Case of the Pilfered Pooches

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  Vance stopped his pacing and stared at me. A smile formed on his face. He nodded.

  “A valid point. We have the warrant. We should look for it. Guys? Split up. Search the house. Look for some type of UV light, okay? It’ll probably look like an ordinary flashlight. If you find one, turn it on. You’ll know you’ve found the right one when the only light you’ll see will be a dark purple.”

  The two policemen nodded and disappeared into the house. I rose to my feet and made a move to follow when Vance stopped me.

  “You’re just a consultant. Stay put. Keep an eye on her. If she has one of those special lights, we’ll find it.”

  I shrugged and sank down into a seat across the table. Gertrude was now directing her angry glare at me. However, a piteous look of misery quickly appeared on her hardened face. I frowned. Was she playing me for a fool?

  “Please, Mr. Anderson. You have to destroy that board. If you don’t want to do it, then release me, so I can do it.”

  Growing angry, I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at the elderly woman.

  “Mrs. Barterson, do you have any idea of the misery you’ve caused by stealing all those dogs?”

  “I didn’t steal all of them,” Gertrude sniffed.

  “But you did help, right?”

  Gertrude remained quiet.

  “Do you remember the beagle?”

  Gertrude’s red-rimmed eyes found mine. She gave a slight nod.

  “Do you have any idea who it belonged to?”

  I didn’t figure Gertrude would favor me with an answer, so I kept pressing on. I wanted her to feel bad as I’m sure that little girl felt. And why shouldn’t I? She took the service dog from Captain Nelson’s granddaughter. She deserved to feel like shit.

  “That beagle,” I continued, “belonged to a little girl by the name of Sydney. The girl has autism, Mrs. Barterson. That dog helps keep her calm and focused.”

  Mrs. Barterson gasped aloud and then groaned miserably.

  “Feeling like crap? Good. You should. You stole a service dog from a little girl. Live with that.”

  “I had no idea,” Gertrude whispered. After a few moments, she sighed heavily. “It’s up there.”

  “What is up where?” I asked, puzzled.

  “You wanted to know where the dark light was. Well, it’s up there.”

  Confused, I looked up at the white acrylic lighting panels on the kitchen’s ceiling. The lights were on, but I didn’t see any evidence of a black bulb up there. More confused than ever, I turned back to Gertrude.

  “It’s there,” Mrs. Barterson insisted. “You can’t see it while the others are on. You need to turn off all the lights and then use the dimmer next to the switches there.”

  “Why are you suddenly helping me?” I wanted to know. “Do you really think I believe this sudden change of heart?”

  “I had no idea about that little girl. I’m trying to make things right.”

  I wordlessly walked over to the bank of switches and began flicking them off. Once all the lights were off, I twisted the dimming dial and waited to see what would happen. For the record, not a damn thing.

  “You need to push it first to turn the fixture on,” Gertrude instructed. “Then twist the dial clockwise until you see the light.”

  I did as I was told. A quick check of the ceiling gave me my answer. One of the acrylic panels now had a long, thin black line running the length of the panel.

  “Hey, Vance? You’d better come in here to see this.”

  Vance appeared in the doorway to the living room.

  “What is it? Why’d you turn out the lights?”

  I pointed at the panel. Vance stared, and then dropped his gaze until he locked eyes with Gertrude.

  “I knew it, lady. I knew you were in on this.”

  “Go easy on her,” I whispered to my friend. “She told me what to do in order to turn it on.”

  “She did? Why?”

  “Because I made her feel guilty as hell about what she did with Sydney’s dog.”

  Vance pointed at the board. “Bring that thing over here. Let’s see what it says.”

  Once the wheeled board was situated under the dark light, Vance gently rotated it until we could see the glass. Lines of eerie yellow writing had appeared. No wonder Gertrude had wanted to get rid of this thing.

  It was a checklist.

  The closest approximation I can come up with to describe what I was looking at would be a scavenger hunt, only instead of locating obscure objects, I saw six different abbreviations. Each one was short for the name of one of the AKC dog groups, that much was clear. I shook my head as I looked at what was written on the glass. Six lines, when there were seven dog groups? Any guesses as to which one was missing? Yep, you guessed it. Toy Group was nowhere on the board.

  Sprt: Labrador C Spaniel RL 

  Herd: G Shepherd MM 

  Hnd: Beagle EH 

  Terr: J Russell HP

  N-Sprt:

  Wrk:

  “Well, well, well,” Vance mused aloud. “What have we here? Kinda looks like a shopping list, doesn’t it?”

  I tapped the scratched out ‘Labrador’ entry.

  “Looks like this is where they lost the Labrador and had to get another dog to take its place,” I said, as I tapped the scratched out Labrador. “What do you think this ‘RL’ is for?”

  Vance was silent as he studied the text. He whipped out his cell, took a picture of the glass, and sent it off to who knows where. Then he turned to look at the sullen woman sitting – immobilized – at the dinner table.

  “What does the ‘RL’ signify?” Vance asked. “It has something to do with a name, doesn’t it?”

  Gertrude sobbed harder and refused to meet his eyes.

  “I’m sure once we compare the initials here to the members of this club, then we’ll have our answer,” I told Vance.

  “They’re not members.”

  The voice was so quiet we almost missed it. In response, Vance and I turned to Gertrude. She was still staring at the surface of the table, refusing to look up, but at least she was no longer sobbing.

  “What was that, ma’am?” Vance asked.

  “Those aren’t members. At least, not yet. They’re recruits.”

  TWELVE

  “New recruits?” I sputtered. “As in, they’ll only be allowed to join your club if they steal their assigned dog?”

  Gertrude nodded, “Yes.”

  I snapped my fingers as a few missing puzzle pieces slid into place.

  “The tire tracks!”

  “What about them?” Vance asked.

  “That’s why they were all different!”

  Vance was nodding, “Because each thief used a different method to remove the dog from the scene.”

  I looked at Gertrude, who refused to meet my eyes.

  “Where do you get off taking dogs that don’t belong to you? How would you feel if someone did that to your own dog?”

  “I would feel terrible,” Gertrude admitted. “But, it had to be done.”

  “What had to be done?” Vance demanded. “Stealing the dogs? What right did you have to order prospective club members to commit a crime?”

  “We had to know if we were allowing the right people into our club.”

  “How’s this for prerequisites?” I snapped. “Do you own a small dog? Does it belong in the Toy Group? Presto, you’re qualified.”

  Gertrude’s nose lifted.

  “That’s why the Mini Me’s are the best. All of our members are dedicated to preserving the Toy Group’s status of being the best group, the best companions.”

  “There is no one group that’s better than all the others,” I pointed out. “Opinions vary. That’s why there are so many different breeds of dogs.”

  “You own those dreadful corgis,” Gertrude sneered. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  “Dreadful?” I repeated, flabbergasted. “You’re calling my two little dogs ‘dreadful’? Why y
ou pompous, wrinkled, mal-adjusted…”

  Vance’s hand appeared on my shoulder as he pulled me away.

  “That’ll be enough, pal. You don’t want to say anything that might incriminate yourself.”

  “What do you have against corgis?” I asked, in what I hoped was a tone that wasn’t dripping with disdain.

  “The Mini Me’s deserve to be recognized everywhere, not two crime-solving herding dogs. We are sick and tired of hearing about how wonderful those two dogs are.”

  “They’re smarter than your dogs will ever be,” I proudly praised, lifting my own nose up into the air. “They’re smarter than you, and they’re smarter than me.”

  “Don’t let her draw you into a pissing match, Zack,” Vance warned. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Vance walked back to the board and tapped the fourth line.

  “Do you see this? This marks the entry for what I’m guessing is the Terrier Group. Looks like they’ve picked out a Jack Russell Terrier, only they haven’t got him yet.”

  “No check mark,” I breathed in amazement.

  “Right. We need to find out who they’ve selected and warn him.”

  “Or…”

  Vance looked at me, askance. All he would have had to do was raise an eyebrow and he would have nailed the Spock Stare. I started to pace.

  “…we find out who the owner is and see if we can catch them in the act.”

  “Ooooo,” Vance cackled, as he rubbed his knuckles. “I like it. How do we figure out who they’ve targeted?”

  I pointed at Gertrude, “We don’t have to. She already knows.”

  “And why should I tell you?” Gertrude demanded.

  “Because this sick, twisted game of yours has to stop, lady,” Vance replied. He pulled one of the chairs out from the table, flipped it around, and then straddled it. “We need to be certain that the Jack Russell Terrier on the board doesn’t suffer the same horrible fate as poor Sydney’s Beagle.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gertrude snapped. “That Beagle is fine. Edith is…”

  Vance smiled as a look of horror spread across Mrs. Barterson’s face. My detective friend nudged me on the arm.

  “See what I did there? Gertrude here just divulged that the captured dogs are not only alive, but more than likely still in town. And who might this Edith be, Mrs. Barterson?”

  A thin frown appeared on Gertrude’s face.

  Vance stepped aside and pulled out his cell.

  “This is Detective Vance Samuelson. I need a records check for anyone with the first name of ‘Edith’. I’d start by looking at everyone within a one mile radius of the park on 8th Street. If you don’t find anything there, then start expanding the circle until you do.”

  Gertrude sobbed harder, suggesting we were on the right track. There had to be something I could do to speed this up. This was a little old lady, for crying out loud. Perhaps I could appeal to her sense of right and wrong?

  “Remember, that Beagle belongs to a little girl who desperately needs him back,” I reminded the tight-lipped old woman.

  “I will not turn on my friends,” Gertrude finally said. Her face told me she was done cooperating.

  “Edith,” I repeated. The name did ring a bell. “Edith. Would that be the same Edith who filled her water bottle with coconut rum during your walk in the woods? Wasn’t that the same time Vance and I were looking for the Beagle? Oh, holy hell. You had the dog in one of those strollers, didn’t you?”

  Gertrude became tight-lipped again.

  “How?” Vance demanded. “How could they have managed to get the dogs away without them freaking out? That’s the part I’m having a huge problem with.”

  “Detective?”

  One of the policemen had poked his head into the kitchen. He was holding a small white bag with some type of logo printed on the front.

  “I think you should take a look at this.”

  “What is it?” Vance wanted to know.

  The policeman handed Vance the bag and then continued his search.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I’ll be damned. Ask and ye shall receive. So that is how you pulled it off.”

  Vance handed me the bag. There was a black and green logo, and the word ‘Composure’ displayed on the front. Then, in a smaller font farther down the bag, I saw the words, ‘Behavioral Health’. My eyes widened with disbelief as I flipped the bag around and read a label which pointed out what effects the product guaranteed would happen. It couldn’t be!

  “The label on the back says that there are ingredients in here which facilitate calmer behavior and relaxation.”

  Vance didn’t respond. He was still scowling at Mrs. Barterson.

  “It also says that this stuff is safe for long-term use. So, this is some type of tranquilizer? Is that it?”

  “It’s a relaxant,” Gertrude condescendingly informed us. “It’s perfectly safe and it’s 100% organic.”

  “A relaxant?” Vance repeated. “People actually make dog relaxants?”

  I shrugged, “Apparently. This has got to be the stuff they’ve been giving the dogs. If these chews are anything like the bag claims them to be, then these more than likely calmed them. Calmed them enough to be willing to go off with a stranger, that is. Or, maybe it made them dopey, who knows?” I looked at Gertrude for confirmation, but she avoided my eyes.

  “Where are they now?” Vance asked again. “Where’s my dog, lady?”

  “I’ll bet they’re with that ‘Edith’ person. The one with the rum. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Barterson?”

  She may not have said ‘yes’, but Gertrude’s eyes gave us all the confirmation that we needed.

  “You can do us all a favor and tell us her last name,” Vance told her. “Sooner or later, we’re going to figure it out and it’ll be that much worse for you.”

  “Well, she was one of those ladies we met when we were searching for Sydney’s Beagle,” I recalled. “Remember when those women all passed around a water bottle full of rum? Edith is the one who did that. I’ll bet you she’s a member of the Mini Me’s. There’s gotta be some record of current members somewhere around here.”

  Vance pulled out his phone to relay the information. I sat back down at the table and looked at Gertrude. She had tear stains running down her face, her eyes were red and swollen, and she was gently rocking back and forth in her chair.

  “Do you want this to be over? Come on, Mrs. Barterson. Deep down, you had to know what you were doing was wrong. Help make it right. Tell us how we can find this Jack Russell before he’s taken. Do you want another child to go through what Sydney is going through?”

  “He doesn’t belong to a child,” Gertrude softly murmured.

  I leaned forward to put my elbows on the table.

  “Who doesn’t?” I wanted to know. “The Jack Russell? Who’s the owner? How can we find him?”

  “I’ve never met the owner,” Gertrude admitted. “All I know is he usually takes his dog for a walk downtown every afternoon, weather permitting.”

  “You’re going to try and take the dog while they’re walking down Main?” I asked, incredulous. “Gutsy. Stupid, but gutsy.”

  Gertrude shook her head, “No. I’m told he lives off of Blackstone. He walks his dog down 6th, passing the park on 8th. He always stops and sits on the bench while he throws a ball around. That’s when they’re planning on taking the dog.”

  “When is this supposed to happen?”

  “Today.”

  “Gertrude, thank you. You’ve been a big help. Vance? Where are you?”

  I left one of the cops with Gertrude and hurried outside. I found Vance talking on his cell, gesturing frantically, as he paced back and forth on the sidewalk. I waved at him to get his attention.

  “Hold on, Captain. Zack? What is it?”

  “We’re looking for a guy who lives on Blackstone. At some point today, he’s supposed to take his dog for a walk down 6th,
on his way to Main Street. He’s due to stop at the park on 8th for a bit. It’s supposed to happen while he’s there.”

  “How in the hell did you find this out?” Vance wanted to know.

  “I got her to tell me.”

  “Way to go, Zack! Captain? Did you hear that? Good. Right. I’ll meet you there.” Vance finished the call and slid the phone back into a pocket. “Zack, I think we can take this from here.”

  “Do you want me to help with anything?”

  Vance shook his head, “Buddy, you’ve already been a big help. Go home. Spend time with your dogs. We’ll take care of this.”

  “How are you going to find the missing dogs?”

  “That’s easy. We’ll pull the member list for these Mini Monsters…”

  “Mini Me’s,” I corrected.

  “Whatever. Anyway, all we have to do is find an address for an ‘Edith’. There can’t be that many in this psycho club. If she’s the one that’s been taking care of them, then she’s the one who’ll tell us where they’re being held. I want Anubis back. By God, I’m not going home today until I can give my family back their dog.”

  “If you need any help, then you know where to find me.”

  “I do. Thanks, Zack.”

  Several hours later, just before four in the afternoon, I got the call. Sure enough, it was Vance, and he didn’t sound pleased.

  “Hello?”

  “Zack? I’m glad I caught you.”

  “Hey, Vance. How’d it go? Why does it sound like you’re about to give me some bad news?”

  “The Jack Russell was a no-show. We had undercover cops stationed all the way from Blackstone to the park. There wasn’t anyone walking a Jack Russell Terrier today.”

  “Do we know if Mrs. Barterson is right? Is there someone on Blackstone Lane who owns a Jack Russell?”

  “Yes. Myself and Officer Jones went door to door, asking if anyone knew of a Jack Russell Terrier living nearby. There is. His owner’s name is Peter Woolson. He’s single, retired, and has lived in PV for the last twenty years.”