fast,” Lloyd says, “but man, are you ever strong. And that’s on a day when your stomach is bothering you.”

  Mason isn’t used to compliments. He throws back his shoulders. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t even know I was strong,” he says with a grin.

  “Never underestimate yourself, dude,” Nathaniel tells him.

  Which makes me wonder, Have I been underestimating Mason?

  FOURTEEN

  It’s Thursday morning. Part of me can’t wait for forensics camp—we are going to start analyzing evidence in the case of the cafeteria vandal today—but another part of me wishes I could just stay home and hang out with Roxie.

  When I wake up, she is curled on the floor by my bed, watching me. “Hey, pal,” I say to her, and I swear she smiles. I do not even mind her dog breath when she licks my face. I kiss her muzzle. That expression about a dog being man’s best friend? It could be true. Right now I’m finding it hard to imagine Roxie ever being a guard dog, though Larry told us she could take down a criminal—even one who is over six feet and weighs three hundred pounds.

  Mom and Dad’s bedroom door is closed, so I decide to take Roxie out for a quick pee. When I pass the kitchen, I notice a wrapped present at the spot where I sit. Inside is a bracelet with a copper dog-bone charm on it. I slip it on my wrist. It may not be forensic themed, but I love it.

  Outside, the air feels lighter than it has for days. Except for a woodpecker I hear at the top of a tall maple, and two squirrels scurrying across a telephone wire, the neighborhood is fast asleep. When Roxie reaches the corner, she sits and waits for my signal to cross. Her one ear is up (the other seems to be permanently flopped over).

  When Mason comes to pick me up for camp, I am still admiring my new bracelet. Roxie is sitting with me on the front porch. She stands up when Mason unlatches the fence.

  “Everything’s good,” I say, and Roxie sits back down. I can feel her watching me, waiting to see if I will give her another command.

  “He sure is beautiful,” Mason says. “Can I pet him? Or will he eat me?”

  “Roxie is a she. And yes, you can pet her. She only eats bad guys. You’re not bad—just mildly annoying.”

  Mason laughs. He thinks I’m teasing—and I am in too good a mood to set him straight. There is a part of me that still can’t believe I have a dog. Mason kneels down and strokes the dark fur between Roxie’s ears. “How can she tell the good guys from the bad guys?”

  “We signal her. She’s trained to respond to verbal and visual cues.”

  Roxie lies down on the porch and shuts her eyes. I think she likes Mason. First Nathaniel. And now Roxie. Mason is getting more popular every day.

  “So what are the cues?” Mason asks. “Do you clap or wink or something?”

  “I’m afraid that information is top secret.”

  Mom comes out to bring Roxie inside. “Congratulations on the dog, Mrs. Letour,” Mason tells her. “She’s a beauty.”

  “She certainly is,” Mom says, “and she makes us feel safe. Don’t you, Roxie?” Roxie thumps her tail when Mom says her name.

  Even if I want Roxie to be mostly my dog, I’m glad she’s Mom’s too. “Thanks again for the dog-bone bracelet, Mom,” I say as I start down the stairs. “Love you.”

  “Tab?” Mom sounds surprised. Maybe I don’t tell her I love her often enough.

  “Yeah?”

  “Love you too,” she says.

  “We’re picking Nathaniel up,” Mason says after Mom and Roxie go inside.

  “We’re doing what?”

  “Picking Nathaniel up. He’s on our way.”

  “When exactly did you arrange that?” Just when I was getting used to our morning routine, Mason has to change things up. Bad enough I have to share the sidewalk in the afternoon, and now I am going to have the share it in the morning too.

  “We texted last night.”

  I roll my eyes. “So now you and Nathaniel text each other? Sheesh. I never would’ve guessed you guys would hit it off.”

  “It was just a couple of texts.” Mason sounds apologetic. “You and Patti text each other, don’t you?”

  “Your lunch bag,” I remind him when we reach the fence. “Did you leave it on the steps?”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess I did. What would I do without you?” Mason asks.

  “You’d be lost without me! You better remember that!” I call as he jogs back for the bag.

  “Hey, do you think you could speed it up a little?” I say when Mason has almost caught up with me.

  Mason grins. He seems to be in an unusually good mood. “I may not be fast,” he says, “but I’m strong.”

  When we get to Nathaniel’s house, a bunch of people—there must be nearly a dozen—are milling around the front door. The rosebush has begun to lose some of its pink petals.

  “Who d’you think all those people are?” I ask Mason.

  “Whoever they are, they don’t look too happy.”

  Mason has a point. Everyone looks upset. Some are talking in small clumps, shaking their heads the way people do in front of a church after a funeral. A bald man with glasses—he must be Nathaniel’s grandmother’s fiancé—peers up and down the street, using his hand for a visor. At first I don’t see Nathaniel, but then I spot him next to a woman in yoga pants and a hoodie. It is only when she turns around that I realize it’s his grandmother. She’s wearing a chunky silver necklace and lots of silver bangles around one wrist. Nathaniel is patting her back.

  Mason shifts from one foot to the other. “I think we might be intruding,” he whispers.

  “Go get Nathaniel,” I insist, “or we’ll be late for camp.”

  Just as Mason is going over to Nathaniel, a police car screeches to a halt at the curb. The officer who steps out from the driver’s side looks like an older version of Nathaniel, with the same dark hair and brooding eyes. “I just heard,” he says in a voice that is lower than Nathaniel’s but just as gruff.

  I move in closer to hear what is going on. From what I can tell, Nathaniel’s dad was on patrol when he got a call that there was a robbery at his own house. Automatically, I find myself looking at the house for signs of forced entry—but I do not see any. Just as I am wondering what the thief—or thieves—got away with, I hear Nathaniel’s grandmother say, “I only left him outside for a minute, when I realized I forgot the poop bag.”

  Which is when I realize it is Nathaniel’s grandmother’s Pomeranian that was stolen. My chest tightens. I have only been a dog owner for a few days, but I already know how devastated I’d be if something happened to Roxie. I can hardly remember what my life was like before I got her. I need Roxie. And for the first time, it occurs to me that feeling needy is not always such a bad thing.

  “How do you know he didn’t just take off?” Nathaniel’s dad asks.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, André!” It feels strange to hear a gray-haired woman in yoga pants shouting at an officer in uniform, but of course that officer must be her son. Though their hair is not the same color, they have the same dark eyes as Nathaniel. “Willy would never run away! Your father trained him never to leave the yard.” So she’s definitely his mother. “Willy was stolen! You told me yourself there have been several dognappings in Montreal recently.” Her voice breaks on the word dognappings.

  The bald guy pushes his way through the crowd toward Nathaniel’s grandmother. When he puts his arm around her shoulders, Nathaniel backs away a few steps and wipes his cheek. I wonder if he has been crying. I would not have expected him to be the kind of kid who would get attached to
a dog, especially such a small one. Then again, I never expected him to get friendly with Mason.

  “Look, Mother,” Nathaniel’s father says, “I know you’re upset. I know you love that dog. Fred,” he says to the fiancé, “let’s go inside so I can take a report. I don’t have much time. And I have to be honest with you, Mother—missing dogs are not the police department’s highest priority.”

  When Nathaniel’s grandmother starts to sob, Fred strokes the back of her head.

  I decide it is time for me and Mason to bolt—with or without Nathaniel. But when I look for Mason, I realize that he has gone to talk to Nathaniel’s grandmother. He is actually offering her the juice box from his lunch bag—and she is smiling back at him. Who knew that besides Mason’s remarkable ability to haul 150-pound dummies he was also good at comforting senior citizens?

  “That’s very kind of you.” Nathaniel’s grandmother sniffles. “Are you Mason? Nathaniel’s friend from forensics camp?” Then she suddenly seems to remember Nathaniel is there too. “You should go to camp, dear. I know today’s a big day. Didn’t you say you were analyzing evidence?”

  “Are you sure you’re going to be all right, Grandma?” Nathaniel asks her.

  “I’ll be fine”—she waves one hand in the air, and the silver bracelets make a jingling sound—“once we get Willy back.”

  Fred ruffles Nathaniel’s hair. “Try to have a good day at camp, son.”

  Nathaniel doesn’t answer. He ducks to get out of Fred’s reach. Mason catches my eye. He has also noticed Nathaniel’s reaction.

  Something tells me Mason and I are thinking the same thing—Fred’s a decent guy. But neither of us voices the thought. Nathaniel would not want to hear it

  Even when we are halfway down his block, Nathaniel looks back at his house as if he is hoping Willy will have come home.

  “That sucks about your grandmother’s dog,” Mason says for both of us.

  “I just got a dog—a German shepherd,” I add, though they are not paying attention to me.

  “We’ll help you get Willy back,” Mason says.