Taking it, she replied, “What is it?”
“Whenever I was off work, sitting at the bar blowing off some steam, I would write down my personal thoughts about a case. It wasn’t official, but it helped me offload and to come up with storylines for novels when I retired. I don’t know… it might help you.”
“Thank you. I think anything at this point would be helpful,” she said. It was a little unorthodox, but something was better than nothing.
“Best of luck, Detective Scott,” he said. “If you need anything else on the case, please don’t hesitate to call me if you think I could help.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
* * *
It was twilight by the time she left, giving an orange-colored glow to the trees as she drove home. Katie took the sharp corners a bit too fast as her mind wandered back to the conversation with the detective. He seemed to be holding back on something—but why? She was beginning to realize that cops didn’t like to answer questions about their cases, particularly the ones they’d failed to solve. That was only normal, she guessed. For now, she would file the suspicious behavior in the back of her mind.
The daylight waned and the brilliant reddish orange filtered through the trees flickering like a light show as she coasted down the gravel track back to the main road. A fox skirted across Katie’s path causing her to slow her vehicle just at the same time her cell phone rang. She pulled to the side of the road.
“Detective Scott.”
“Hey. You at work?” said Chad.
“I’m cruising down the back roads right now.”
“Work related?”
“Of course.”
“You have plans for dinner tomorrow?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she said, shyly.
“I was thinking a light dinner at Carlo’s Bistro.”
“That sounds nice.” She smiled and couldn’t imagine her life in Pine Valley without Chad, the childhood friend who had been her rock after she had returned home from her two tours in Afghanistan. She’d never thought that she would see him again, but he had come back to town around the same time in search of a firefighter position.
“Katie?” he said interrupting her thoughts.
“Yes.”
“Call me when you get home.”
“Talk to you then,” she said and hung up.
Six
Friday 0700 hours
Military dogs tread quietly at your side waiting for your command—sometimes leading the pack. Loyal. Silent. Forever bonded. They are regal with intelligence and never wanting to be anywhere else except right at your side stealing your heart in the process. Their destiny has been imprinted in their DNA to protect, serve, and to find the bad guy—at all costs—even if it means giving their own life to save others.
The building was two stories high and sat on the edge of the six acre K9 training facility for the Pine Valley Sheriff’s Department—which also doubled as one of SWAT’s training areas. With two main doors on either side and different levels of moveable windows, the structure was a fun house of surprises designed to engage working K9s to find specific drugs or the perpetrator.
Katie led her very excited German shepherd, Cisco, toward the main entrance of the training building. The early morning sunlight glanced off the dog’s shiny jet-black coat. With high-pitched whines and alert amber eyes, Cisco readied himself and waited for Katie’s commands.
Katie and Cisco had been a military K9 team in the army on both of her combat tours in Afghanistan. Cisco had been credited with detecting the locations of dozens of explosive devices, while participating in over a hundred patrols clearing routes for the team. Cisco was a special dog and Katie was extremely lucky to be able to bring him home. Their K9 bond remained unshakeable.
She unsnapped the leash and dropped it to the ground. Cisco instinctively went into training mode and took his position at her left side; ears forward, nose and tail lowered, alert to anything unusual.
Katie approached the building with trepidation as if it were a real-life situation. She hurried to the side of the entrance and kneeled down, pressing her back against the wall. Dressed in army fatigue pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, she reached for the weapon in her leg holster. Pointing it ahead, she inched along the wall and Cisco copied her, hugging close to her side until they reached the corner. Katie stopped, Cisco too—waiting.
When she knew the coast was clear, Katie sprinted to the entrance and flung out the door, sheltering to one side as she shouted, “Sheriff’s Office, come out or I’ll send in the dog!”
No response.
“You’re surrounded. Come out now or we’ll send in the dog!” she pushed.
Cisco barked, eyes locked on the doorway.
Katie moved to the opening and entered slowly with Cisco at her side. She wanted Cisco to search the building, so “Voran,” she commanded in German. It was traditional to train German shepherds in the language for both police and military dogs. Cisco knew German, English, and hand commands.
The dog ran deeper into the building, systematically searching the bottom floor. His excited panting was only interrupted by intense moments where he caught a scent and put his nose to work. Just before the staircase at the far end, Katie called out “Platz,” and then, “Bleib.” Cisco immediately downed in his position, belly touching the floor, and waited.
Katie looked behind her and then glanced up the stairs, still focused and training her gun in the direction she moved. She slowly climbed the stairs. “Fuss,” she instructed Cisco to heel at her side. The team ascended the stairs until they reached the top platform. Katie checked the immediate area from the left to right before deploying Cisco. She said, “Voran,” again to search the second level.
Cisco bolted—his nails scraping against the plywood flooring, then rapid barking. Katie hurried to catch up and found him barking at a closed closet. She knew that the training decoy was hiding in the closet.
“Come out with your hands up,” she ordered.
Cisco still belted out deep barks.
“Come out now!” she yelled.
The door slowly moved.
“Platz,” and then “Bleib.” The dog obeyed, eyes fixed, immediately stopping barking and dropping to his position on the floor.
Katie still followed protocol and inched to the cabinet, waiting a few seconds, and then flung open the door. Inside, the decoy, dressed in a full bite-suit, raised his hands in the air and inched out.
“Turn around, keep your hands on your head,” Katie ordered.
The decoy obeyed.
Just as Katie pretended to put the handcuffs on the trainer, he bolted backward knocking Katie off her feet. Her gun flew from her hand and clattered across the floor. The decoy reached to grab Katie, now unarmed and vulnerable, but Cisco sprang into action with incredible speed and agility, clamping down on the decoy’s arm, throwing him off balance.
Katie fell to the ground while Cisco kept his grip, as the decoy’s body was flung around as he struggled to escape. Moments later, the suited man hit the floor.
Katie yelled, “Aus!”
The dog instantly released his grip and trotted next to Katie, still keeping a keen eye on the decoy.
“Good boy,” she said.
“Damn, what a hard bite,” exclaimed the man with pain in his voice. He walked up to Katie and offered her a hand up. “Sorry for hitting you so hard. Our usual K9 guys weigh twice as much as you.”
Katie laughed. “No problem. It did take me by surprise—and that’s good to keep me on my toes. No special treatment here…”
* * *
Katie hurried down the stairs and out the front open door towards Sergeant Blake Hardy; Cisco stayed beside her carrying his favorite yellow ball as if he had won the lottery. Hardy was in charge and oversaw the K9 unit for the sheriff’s department. It was clear by his gait and appearance that he had been a cop for his entire career. His greyish crew cut and intense stare sealed the first impression.
“That�
��s one happy dog,” he said.
Still a bit winded, Katie said, “He loves everything about training.”
“Have you been working him outside of the training area?”
“I’ve been taking him on some trailing and scent exercises behind my property, just to keep him engaged,” she said.
“I bet it’s hard for a war hero to sit at home and relax.” He faced Katie but kept his attention on Cisco.
Katie laughed. “It is, but I love training too.”
“How’s it going with the cold cases?”
Katie was surprised that the sergeant was interested. He usually kept things brief and only about dog training. “It’s tough and challenging, but I’m enjoying it. No two days are ever the same.”
The sergeant looked up and nodded at the decoy approaching from the building. “How’d it go?” His demeanor reverted back to business.
“Great bite. Even harder than Nitro.”
“That’s impressive.”
“Hear that, Cisco?” Katie said.
The dog responded with shaking the ball and gave a slight grumble.
Katie turned to leave; she needed to get changed for work. “Thank you, Sergeant, for letting us train.”
“Anytime,” he said and gave a quick nod.
Seven
Friday 0845 hours
After securing Cisco at the police kennel, Katie changed into a tan suit in the locker room and headed to the forensic division to move forward on the Sam Stiles case. She made her way down to the basement and stood in front of the entrance, swiped her identification, and waited for the door to unlock.
As always when she entered the forensics area, she was hit with the sense of being in a soundproof bunker. She pushed forward and took a deep breath of the recirculated air cleaned through layers of industrial HEPA filters and the high-tech filtration allowing the forensic division to stay as uncontaminated as possible. She couldn’t think of a cleaner, quieter, more convenient place to work.
On the way to her office she passed the main forensic examination room, filled with scanning electron microscopes and computers. As usual, she saw John hunched over a microscope in dark cargo pants and a black T-shirt which showed his arm tattoos. Most people would never guess that he used to be part of the military as a Navy Seal.
Katie didn’t want to disturb him, so she smiled and moved on down the hallway. To her surprise, her door was ajar. She sucked in a breath, but was quickly relieved to see her partner, Deputy McGaven, sitting at his desk tapping away at the computer keyboard; conducting background research was one of his strengths in their partnership.
“Hey,” she said.
He looked up and smiled. “Morning. You running late?” McGaven looked different in plain clothes rather than his deputy uniform. His white dress shirt was neatly ironed and he wore a dark maroon tie, looking like a sharp detective.
Katie put her briefcase down on her desk. “No,” she said with a slight sarcastic, but playful tone. “I’m not late. I’ve been training with Cisco since about 7.00 a.m. this morning. And I had to change.” She shed her suit jacket and hooked it over her office chair.
“Ah,” he said.
She looked at the whiteboard in the corner, which was empty now that all the leads for her last case had been taken down. She sighed.
“What’s up?” McGaven said.
“Nothing.”
“C’mon, what’s up?”
“Just had a moment, remembering all the working profiles and information for the Payton case.”
“Yeah, I noticed that blank slate too when I came in, back to square one.”
“So,” she began changing the subject, “what are you so fired up about?” She glanced at the Stiles file, now open on his desk.
“I assumed that this was the case that we’re going to be working on and then I saw your sticky note. And well, I’ve been searching the backgrounds on some of the most likely suspects.”
“Like?”
“Like, the clowns that Stiles worked with. Five years ago, Palmer Auto Repair was run by father and son, Dennis senior and junior, with two employees, Derek Von Der Brennen and Sal Redino.”
Katie pulled her chair around and sat down next to him. “Sounds like something out of a sitcom. Who works there now?”
“Same with father and son, Dennis senior and junior, with same two employees.”
“What’s the story on these guys?”
“Not much. Just some petty stuff. Trespassing. Theft. Nothing that pops out.”
Katie leaned back. “Maybe we’re going about this all wrong. We still have to talk to these guys and see if their stories change at all—we might get lucky and someone might slip up or come forward with some new information.”
“I don’t see these guys having much of a conscience even if they were involved in Stiles’s disappearance.”
“People are people. And everyone after a certain length of time wants to confess—get it off their chest,” she said.
A knock at the door made both officers look up to see a pretty brunette woman with short hair in the doorway, carrying several folders and a rolled up map. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi, Denise,” said Katie.
“Here’s your maps and some more background on those names you emailed me,” she said coyly when she looked at McGaven.
“Okay, you two,” Katie teased. “Save it for after work.”
McGaven blushed and stood up quickly to take the files from her. Denise worked in the record’s division and had been extremely helpful with extra background checks and searches through social media. She had recently been dating McGaven, which made Katie happy because they were both exceptional co-workers and nice people. She hoped their relationship would endure the intensity of the workplace.
“Thanks, Denise,” said Katie as she took the maps from McGaven. “Bye.” She laughed.
“Bye,” said McGaven in a quiet intimate whisper.
“Bye,” she replied, and left.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Katie said. “You and Denise are going to my uncle’s anniversary party. Right?”
“Of course. There’s food, right?” he said.
“Of course,” she said.
“Then I’m there—we’re there.”
“Okay, can we get back to work?” laughed Katie. “So,” she said as she unrolled the street map of the neighborhood where Palmer Auto and Sam Stiles’s apartment were located. The distance between them, she estimated, was about three miles.
“The garage on Terrace Avenue and his apartment on Diamond Street were closer than I first thought,” said McGaven. “I’ve patrolled that area many times. Not much goes on there.”
Katie tacked the maps up on the outside of the cupboard doors so they both could see them easily. “You’re right. The report initially said that they did a canvass from the garage to his apartment. Actually, the deputy who caught the call did the canvass. Found nothing. I think she was expecting to find his car.”
“Looks like there are two ways he would have gone home,’ said McGaven, tracing his finger along the map.
“That’s true if he was going home, but I don’t think he made it,” she said. Thumbing through the original file, she retrieved the photographs that Deputy Daniels had taken of his kitchen and the miscellaneous photos of his car and place of work. “The only evidence we have is this,” she said and taped up the photographs of the sandwich on his kitchen counter. “He drove a navy blue late model Honda four-door.”
“Okay, what do we have between point A and point B?”
“Wait a minute, something is missing,” she said and sat at her desk opening her laptop. “I remember seeing in the file from one of the people questioned that there had been some type of road work that day.” Her screen came into view. She quickly went to the California Division of Road Operations and searched through their database at the approximate dates five years ago. “During that entire week, they were repaving the roads down Main Street, which passed Terrace
Avenue where the auto garage is located. It looks like there was some type of issue with the drainage too.”
“So if Stiles really did go home sick like he said, then he would’ve had to go a different, roundabout, route.”
“And then double back.” Katie frowned.
“Street maps are like puzzles, everything has to fit.”
Katie stood up and gazed at the photographs and the street maps. “What do we really have here?” she said, more to herself. “What are some of the main points of interest? It would be of interest to Stiles.”
“Bowling alley. Cleaners. Apartments. Two gas stations. Discount grocery store… High end condos…” began McGaven.
“There are too many directions and ways for him to leave the auto garage… north… south…” she grumbled.
The desk phone rang.
“Saved by the bell,” he said.
Katie grabbed up the phone. “Detective Scott.”
“Detective,” came a feeble voice. “This is Mrs. Stiles.”
“Yes, Mrs. Stiles, what can I do for you?” She dreaded having to speak to her without any new information.
“After we spoke, I remembered that I had some of Sam’s things packed away. Garrison House Rental Agency was nice enough to deliver them to me about a month after Sam went missing, and after the police were done with their investigation at his apartment.”
Katie turned to McGaven who had been watching her and she raised her eyebrows, as if to say we might have some new clues. “Do you still have these boxes?”
“Yes, I went downstairs to check.”
“Has anyone looked in these boxes?”
“No, they were already sealed when I received them and I’ve never opened them.”
“May I have your permission to come over and look inside them?” she asked.
Flowers on Her Grave Page 4
