The Case of the Jaded Jack Russell

by B R Snow

  Charlie shook his head, but I could tell he was beginning to reach a slow boil.

  “And I have to tell you that those fritters are amazing. They have a ton of kick to them, but the mint and yogurt you use is the perfect choice to soften the heat of the chilis.”

  “It’s crème fraîche,” Charlie said softly.

  “Really? I would have sworn it was yogurt,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I have to tell you, they’re fantastic.”

  “Thanks. It’s Chef Claire’s recipe.”

  “Really? I did not know that,” I said, making a mental note to ask her why she never made them.

  Bill cleared his throat and I refocused.

  “Sorry,” I said, red-faced. “On your way back to the kitchen, you probably tossed the gloves in the trash or stuffed them in your pocket. Middleton was bleeding pretty badly, and you must have had some of it on your gloves. And your uniform. But since you’re always cutting yourself, if your staff did happen to see some blood on your uniform, it probably didn’t even register with them.”

  “A fascinating theory, Suzy,” Charlie said, slowly clenching and unclenching his fingers. “Truly remarkable.” Then he glanced around the table with a smile that transitioned into a sneer. “And, of course, you have proof, right?”

  “No, not yet, I’m afraid,” I said, then glanced at Bill and Shirley. “Unless you guys have been holding out on me.”

  “No,” Shirley said, shaking her head. “We got nothing.”

  “There you go,” Charlie said. “No fingerprints, no blood. Not to mention one other important fact. What motive could I possibly have to kill him?”

  “Oh, the motive was easy,” I said. “As soon as your sister told you that all the banks had turned her down for the loan and you saw how devastated she was, I’m sure you went straight into protective brother mode. And I’ve witnessed first-hand what that looks like.”

  “Why would I blame Middleton for Bobbie not getting her loan?” Charlie said, taunting me.

  “Actually, it wouldn’t have taken a smart guy like you long to figure it out,” I said, shrugging. “Once I figured out how some of the facts were connected, I put it together in a couple of hours.”

  Charlie flinched but said nothing.

  “That’s my theory,” I said. “Well, that’s most of it anyway.”

  “But still no proof,” Charlie said. “Too bad about that, huh?”

  “I said we didn’t have any proof, yet,” I said, giving him a small smile.

  “No witnesses, no fingerprints, no blood,” he said, shaking his head. “I hate to say it, Suzy, but I don’t like your chances.”

  “He has a point,” Bill said, glancing at Charlie before slipping me another wink.

  “There you go,” Charlie said. “Even the cops think you’re nuts.”

  “Oh, there’s blood,” I said, nodding. “Maybe not a lot of it, but these guys don’t need much to build a case.”

  “That’s true,” Bill said.

  “Blood? Where would there be any blood?” Charlie said, sitting a bit more upright in his chair.

  “On your uniform,” I said, shrugging.

  Charlie laughed. I waited it out.

  “My uniform?” he said. “You own a restaurant so you should know that kitchen staff uniforms are washed on a regular basis. Even if there had been blood on my uniform, which there wasn’t, it’s long gone by now.”

  “Oh, I doubt it, Charlie,” I said, shaking my head. “Chef Claire has several uniforms she uses in rotation until they wear out. And while they are being washed on a regular basis, the uniform you were wearing the night Middleton got killed couldn’t have been washed more than once or twice since then.”

  “So what?”

  “This is the part where I need to defer to the experts. They know a lot more about forensics than I do.”

  Bill sat forward in his chair and grinned at me.

  “I thought you were joking earlier when you said you might need me to explain how different bleaches work,” he said.

  “I know you did,” I said, smiling back at him. “Smooth transition, huh?”

  “Yeah, not bad.”

  “As much as I’m enjoying your good-cop, crazy-lady routine, can we please get on with this? I have to get back to work to see if there’s any chance I can salvage this night.”

  “That’s the least of your problems, Charlie,” Bill said evenly as he looked at the chef. “What Suzy is talking about is the difference between chlorine-based versus oxygen bleaches. Both remove bloodstains as far as the naked eye is concerned, but fortunately for people like me, forensics experts can use chemicals like luminol or phenolphthalein to show where blood is still present. Unless an oxygen bleach was used. That’s much better at removing all traces of blood residue. But if a chlorine bleach was used to wash the garment in question, it could have been cleaned a dozen times, and those chemicals could still reveal the presence of blood.”

  “Maybe the hotel uses an oxygen bleach,” Charlie said, tight-lipped.

  “Highly unlikely,” I said. “Oxygen bleaches tend to be more expensive than chlorine. And as I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, in the restaurant business, every dollar counts.”

  “It’s too bad I don’t have a saw with me,” Charlie said, laughing. “It would be so easy to cut that limb you’ve climbed out to the edge of. This is absolutely insane. And you’re forgetting the most important piece of information.”

  “I know,” I said as a sad frown formed on my face.

  “What do you mean, you know?”

  “Never mind,” I said, suddenly fatigued as my adrenaline level dropped. “Please, continue.”

  “If I was working that night, something that at least twenty people in the kitchen alone can confirm, how did I know that Middleton was in that storage room?”

  I exhaled and felt the tears begin to form in my eyes.

  “Because you had help,” I whispered.

  Charlie flinched, and I noticed when he gripped the edge of the table hard with both hands. Bill also noticed and I saw him unsnap his holster. I snuck a quick glance at the large object inside the holster and recognized the taser. At least I hoped it was a taser. If it were a handgun, it was big enough to blow a hole the size of a basketball through somebody.

  “Bobbie helped you,” I said, sniffling.

  “My sister helped me kill Middleton?” Charlie said, forcing a manic chuckle, hunched in his chair like he was about to pounce on me.

  “She wasn’t involved in the killing,” I said softly. “But she either called you or sent you a text to let you know Middleton had walked into that storage room. Unfortunately for both of you, that’s going to be very easy to confirm.”

  “Why on earth would Bobbie agree to do that? She doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body,” Charlie said, trying to hang on for dear life.

  “Because she’s scared to death to say no to you,” I whispered. “You almost pulled her arm out of its socket the other night just because she didn’t tell you she was coming to see us. Who knows what you would have done to her if she refused your demand about helping you take Middleton out?”

  Charlie sat quietly for several seconds, then clamored out of his chair and pushed Bill by the shoulders. Bill toppled over in his chair, and I heard his flashlight and the taser bounce across the floor. Charlie dashed for the door, stepped on the flashlight and lost his footing. I was reminded of a Saturday morning cartoon when he windmilled his arms to help him catch his balance as he went airborne, then fell on his butt with a thud. Then he quickly recovered and made another beeline for the door. I climbed over Bill who was groaning as he struggled to get to his feet and grabbed the taser off the floor. I knelt down on one knee and pointed it with both hands at Charlie’s back.

  “Don’t make me use this, Charlie. You remember what happened the other night.”

  “Hah, nice try, crazy lady,” he said with a mocking tone as he glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t have a chan
ce of hitting-”

  I was amazed when I realized that not only had I managed to fire the weapon, I’d actually hit him. An electrode was protruding from both of his thighs, right below a very tender region of the male physique, and he was soon on the floor spasming. Then a puddle began to form underneath his legs.

  “Wow. That’s gotta hurt,” I said softly through a grimace.

  “Nice shot,” Shirley said, patting me on the back.

  “He probably should have tried to swerve,” I said, deflecting. “It was a pretty easy shot. All I had to do was point and pull the trigger.”

  Bill got to his feet, removed a pair of handcuffs from his belt as he stepped around the puddle, and secured Charlie’s hands behind his back. We continued to stare at the spasming chef sprawled face down on the kitchen floor.

  “Shouldn’t we remove the electrodes?” Shirley said eventually.

  “Nah,” Bill said, enjoying the show. “Let’s give it a minute.”

  I watched Charlie progress through another energetic round of groans and twitches.

  “Good call.”

  Chapter 22

  Shirley called the command desk to report in and request backup. To minimize embarrassment to the hotel, she asked that all assigned personnel use the service entrance off the back of the kitchen. I watched Bill help Charlie to his feet, lead him back into the center of the kitchen, then handcuff one of his legs to a steam table that was anchored into the floor. Bill quietly read Charlie his rights, a set of short statements very similar to the version we used on our side of the border.

  Then the hotel manager stormed into the kitchen screaming for Charlie. Apparently, he’d been receiving a lot of complaints from both customers and the serving staff about how long it was taking for the soup course to arrive. He glared at Charlie and was about to give him an earful when he noticed the two sets of handcuffs he was wearing. Bewildered, he looked around the kitchen and frowned.

  “What’s going on? Where the heck is everybody?” the manager said.

  “Running for the hills, I think,” I said, spying an order of corn fritters sitting under a set of warming lights.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head as I reached for the fritters.

  Bill led the manager to one side and had a short conversation with him out of earshot. Judging from the manager’s reaction, Bill didn’t spare any details. The manager approached Charlie, cursed him out, then glanced around the kitchen again.

  “What the heck am I going to do now?” the manager said to no one in particular.

  “I imagine you’re going to have to close the kitchen,” I said, extending the small plate I was holding. “Fritter?”

  “No, thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re way too spicy for me.” He exhaled loudly, took another long look around, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I’m going to have to do.” He glared at Charlie one last time then left the kitchen as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Bill seemed interested in what I was holding, and I approached with the plate of fritters extended.

  “How hot are they?” he said, glancing warily at the plate.

  “Not bad,” I said, chewing.

  He selected one, took a bite, then spit it into a napkin.

  “You set me up,” he said, wiping his mouth. “How on earth can you eat something that spicy?”

  “With lots of practice,” I said, grinning at him.

  He leaned against one of the stainless steel tables and rubbed his forehead.

  “Man, I’m tired. It’s been a long week,” he said, then focused on me. “I really need to thank you. That was an amazing piece of work. I can’t believe you put all that together.”

  “I just got lucky,” I said, deflecting once again. “You guys would have figured it out.”

  “Yeah, probably. Maybe,” he said, tentatively. “As soon as our backup gets here, we’ll go grab the sister.”

  “Yeah, it has to be done,” I said softly as a wave of sadness washed over me. “You won’t mind if I don’t tag along?”

  “You had enough for one day?”

  “Yeah, I can only handle so much disappointment before the waterworks start flowing,” I said, giving him a sad smile.

  “It’s too bad,” he said, shaking his head. “Just when her ship is about to finally come in, she gets involved in something like that.”

  “He’s going away for a very long time, right?” I said, nodding at Charlie who continued to stand quietly staring down at the floor, chained to the steam table.

  “For killing the CEO of a major corporation in a national landmark hotel?” Bill said, chuckling. “Yeah, I have a feeling they’ll be a lot of people wanting to make an example of Charlie. I’m sure they’re gonna hit him with first-degree murder. That carries a life sentence, but if he behaves himself and is the model prisoner, he might be eligible for parole in twenty-five years. That’s the best he can hope for. Unless he doesn’t confess and we don’t find any blood.”

  “You’ll find it,” I said, nodding.

  “Yeah, I’m betting on it,” he said. “And if he treated his sister half as bad as you say he did, I’m pretty sure she’ll end up rolling over on him. It might be the only way to save her own skin.”

  “What’s going to happen to Bobbie?” I said, then felt the tears beginning to form.

  “That’s a harder question,” he said, shrugging. “If she also gets tagged with murder one, she’s looking at the same sentence as her brother. If she cooperates, gets the right lawyer, blah, blah, blah, you know the drill, she might get a lesser charge. But at a minimum, I’d say she’s looking at five to seven years before she’s parole eligible.”

  “Geez, that’s a long time to be locked up,” I said, exhaling loudly.

  “Yeah,” Bill said. “And if I were you, I’d start looking for another CEO to run your dog toy company.”

  I nodded as I noticed Shirley coming in through the back door and heading toward us. She gave Charlie a wide berth as she walked past him and came to a stop next to us.

  “Okay, we’ve got six officers here and another half dozen on the way,” she said, glancing around.

  “A dozen?” Bill said, laughing. “For a solved case that includes the murderer handcuffed to a steam table?”

  “I know, it’s crazy, huh?” she said, shaking her head. “But half the cops are going to be assigned to keep the media jackals at bay. It just broke on the news, and the chief is already getting calls from all sorts of our favorite government officials.”

  “Then this is the perfect time for us to get out of here and go arrest the sister,” Bill said.

  “Great minds think alike. Do you want to ride along, Suzy?” Shirley said. “It’s the least we can do. You know, for closure and all that.”

  “No, thanks. I’m going to head home,” I said, extending the plate to her. “Fritter?”

  “Thanks,” she said, popping one of the deep-fried gems into her mouth. Then she nodded. “These are fantastic.”

  Bill gave his partner a look of amazement when Shirley grabbed another off the plate. She swallowed it, gave me a hug, then gestured at him.

  “Let’s go, Mr. Magic,” she said.

  “Mr. Magic?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  “I needed a nickname for him. Since we’re going to be together as long as he’s still able to take a breath. It was getting old just calling him Bill.”

  “The only time she calls me by my name lately is when she’s mad,” Bill said, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before giving her a quick kiss.

  I shook hands with both of them and watched them leave through the back door. I checked my watch, felt a hunger pang, and wondered if I should stop for dinner on my way home. Then I remembered where I was.

  “Duh,” I said, heading to the chef station.

  I found a crispy baguette, sliced it in half, then split it down the middle. I rummaged through one of the fridges and grabbed a selection of
deli meats, cheeses, pickles, grilled onions, and a large tomato. I constructed my own version of a Dagwood sandwich, then searched the area around me. Unable to locate what I was looking for, I glanced over at Charlie who was still staring off into space.

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  “What?”

  “Where do you keep the mayonnaise?”

  “What are you making?” he said, glancing over.

  “Just a Dagwood.”

  “Skip the mayo and go with the garlic-dill remoulade,” he said. “It’s in the mini-fridge just to your left.”

  “Cool,” I said, grabbing the container and slathering on a heavy dose. “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” he said, then stared off at nothing in particular.

  I cut the massive sandwich into manageable pieces, then wrapped the monster and slid it into my bag. I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked over to him.

  “I’m so sorry, Charlie. Not that it matters much, huh?”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he said, making eye contact. “Did I hear that cop mention a minimum of twenty-five years?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered.

  “Maybe they’ll give me a job in the kitchen,” he said to himself.

  “Maybe.”

  Given his anger issues and expertise with knives, I had my doubts. But I kept them to myself as I headed toward the door. Then I stopped and turned around.

  “Take care of yourself, Charlie.”

  “A little late for that,” he said, shrugging. “Tell her I said goodbye, okay?”

  “I’ll do that.”

  I gave him a small wave, left the kitchen, and headed for the lobby. I went outside through the revolving door and fished around in my bag for my parking ticket. The same attendant who’d met me earlier approached.

  “How did your meeting go?”

  “It was eventful.”

  “Did you have anything to do with all the cops showing up?”