by Diane Kelly
I woke at first light. My eyes still felt heavy and my teeth felt like they were coated in felt. Ick. I couldn’t wait to get home and freshen up. I might even be able to get in an hour’s sleep before reporting for my day shift. As I sat up, a sharp pain zinged through my neck. Great. A crick. Just what I need right now.
I climbed out of my car and went to the front door to speak with Adriana. Fortunately, she was already up and dressed.
“We’re going to be heading out,” I told her. “No one has come by in a while. If you’d like I can see about g-getting one of the spare cruisers parked out here as a deterrent.” If any other creeps came by, maybe they’d assume a cop was inside the house.
“That would be great,” she said. “Thanks again for all you’ve done.”
“My pleasure,” I lied. It hadn’t been pleasurable at all. I had the crick in my neck and my back was sore, too. I hadn’t been able to stretch out in the confined space, especially with Brigit in there with me. Given the way my back felt at the moment, it would be a wonder if I could ever fully straighten my spine again. I’d walk around like a female Quasimodo.
When I returned to the station, Captain Leone caught me in the lot. “Detective Bustamente told me what you did last night,” he said. “Going above and beyond.”
I shrugged, not so much out of humility but because I was too tired to congratulate myself on my dedication. Of course the shrug only exacerbated the shooting pain in my neck.
“We can survive without you this morning,” the captain said. “Get some rest and come in at noon.”
Thank goodness. I’d been afraid I’d nod off while writing a ticket, fall into traffic, and end up under the wheels of a city bus. That would be no fun for anyone, especially whoever would be charged with scraping my squashed remains off the asphalt.
When I went home, I discovered that Seth had left the razor and shaving cream he’d been using the other day in my medicine cabinet. He’d left a toothbrush, too. Hmm. Looked like he and I would need to have a talk about our relationship status.
I peeled off my uniform, brushed the felt from my teeth, rubbed some mint-scented pain relief cream on my neck and back, and fell into bed.
I slept like the dead. When I woke four hours later, I felt only mildly refreshed but at least the soreness in my back and the crick in my neck were gone.
When I arrived at the station at noon, I checked in with Detective Bustamente for both an update on the case and a piece of his wife’s fudge. Though I tended to be health conscious, I’d been falling off the wagon more and more frequently lately. I made a mental note to try to do more walking on my shift to burn off the extra calories.
I bit into a square of fudge. The delicious stuff melted on my tongue. “This is so good!” I gushed, quickly grabbing another chunk to take with me. “Any word from the techs on the Kinky Cowtown profile?”
“Yep. There was nothing on Ryan’s phone or computer to indicate he was the one who’d posted the picture and bio.”
“Really? Nothing at all?” I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, if Ryan had used either of the devices to upload Adriana’s profile, he would not have so willingly given the techs access to them.
“Nada,” Bustamente replied.
“What about the IP address?” I asked. “How’s that going?”
“It’ll be Monday at the earliest before the techs can track that down.”
Ugh. The wheels of justice moved too damn slow sometimes. Until this investigation was resolved and the stalker was behind bars, my mind would continue to work on it nonstop, examining the evidence over and over, taking in all the angles, playing back everything Adriana and Ryan had said, their gestures, expressions, and tics. I wished I could turn that part of my brain off and just enjoy the weekend, but I knew it would be difficult.
* * *
It was indeed difficult to turn off my brain, but the two glasses of sangria I downed Friday night at a Mexican restaurant with Seth helped me take my mind off things for a while. So did the things he did to me later, back in my bedroom.
The next morning, movement in the bed woke me. I opened my eyes to see Seth sliding out from under the covers. He went over to my dresser, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a pair of fresh underwear and socks.
I propped myself up on my elbow. “You’ve got underwear and socks in my drawers now?”
He cast a glance back at me. “I figured I’d leave a pair or two here,” he said. “For convenience.”
“Convenience, schmonvenience.” Okay, that old verbal ploy didn’t work so well with such a long word. But still, I maintained the sentiment. Seth was full of crap here. “You’ve got a locker at the station. Can’t you leave clothes there?”
“I do.” He raised a shoulder. “I just figured it made sense to have some here, too.”
I sat up in bed, putting a pillow behind me. “You’re a squatter.”
“Am not.”
“Are too. I saw your shaving cream and razor and toothbrush in my bathroom.”
He cut a sideways glance at me. “Does it bother you?”
“No,” I said. “I just want to know what’s going on.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face and let loose a loud groan. “Let’s just say I’m tired of living in an igloo.” In other words, things between his grandfather and his mother were as cold and frosty as ever.
“Well, at least it won’t last forever,” I said with a chuckle. “With global warming, you’ll be knee-deep in water in no time.”
He didn’t laugh. In fact, he cut me an irritated look.
“Sorry,” I said. “That must really stink.”
He stared quietly at the wall for a moment before turning back and giving me his best sexy eyes. “You really can’t fault me, you know. You make being here a lot of fun.”
“I do, do I?”
“Yeah. Maybe we should have some more fun before breakfast.” With that, he began crawling toward me across the bed.
That’s when I realized the opportune moment I’d been waiting for had arrived. After all, a guy will agree to just about anything if he thinks sex will be part of the bargain. I put a hand against his shoulder to halt his approach. “I want to meet your grandfather.”
He closed his eyes and groaned again. “You sure know how to spoil the mood.”
“It wouldn’t take much to get you back in the mood and you know it.”
He sat back on the bed and stared at me for a long moment, his eyes narrowed at first, but eventually relaxing as he gave in. “Okay. You want to meet the jerk? You can meet the jerk.”
“Good. When?”
He let out a long, loud breath. “I suppose next weekend is as good a time as any. I’ve got reserve duty, but I’ll be back this way by six o’clock Sunday. I could pick you up on my drive home and we can get stuff to cook out in the backyard.”
“That sounds great, Seth.”
He cast me a pointed look. “If he acts like an ass, just remember this was your idea. Don’t hold it against me.”
I reached out and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “I won’t.”
Later, we left the dogs at home in each other’s company and drove to the Kimbell Art Museum. We meandered around the space, taking a moment or two to stare at each of Monet’s paintings. While I’d never had any talent for art, I could appreciate the time and skill involved in creating these masterpieces. The artist proceeded brushstroke by brushstroke, sometimes leaning in with a small brush to take care of an intricate detail, other times taking a step back to get the bigger picture. In some ways, the process was similar to a criminal investigation. The problem in the stalking case, though, was that I could only see a few of the colors around the edges and had no idea what the big picture was. But come Monday, when the tech team finished their analysis, we should be able to see things much more clearly.
* * *
I was sitting on pins and needles during my Monday shift, waiting to hear from the detective. Would th
e techs discover something that would prove Ryan had uploaded Adriana’s profile to Kinky Cowtown?
I repeatedly checked my cell phone to make sure I hadn’t missed a call or text. Nope. Still nothing.
After cruising through the medical district, eyes peeled for a man in scrubs enjoying a grape Tootsie Pop, I drove over to the Colonial Country Club neighborhood. I pulled up to Brock’s house, taking Brigit to the door with me. I rang the echoing bell. Brock’s mother quickly answered the door. Good. She realized I wasn’t fooling around.
“Hello,” I said. “Just checking in.”
A voice came from above us and I looked up to see Brock with his arms draped over the railing of a catwalk that connected one part of the upstairs to another. “I’m here.” Both his face and voice were sullen. “My life sucks. You got what you wanted.”
What I’d wanted was for the kid to take responsibility for his actions. But at least he’d likely think twice next time he screwed up.
“He’s been working on his summer reading assignment,” his mother said. “A Tale of Two Cities.”
“Well, then,” I said. “Looks like he’s made good use of his time.”
He scowled down at me. “This is the worst of times!”
What do you know? The kid had learned something. “Buck up,” I told him. “Maybe read it a second time for good measure. You’ll thank me when you get an A on the test.”
He muttered as he wandered back to his bedroom.
Our mission here complete, Brigit and I returned to our car.
Finally, at 3:45 I heard a prophetic ping from my phone. The detective had sent a text. Got some news. Come to the station.
“Hang on, Brigit!” I called.
My partner had learned from experience that “hang on” meant she’d better hunker down or the next moment she’d be sliding across the floor. She plopped down and sprawled her legs out for balance.
I whipped a quick U-turn on University, several of the TCU students on the curb watching as I sped past, probably wondering where I was going in such a hurry. In mere minutes, I pulled into the station. I was out of the car in a heartbeat, ordering Brigit to come along. I didn’t bother to leash her, not wanting to take the time.
Brigit’s nails clicking on the tile behind me, I sprinted down the hall to Bustamente’s office and darted inside without stopping at the door to wait for an invitation. Inside sat both Detective Bustamente and Detective Audrey Jackson, my other mentor.
“Did Downey do it?” I asked. “Can I go make an arrest?”
The two exchanged looks and laughed, Detective Jackson’s perky dark braids bouncing as she chuckled. “You can get your cuffs ready, Officer Luz. But not for Downey.”
My head began to spin. Huh?
“Take a seat,” Bustamente said, “and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
I plopped down in the armchair next to Detective Jackson and Brigit sat at my feet.
Bustamente’s rolling chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “The tech team determined that the profile was uploaded through the Wi-Fi at the rehab center where Adriana works.”
“What!” Why in the world would a woman invite perverts to her door? Willingly and purposely put herself in danger?
“That was my reaction, too,” he said. “It doesn’t make sense. If she was trying to frame Ryan, there would be much less risky ways to do it.” He pointed to Jackson. “I asked Audrey in to get a second opinion, see if she had any insights.”
“And?” I said, turning to her.
She raised her palms. “I’ve got nothing. It sounds crazy to me that she’d have uploaded the profile, but I’ve seen a lot of crazy over the years. You two need to talk to Adriana.” With that, she rose from her seat and stepped over to Brigit, bending over to ruffle the dog’s ears. “Hello, there, pup. Have you been a good girl?”
Brigit wagged her tail and gave Detective Jackson a lick on the nose as if to say Yes! I’m always a good girl. Before leaving the room, the detective snagged the last piece of fudge from the plastic container on Bustamente’s desk. “Too bad you didn’t confiscate all of that marshmallow fluff. I could eat a pound of this stuff.”
Once she’d left the room, Bustamente grabbed his jacket and draped it over his arm. “Let’s go have a chat with Miss Valdez.”
We drove to the rehab center. It was a three-story facility that, according to the signage, handled both inpatient and outpatient care. We parked, gave Brigit a second or two to sniff the bushes outside, and checked in at the front desk. When we told the woman we needed to speak with Adriana, her brows reflexively rose in interest. How long until the office gossip starts to spread? When the receptionist got her brows back under control, she glanced down at my furry partner, her expression unsure.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ll keep the dog away from the patients.”
The woman picked up her phone and punched three buttons. “Miss Valdez, I’ve got a Detective Buster Manty and an Officer Louise here to see you.”
The woman had butchered our names, but surely Adriana would know who she was referring to.
“Okay,” the woman said into the phone. “I will.” She returned the receiver to the cradle. “Third floor.” She pointed across the way to a bank of elevators. “Room 328.”
We thanked her and made our way to an elevator. After waiting for an elderly woman with a cane to exit, we climbed aboard. Though we rode up in silence, I could almost hear the buzz of my nerves.
Would Adriana confess all?
Would we be walking out of here in mere minutes with Adriana in handcuffs?
Would this confounding case finally have a resolution?
The car bobbed and the bell dinged as we came to a stop on the third floor. We exited, consulted the sign mounted on the opposite wall, and headed in the direction the arrow pointed for rooms 315 to 330.
As we walked down the hall, it became clear we were on an inpatient ward where people lived while undergoing long-term treatment. Patients in wheelchairs and others using walkers cooed and called to Brigit. Many of them reached out a hand to pet her. Despite my promise to the receptionist that I’d keep Brigit away from the patients, I didn’t have the heart to rush past these people. They probably hadn’t seen a dog in a while. Many of them might be missing their own pets while they underwent rehabilitation here.
“Hey, girl!” a white-haired woman with a walker called. She reached down with a gnarled hand to rub Brigit’s head. “You sure are a pretty thing. I bet you’re smart, too, aren’t you?”
“As a whip,” I said. Poor choice of words. My mind went back to the leather whips and marshmallow fluff.
“Can she do tricks?” asked a bald man headed our way, his walker tap-tap-tapping on the tile floor as he came along.
“She sure can.” I ran through the usual rigmarole with Brigit. Sit. Shake. Roll over. In case anyone on the floor was sleeping, I skipped “speak.” No sense waking them up. “Here’s her coup de grâce.” I formed a pretend gun with my index finger and thumb, pointed it at Brigit, and said, “Bang-bang.”
She keeled over, falling onto her back with her legs in the air and her tongue hanging out, playing dead. She ought to get a Tony Award for that performance.
The woman let go of her walker and clapped her hands in delight. Bustamente caught the woman as she, too, began to keel over.
“This was such a treat!” she said. “I wish my Roscoe were allowed to come for a visit.” She proceeded to pull a photograph out of her pocket. “This is him.”
The black poodle in the picture was an absolute doll. “What a handsome boy,” I said.
Bustamente discreetly jerked his head toward the end of the hall, encouraging me to wrap things up.
“We have to get back to work now,” I told the group who’d gathered around. “Y’all take c-care.”
We continued down the hall to room 328. The door was closed. A hand-lettered sign affixed to it with surgical tape read PLEASE KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING.
The detective put his hand to the door. Knock-knock.
A moment later, Adriana opened the door. She poked her head out and glanced up and down the hall before hurriedly waving us in and closing the door behind us.
Her office space was tiny but tidy. She worked at a built-in modular desk with modular shelves lining the walls. Her window looked out on the parking lot. Not much of a view. On the corner of her desk was an industrial-sized pump bottle of hand sanitizer.
She retook her seat and gave the space between me and the detective a disapproving look. “I wish I’d known you were coming.”
Why? I thought. So you could bolt?
She went on. “My boss doesn’t like personal visits at work.”
While our visit might seem personal to Adriana, it was business to us.
Bustamente cut me a look, his eyes flicking to the cuffs at my waist, telling me to be ready to take her in. “We’ll make it quick,” he said. “Miss Valdez, our tech team was able to trace the profile back through the Internet service provider to determine what system was used to upload the data.”
Her eyes brightened and she seemed to vibrate with energy, sitting straight up in her rolling chair. Looked like I wasn’t the only eager beaver. “It was Ryan’s, wasn’t it? The Wi-Fi at his apartment?”
“No,” Bustamente said. “It was not.”
Her face clouded in apparent confusion.
“In fact,” the detective continued, “the information was entered on the rehab center’s system.”
Her forehead crinkled and she blinked several times, her head tilting first one way, then the other, like a little bird. She tapped an index finger on her desk. “You’re saying he used the system here to enter the profile?”
“I’m saying whoever entered the data used this system.”
“Wait.” She did the blinking-tilting thing again, her eyes narrowing. “You mean someone who works here did it?”
“Looks that way,” the detective said. He pulled a quartered piece of paper out of his breast pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to her. “Here’s their report.”
