“So now what, Sherlock?” I asked. “We can’t just call these folks and ask them if they murdered Mrs. Fairchild.”
“And the weapon is not unique enough to narrow the field,” said Pepe. “Almost anyone could have a hammer in their tool box.”
“Can we just eliminate the people who won their cases against her?”
“Perhaps the contractors,” said Pepe, “because they were probably not foolish enough to work for her again, but the neighbors, no! Who knows what new assaults upon their property she has perpetrated since?”
I plopped down on the sofa beside him.
“And if it was a neighbor, it was most likely to be that old woman who yelled at me!’” said Pepe. “Anyone who dislikes dogs is a person with a black heart.”
“I’ve got the neighbors’ names,” I said, flipping through my notes.
“On the other hand,” said Pepe, “if it was a neighbor, I would have most likely recognized the scent.”
“What do you mean? What scent?”
“Oh, I keep forgetting you have not been reading my blog,” said Pepe. “Besides Brad’s scent on the body—”
“Brad’s scent was on the body?”
“Oh, most definitely. How do you think he got all that blood all over him?” Pepe asked.
“I thought maybe he fell into some blackberry bushes while sunbathing at the nude beach.”
Pepe frowned at me. “Oh, I see you are making a joke. This is not the appropriate occasion for joking, Geri.”
“Sorry!” I said. I sometimes do that when I’m really upset as I was at the thought of Brad being present at the murder scene. “So Brad was in Mrs. Fairchild’s house at the time of the murder. Can you tell if it was before or after she was killed?”
“No, but I can tell you that someone else was present. Someone who smelled like Budweiser and Camel cigarettes.”
“Oh, well that should make it easy to find them!” I said.
As usual, Pepe did not respond to my sarcasm. “Let us consider the circumstances,” he said.
“It happened in the kitchen,” I said. “Do you suppose that’s significant?”
“Si, a kitchen with no aromas of food.”
“She was renovating the kitchen,” I said. “So it could have been someone she called in to hang cabinets or install the flooring or hook up one of the appliances.”
“It smelled like fresh paint,” Pepe pointed out.
“Yes, so perhaps a painter.” I looked down at the list, discouraged. We still had a huge list of suspects.
“Someone who knew that Brad would be arriving at the house shortly after it happened,” said Pepe.
“Yes, but who would know that?”
“A neighbor might see him come in.”
“What if Brad hired someone to help him?” I asked. “Like how I work for him!” I frequently reupholstered furniture under Brad’s direction. Less recently since I had been so wrapped up in the private eye business.
“I can imagine how it went down,” said Pepe. “Mrs. Fairchild on the telephone with Brad, complaining about the shoddy work done by the man he hired. The man standing there, shuddering under the assault of her cruel words.”
Pepe does have a tendency to purple prose. I blame it on all the telenovelas he watches.
“Brad rushes to meet with her and calm her down. He wants to inspect the work, which she disparages, to see for himself it is the travesty she claims. But as he is racing to the scene, the man pulls out a hammer and bashes her in the head. Brad arrives too late. She dies in his arms.”
‘That would explain the blood all over him when he was found later that day,” I said. “But then, what happened to the murderer?”
“Two possibilities, my dear Sullivan,” said Pepe. “Either the fellow had run off before Brad arrived. Or Brad took the weapon out of his shaking hand and sent him off to clean up.”
“In either version,” I said thoughtfully, “Brad knows who the killer is.”
“Bien hecho!” said Pepe.
“Why wouldn’t he say something?” I asked.
“Because he is not speaking,” said Pepe.
“Perhaps he feels guilty,” I speculated.
“Perhaps he is afraid others will think he is crazy,” said Pepe.
“But they already do,” I said. “Oh! You’re being ironic.”
“Si,” said Pepe.
“So the next step is to talk to Brad,” I said.
“If he is talking,” muttered Pepe.
“We’ll just have to convince him it’s in his best interest to talk.”
“Maybe it is not,” said Pepe.
Just then the phone rang.
“Oh my God! I forgot to call Felix!” I said, rushing to pick it up. I had promised to call him as soon as I got home.
“You’ve got to give them what they want! Otherwise, they’re going to kill me!” It was a woman’s voice. She spoke in a breathy whisper.
Pepe’s Blog: How to Keep Your Blog Au Courant!
You may have wondered, dear reader, how it is that I am able to keep so up to the minute on my blog posts when in the middle of such exciting events and dire circumstances. I must admit that it would be much easier if I had a smart phone, but, alas! I do not have pockets in which to carry it. Although do not mention that to Geri, who keeps trying to put me into clothes. Those are for girl dogs, not for a macho Chihuahua like me.
Instead I must type these reflections after the fact, but with the intention of convincing you that I am speaking to you poised on the very cusp of an incident. It is a technique I have learned from watching reality TV shows where the contestants always appear to be speaking about what is currently happening although they cannot possibly be stopping their frantic cupcake making or dress designing to convey their thoughts.
In this case, my careful grooming of my partner, my slow and insidious leading her to the insights necessary to solve the case of the Deadly Decorator, my training, as it were, was interrupted by a new crisis, but one in which I knew I could shine.
Chapter 25
I looked at the caller ID. It read “Amber Trout.”
“Amber?”
“Yes. Who do you think it is?” She sounded irritated.
“Where are you? Is it safe to talk?”
“I’m in the bathroom. I told them I had to go. They don’t know I still have my cell phone. I tucked it into my bra.”
“Why me?”
“Why not?” She sounded even more irritated.
“You don’t have to be so snappy!” I said. Pepe had rushed over to listen and I switched the phone so it was on speaker so he could hear.
“You would be too if you had spent the last night tied to a chair in a basement.”
“What does it smell like?” asked Pepe.
I heard a little dog barking. The sharp outraged barking had an echo.
“Is that your dog?” I asked.
“Yes, Party Girl’s in here with me! Thank God!”
“Did you call Jeff?”
“Yes, but he just handed his phone to the FBI. I don’t want to talk to them. These guys said they’ll kill me if the FBI shows up. They want your sister.”
“Ask her how it smells,” Pepe said again.
“What does it smell like?” I asked.
More barking on the other end
“What?”
“What does it smell like? Where you are?”
I could practically see Amber shaking her head.
“Pizza! It smells like pizza.”
“Hey! Who are you talking to?” I heard a gruff male voice, muffled somewhat.
“Tell him you’re talking to your dog,” I said. “I do it all the time.”
“I’m talking to my dog!” Amber shouted out. “She has more intelligent things to say than you!”
I had to admire her moxie. “Does she really talk to you?” I asked.
“What?”
“Ask her what sounds she hears?” said Pepe.
“
Sounds?” I asked. “Anything that would help identify the place?”
“Yeah, it sounds like a bowling alley. You know the thud, the crash of the pins, some shouting.”
“I think I know where you are,” I said. “I think my boss is staking out the place.”
“Let me talk to Party Girl!” said Pepe.
“What?”
“Hold the phone down by me!” he said.
“But—”
“Geri, it will only take a minute. I have a plan.”
“Pepe has something he wants to say to your dog,” I told Amber.
“What?”
“Just make sure your dog can hear him,” I said.
“Geri, are you crazy? I’m holed up in a bathroom in a basement and they’re going to kill me and you want your dog to talk to my dog?”
“Hey! You’re taking too long in there!” I heard pounding on the door. “I’m busting down this door in ten seconds.”
“Trust me!” I said.
She laughed bitterly.
I held the phone down by Pepe and he barked into the receiver. I heard some frantic barking on the other end.
“I’m coming in!” said the male voice and I heard a thud and the crack of wood. There was a thunk as the cell phone fell to the floor. I could hear a volley of fierce growling. Then silence, then a male voice shouting, “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”
“Well done, Party Girl,” murmured Pepe, listening intently. “Now she should go for the chair to finish him off.”
I heard light footsteps, then a thunk, then a thud and a grunt. Then silence.
A few minutes later, Amber was back, picking up the cell phone.
“Oh my God!” she said. “That was amazing.”
“You took down the bad guy?” I asked.
“No, Party Girl talked! I heard her talking! She told me to pick up the chair and hit the guy over the head with it.” There was a moment of silence and the scrape of nails on the floor. “You are Mommy’s good, good girl,” said Amber, making kissing noises.
“What’s up with the bad guy?” I asked, not wanting to break up the celebration but knowing every moment counted.
“It looks like he’s out cold. Or maybe I killed him! Oh my God, what if I killed him?”
“You’ve got to get out of there,” I said. “Look for an escape route.”
There was some scuffling and some scraping. “Nothing here,” said Amber. “No it’s locked,” she muttered. She got back on the phone. “All the windows are boarded up and the door to the outside is padlocked.”
“Where did the guy come from?”
“Down the stairs?”
“Did you try that?”
“Umm, wouldn’t there just be other guys like him up there?”
“Maybe. But if it’s a bowling alley, there should be customers. You could listen at the door.”
“I’ll check.”
I heard the creak of steps. Silence for a minute. Pepe listened intently.
“Tell her it’s safe!” Pepe said.
“But how do I know?”
“I know,” he said. “Tell her it’s safe.”
“If the door is unlocked,” I said.
But it was. I told her to go ahead and the next thing I heard was a blast of sound. Jan and Dean singing about Dead Man’s Curve. The clash of bowling pins being knocked down. A shout of triumph.
“Jimmy G is there somewhere,” said Pepe. “I heard his voice.”
“Is there a bar?’ I asked.
“Yeah, looks like back in one corner. The signs say MUST BE 21 TO ENTER.”
“Poke your head in. Look for a guy wearing a fedora and a really loud tie. If you see him, that’s my boss, Jimmy G.”
“Uh, OK.” I heard more laughter, snippets of conversation, a hollered order for food, the thunk of a bowling ball rolling down a lane. Then all the sounds got quiet, except for the clink of glasses and Frank Sinatra singing about what a good year it was.
“I see him!” said Amber. “He’s sitting at a booth with an old man with a pork pie hat.”
“Is there anyone else with them?”
“No, just the two of them.”
“Go up and tell him you’re a friend of mine,” I said. “Give him a fake name. Just ask him if he can give you a ride home.”
Pepe’s Blog: Looking for Operatives
I am in the process of developing a new business plan. Geri has been a remarkable partner thus far. But I believe we need a new concept, something that will set us aside from your ordinary detective agency.
This is essential if you hope to open your own agency. Humans use words like brand and platform. But those are vague concepts. The trick is to look bigger than you are, bark louder than the other dogs, and make yourself memorable. Chihuahuas know this.
I’m thinking of something along the lines of Charlie’s Angels. Perhaps Pepe’s Pets? A cadre of good-looking operatives who can fan out across the city, sniffing for clues and marking our territory.
And if you, my good reader, happen to be an attractive female dog looking for a chance to use your talents to solve crimes and make the world a safer place, free from cats and cockroaches, then leave me a comment below.
Chapter 26
“So you talked to Party Girl and she understood you?” I asked Pepe.
“Si. Why would she not?”
“It sounded like you were just barking to me,” I said.
“Because you do not speak Dog. Just like most dogs do not speak English. To most dogs, your language sounds like gibberish.”
“How come Amber could suddenly understand Party Girl?” I asked.
“Because I told Party Girl how to say what needed to be done in English, of course,” said Pepe. “Now we must turn our attention back to the matter at hand. The murder of Mrs. Fairchild.”
“What if that guy in the pork pie hat recognizes Amber?” I asked. “Jimmy G thought he might be a mobster.”
“Call Jimmy G,” suggested Pepe.
“Yes, if only he will answer his cell phone,” I said. Jimmy G hates the cell phone. He prefers the old-fashioned, rotary dial phone in his office. And, sure enough, there was no answer on Jimmy G’s cell phone. So I called Amber’s.
She answered on the first ring. “Oh, Geri!” she said. Her voice was light and breathless. “Your boss is such a hero.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Well, your boss said it looked like Amber needed a drink. And so he ordered a Cosmo. And Amber was drinking it and talking to him and the nice old man with the pork pie hat, and the next thing you know, that huge goon who Amber smashed over the head with the chair came wandering in, all dazed-looking.”
“Have you picked up Jimmy G’s annoying habit of talking about himself in third person?” I asked.
“Amber doesn’t think it’s annoying. Amber thinks it’s cute.”
“Oh, please!” I said. “What happened next?”
“The goon said to the old man, ‘Hey boss, this chick just hit me over the head and her dog bit me on the ankle.’ And the guy in the pork pie hat said, ‘Why am I surrounded by idiots?’ And he asked Jimmy G, he said, ‘Would you consider working for me?’ And your boss said as cool as could be, ‘I only work for the good guys.’ And the guy with the pork pie hat just shook his head and said, ‘Well, if you ever reconsider, let me know.’ And then they shook hands and Jimmy G scooped Amber up and whisked Amber away in his shiny red convertible.”
“That’s very touching,” I said. “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”
Amber laughed again. “Not the way Jimmy G is driving. No one could follow us. Whoa!” I could hear tires screeching. She giggled again.
“So is he taking you home?”
“Where are you taking Amber?” I heard her ask him.
“Where ever you want, princess!” I heard Jimmy G say.
“Look, call me again when you get someplace safe,” I told her. “And be sure to call Jeff and your parents and let them know you’re free.”
“Free! Free as a fish on a bicycle!” said Amber.
I hung up the phone and gave Pepe the gist of the conversation. “She sounds like she’s high or drunk,” I said.
“Freedom can do that to you,” Pepe observed solemnly.
“Right. Well, it sounds like she’s safe. At least as safe as anyone can be with Jimmy G.”
“It is better than having her come here,” said Pepe. “Especially since we must leave.”
“We must leave?”
“Si, we must go find Brad and get him to tell us what he knows about the murder.”
It was turning out to be a pretty busy Sunday considering that I had planned to stay home all day and recover from my stint at Forest Glen.
I didn’t have any luck finding Brad by calling Forest Glen. The receptionist there (who was not Lacey) simply said she couldn’t give out any information on their “guests.” When I asked for Dr. Lieberman, I got his voice mail. The county sheriff who had jurisdiction over the rural area where Forest Glen was situated told me they didn’t have anyone in their system by the name of Bradley Best. The Seattle police told me the same thing. I even called my friends, homicide detectives Sanders and Larson. To my surprise, Sanders did answer his phone.
“Funny you should call at this moment,” he said. He didn’t sound amused.
“Why do you say that?”
“We just got done questioning your friend, Brad.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That’s just it. Nothing. He’s all lawyered up. Thanks to you alerting his partner. But I don’t think he would talk even if he didn’t have a lawyer.”
“I need to talk to him,” I said.
“Well, good luck with that.” He hesitated for a moment. Then he said, “Hold on.” I could hear a muffled conversation.
“You know that just might be something we could work out. Can you come downtown to talk to us?”
“Yes! Anything to help Brad!”
Pepe had plenty of advice for me on the trip downtown. “You know that they record all of these conversations, Geri,” he said. “You cannot say anything that would implicate Brad.”
“Of course I know that!” I said. “But how do you know that?”
The Silence of the Chihuahuas Page 18
