Enforcing the Paw

by Diane Kelly

  She chewed her lip. “I know it will be impossible to prove Ryan entered the profile, but it’s obvious he did this. You’ll arrest him, won’t you?”

  “It depends,” Bustamente replied. “We’ll have to see what he says to me and Officer Luz tonight. No guarantees, but we may also be able to get a search warrant that would enable our tech specialists to trace the profile.”

  “You mean they can figure out who input the information on the app? I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “Not exactly,” he said, “and I can’t even pretend to know how all that tech stuff works.”

  Neither could I. While I could use technology as well as the next person, its inner workings were beyond my pay grade.

  The detective continued. “Our tech people can sometimes get the code that identifies the computer that was used in a crime. It’s called an IP address. IP stands for Internet Protocol. If they find an IP address for a computer that belongs to Ryan, we should be able to bring him in. Of course the process will take a few days.”

  “A few days?” She expelled a long exhale that said just how frustrated and disappointed she was. She looked past us again, though this time there was no sex fiend at the curb, only one of the swing-shift officers pulling up to keep watch. “I’m going to go back inside now, okay? I don’t want any of the men driving by to see me.”

  “I understand,” I said. “If you need anything tonight, just call my cell and I’ll be at your door in seconds.”

  “Thank you, Officer Luz.” With a final nod, she closed the door and it latched with a soft click.

  I returned my baton to my belt and stepped down from the porch, leading my partner with me. Bustamente stepped over to the curb to speak with the officer who’d just arrived and give him an update on the situation.

  Back at my cruiser, I retrieved a roll of bright yellow cordon tape from my trunk and tied an end to Adriana’s mailbox as a starting point. I dropped Brigit’s leash to give her the freedom to sniff around while I worked. I navigated the perimeter of the yard, affixing the tape to a bush, a fence post, and a scraggly Bradford pear tree on the property line, keeping the tape at waist level where it would act as an impediment to anyone attempting to enter the property. When I had the entire front yard roped off, I used my teeth to chew through the tape and returned the rest of the roll to my trunk. Brigit trotted up to the car, the jar of marshmallow fluff in her teeth.

  I wrestled it from her. “Sorry, girl. This stuff will give you cavities.”

  Bustamente came over and reached for the jar. “I’ll take that. My wife uses it in her pecan fudge.”

  Yum! I held the jar back, out of his reach. “Promise you’ll bring some to the station?”

  He chuckled. “I will. Can’t promise how long it will last, though.”

  A van from a Dallas TV news team pulled to the curb. I issued an involuntary groan as Trish LeGrande hopped down from the passenger seat dressed in her trademark pink, tonight’s outfit being a formfitting knit dress and strappy wedges. Her circus-peanut hair was pulled up in a French twist on the back of her head. Before graduating to more hard-hitting news stories, Trish had handled the feel-good fluff pieces for the channel. I supposed tonight’s story was the first literal fluff piece she’d be covering.

  Though she’d been on the scene and spoken with me at the mall bombing, when a pickpocket and purse snatcher was targeting people at the rodeo, and on various other cases, the woman never seemed to remember me. It could be due to the fact that she interacted with a lot of people and simply couldn’t recall everyone she’d met. Or it could be that she didn’t truly care about the stories she was reporting, she simply liked to be where the action was and be the center of attention. My money was on the latter.

  She stepped over to me and the detective. “We heard something about an unusual stalking incident here?”

  They must’ve been listening on a police scanner.

  The detective and I exchanged glances before he addressed her. “This is an ongoing investigation. We have no comment at this time.” When the cameraman stepped up with his camera on his shoulder, Bustamente turned to him. “We’d appreciate it if you don’t put the residence on the news. This is an extremely sensitive situation.”

  All Trish said was, “We’ll see.”

  Grrr. The media and law enforcement had a tenuous relationship. While news outlets could be of great help in tracking fugitives and helping us solve cases with their crime-stopper programs, other times the journalists could hinder our investigations, getting in the way or revealing facts we had hoped to keep under wraps.

  A car slowly rolled up and Trish raised an arm and trotted toward it on her heels. “Sir?” she called to the driver. “Would you be willing to speak to me on camera?”

  When the driver spotted the TV van and cameraman, he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He floored the gas and burned rubber, sending up a cloud of dust. Screeeeech!

  “Dammit!” Trish sputtered, waving dust out of her face.

  While Trish attempted to stop another car cruising by, I loaded Brigit into her enclosure. Bustamente climbed into his car and pulled out. Just as he vacated the spot at the curb, a motorcycle pulled into it. The rider held a whip in one hand and a jar of marshmallow fluff cradled between his legs.

  Once again, I yanked my baton from my belt and extended it with a snap! I used the baton to point at the jar of marshmallow whip and wiggled my fingers in a give-it-here motion. Technically, I had no legal right to confiscate the sugary stuff, but if he voluntarily turned it over without question, that was on him. After he handed me the jar, I swung my baton in the direction the man was facing and gave him a look that said keep moving or I’ll take this baton to your boys. He scowled, revved his engine, and was gone.

  I followed the detective to Ryan’s apartment complex. Luckily, both his blue Camaro and his work truck were in the lot, which meant he was likely to be home.

  We parked in a couple of adjacent, unreserved spots. After I handed the second jar of marshmallow whip over to Bustamente, we made our way up the steps to apartment 206. While Bustamente knocked on the door, Brigit snuffled around the bottom of it, probably scenting the fast food wrappers that comprised a significant part of the apartment’s décor.

  Ryan opened the door. Fortunately for me, he was fully dressed this time. He wore a pair of gray pants and a white short-sleeved button-down with the name Interstellar Communications embroidered on the breast pocket. The lowercase is were dotted with silver stars.

  Before either the detective or I could say anything, Ryan kazooed at me. “You got Danielle all pissed off at me. Thanks a lot!”

  I took a breath to keep myself from kicking him in the kneecap. “You realize I was only doing my job, trying to keep you safe. Right?”

  “I guess.” He exhaled a loud breath. “It just sucks, that’s all. I still don’t see why you had to drag her into it.”

  The detective extended his hand. “Hello, Mr. Downey. I’m Detective Hector Bustamente.”

  Ryan tentatively shook Bustamente’s hand before looking from one of us to the other. “Did you prove Adriana was the one who came by with the balloons? Did you arrest her?”

  Bustamente and I exchanged glances.

  “That’s not what we’re here about,” I told Ryan.

  He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “It’s not?”

  The detective didn’t hold back. “I hear you’ve got quite a hankering for marshmallow whip.”

  Ryan snorted out a laugh. “Love the stuff. How’d you know?”

  “How?” Bustamente repeated. “Because half a dozen men have brought jars of it to Miss Valdez this evening.”

  Ryan’s smile faltered and his expression froze for a few seconds as he purportedly tried to make sense of what the detective had told him. Seemingly unable to do so, he said, “Say what now?”

  Bustamente responded by holding out his phone to show Ryan the profile of Adriana on the Kinky Cowtown app.
/>   After reading the bio, Ryan belted out a belly laugh and slapped his leg. “Holy shit! That’s priceless!”

  It wasn’t priceless. It was criminal.

  “Sure was original,” Bustamente agreed, taking the phone from Ryan’s hand. “Can’t fault you for putting up the profile given what Officer Luz has told me about Adriana trying to get you in trouble. I’d have been upset about that, too.”

  There was that empathy the detective had mentioned.

  “Wait.” Ryan’s eyes narrowed, his expression becoming wary. “Are you saying you think I put that profile up?”

  The detective offered a casual shrug that I knew was anything but. He was trying to throw Ryan off his guard, procure an accidental confession. “Certainly couldn’t blame you if you did. I’d be madder’n hell if some woman attempted to frame me for breaking her window and then tried to sneak into my place to do God knows what.”

  Ryan’s eyes popped wide. “I had nothing to do with this! Interstellar is running a free-tablet-with-new-service promotion. We’re busy as hell. I had back-to-back installations today, barely had time to stop and take a piss. Another guy was working with me to speed things up. He’ll vouch for me.”

  In other words, Ryan had a potential alibi. Still, it was far from ironclad. After all, he could’ve used his phone or computer during a coffee break or when, as he’d so eloquently put it, stopped to take a piss.

  “C’mon, Ryan,” Bustamente said, offering a placating smile. “We know Adriana’s been harassing you. It’s only natural to want to even the score.”

  Ryan’s mouth gaped and he looked from the detective to me, his expression incredulous. “I can’t believe this is happening! This is bullshit! Adriana’s behind this, not me!”

  Bustamente switched tactics, going from friend to foe in five seconds flat. “You expect me to believe that a young woman would go so far as to invite total strangers to her house with the promise of kinky sex just to get back at an ex? That sounds pretty far-fetched to me. I think it’s far more likely you posted that profile. Stalking is a third-degree felony, Ryan.”

  Ironically, though stalking convictions came with some stiff penalties, stalking statutes were relatively new. In fact, the first stalking law wasn’t enacted until 1990, after a young, promising actress named Rebecca Schaeffer was shot to death by a crazed fan in California. Other states soon followed suit, enacting laws to punish stalkers and protect their victims.

  “If you confess,” Bustamente continued, “I might be able to swing you a deal, have the charges reduced to a misdemeanor or maybe even get you deferred adjudication so you’ll remain free and it’ll stay off your record. If not, you’re likely looking at some jail time.”

  “What the hell?!?” Ryan sputtered and threw up his hands. “I’m not going to confess to something I didn’t do! That’s crazy!”

  “If you didn’t do it,” Bustamente said, “then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I get one of our tech specialists out here to take a look at your computer and phone, check your browser history and whatnot.”

  Ryan’s facial features hardened. He looked the detective directly in the eye as he ground out his words through gritted teeth. “Bring it on.”

  Wow. I had to give Bustamente credit. He might not have been able to get a confession out of Ryan, but he’d successfully goaded the guy into agreeing to a voluntary search. We wouldn’t need a court order now. Yippee!

  Ryan turned to me and damned if there wasn’t hurt in his eyes. His voice sounded hurt, too. “I thought you were on my side, Officer Luz.”

  “If you’re innocent,” I told him, my guts squirming inside me, “I am.” My Lord, this case had pulled my mind and emotions in so many directions it was a wonder my brain and heart hadn’t snapped like taffy.

  Who was the victim here?

  Who was the guilty person?

  What was it going to take to find out?

  TWENTY-FOUR

  WATCHDOGS

  Brigit

  It was getting dark when Megan drove back to the house with the possum under the porch. Brigit lifted her nose to the metal mesh of her enclosure and sniffed. She could smell the beady-eyed little beast. She’d love to give it a nice chase. Of course the dumb things didn’t know how to play chase very well. She’d run after one before and instead of bolting for its life it had gone still, playing dead. A useless defense against a dog in most instances, but Brigit decided that even though the thing was too stupid to live she wouldn’t kill it. It wasn’t a fair fight.

  She and Megan stayed in the car with the windows down. Looked like they were on watchdog duty tonight. That was okay with Brigit. That gave her a chance to gnaw on the new bone Megan had bought her at the store. If she couldn’t be playing chase or wrestling with another dog, gnawing wasn’t a bad substitute.

  She picked the chew toy up with her mouth, used her paws to hold it in place, and set to work on it.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  SWEET REVENGE

  The Devoted One

  The idea had been brilliant. It created a sticky situation, made for some sweet revenge. And all it had taken was a few keyboard clicks.

  The Devoted One could be furious about it, but instead the prank provided hope. It proved that the tactics were working, that the two still shared a connection, even if it was indirect and weak at the moment. But that connection could grow stronger. It would grow stronger.

  The Devoted One was more determined now than ever.

  TWENTY-SIX

  DREAM GIRLS

  Megan

  After settling back in the cruiser at Adriana’s, I placed a quick call to Seth.

  “So you’re not coming home tonight?” His disappointment was clear in his voice. As much as I hated to let him down, it was nice to know he cared.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I promised Adriana I’d keep watch in front of her house.”

  “You’re not even supposed to be on duty tonight. Can’t another officer handle that?”

  “There’s another one here,” I told him, “but she specifically asked for me. I think she feels more comfortable with a female officer.” I had to admit I was flattered she’d asked for me to be involved tonight. I hadn’t been able to solve this stalking case or make an arrest yet, but I must be doing something right if I’d gained her trust.

  “All right,” he acquiesced. “But we’re still on for the Kimbell this weekend?”

  “Yep.” I knew Seth had little interest in seeing the Kimbell Art Museum’s exhibit featuring Monet’s early works, but the guy was willing to go along for my sake. Gotta love a guy who’s willing to make sacrifices. Besides, I’d attended more than one classic car rally with him. Healthy relationships were about give-and-take. Too bad Adriana and Ryan didn’t have a healthy relationship.

  I signed off with a smooching sound to let Seth know he, too, was appreciated, and went back to watch duty. When my butt went to sleep in the seat, I retrieved Brigit from her enclosure and let her roam the yard while I strolled up and down the walkway to get my blood flowing.

  My fellow officer, Brigit, and I spent the next hour and a half dealing with horny losers.

  Some spotted the cruisers or saw me and Brigit in the yard and moved along on their own. Others needed some encouragement from my baton. Another slowed down and rolled down his window. “Something happen to Adriana?” he called.

  “That profile was a prank,” I told him. “Three male cops live here. With their Rottweiler.”

  That ought to keep the guy from coming back.

  While I walked and watched, I worked my baton, twirling it through my fingers and performing a flat spin like I’d done back in high school when I’d been a twirler with the marching band. The sound of the spinning baton soothed me. Swish-swish-swish. I could only hope Adriana had something to soothe her. She’d need it tonight. I had little doubt Ryan was behind this prank. I mean, how nuts would a woman have to be to purposely draw sexual deviants to her home? But I knew Detective Bustamente believed we need
ed to tread lightly here, given Ryan’s protective order and all. We wanted to make sure we were doing the right thing, nabbing the guilty party. Besides, a wrongful arrest could make a mockery of the FWPD. Yep, we had to get all of our ducks in a row before we nabbed our goose.

  Eventually, I tired of pacing and took a seat on the porch, Brigit lying beside me and panting softly along with the electric buzz of cicada song. As I sat, I wondered what the technicians would find. Would they track the Kinky Cowtown profile back to Ryan’s computer or cell phone? I had my doubts. After all, if he’d posted it through either device he wouldn’t have offered them up for analysis. Of course that didn’t mean he hadn’t posted the profile. He just might have used someone else’s computer or phone. Only time would tell. And it was still entirely possible that someone other than Ryan was behind the events at Adriana’s place. Just because she couldn’t name another potential culprit didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Maybe one of her coworkers had set her sights on the doctor Adriana had been dating and was taking it out on her. Maybe she’d angered a patient at the rehab center by denying him salt or sugar or Jell-O and he’d decided to take revenge. Maybe a neighbor was jealous of the size of Adriana’s prized zucchinis. Or maybe I was just trying to entertain myself by coming up with outlandish ideas.

  As the night grew darker and the stream of perverts dwindled, Brigit and I returned to the car to wait. It was more comfortable than sitting on a porch with no back support, and at least in the cruiser we could listen to NPR.

  I must’ve inadvertently dozed off, because the next thing I knew I woke with a start as someone rapped at the window of my cruiser. Rap-rap-rap.

  I looked up to see the officer from the other car outside. I rolled down the glass.

  “I’ve had enough fun out here,” he said. “I’m going back out on patrol. Hinojosa’s on his way to help you out.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  A few minutes later, Officer Hinojosa pulled his cruiser to the curb facing mine. With fresh eyes on Adriana’s house and my eyelids so heavy I could no longer keep them open, I took the opportunity to climb into Brigit’s enclosure and curl up on her big comfy cushion. She cocked her head in confusion. I’d never climbed into her space before. But there’s a first time for everything, right?