evidence bag and a tongue depressor. A cruiser pulled up behind her Saab. It was Trooper Olsen, who’d been part of her four-person team that tried to nail the Dorset Flasher last weekend. And would be out there again tomorrow night. Oly was big, blond and competent. She filled him in and asked him to start canvassing the neighbors. Maybe one of them had seen something, or someone, between the hours of 9:30 and 9:45. He got right on it.
“Well, this was a first,” Mitch said when she returned to the porch. “The Flasher has never struck on a Friday before.”
“He’s also never gone after sworn personnel.”
“Maybe Bella was his intended target, not you.”
“Trust me, she wasn’t. Bella, I need for you to think hard. This isn’t just us talking now. You’re a witness in an ongoing criminal investigation. Exactly what did you see?”
“I told you-not a thing. When I opened the door nobody was there.”
“Did you hear a car door slam? Someone driving away?”
Bella shook her head. “Nothing like that.”
“How about footsteps? Maybe someone running?”
“I didn’t see or hear anything,” Bella stated flatly.
“Maybe he parked his car down the road,” Mitch said.
“Maybe.”
“Do you need my sneaker as evidence?” Bella asked. “Because I’d like to start soaking it if you don’t mind.”
“Go right ahead and soak.”
Bella picked her shoe up by the laces and headed into the garage with it. Des crouched next to the mat and used the tongue depressor to scoop a sample of the turd into the plastic bag.
“This is a positive development, right?” Mitch said. “You’ve got actual physical evidence now. Your lab can figure out how big the dog was and that’ll point you to its owner. All dogs in Dorset have to be licensed, right?”
“They do, Mitch. Except there are a couple of holes in your theory. For one, he could have plucked this off of anybody’s front lawn. And for another, this isn’t just any old dog poop.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because when I was with Major Crimes we shared the same facility up in Meriden with the state’s K-9 Training Center. I’ve seen what your average mature German shepherd leaves behind. This here was produced by a bigger animal.”
“There are plenty of breeds bigger than German shepherds. You’ve got your Great Danes, Irish wolfhounds. And then there are the really big boys like Saint Bernards and English mastiffs. There can’t be too many of those in-”
“Mitch, I’m fairly certain that this didn’t come from any dog.”
“Oh, okay, then that’s a whole different plot.” He bent over, squinting at it. “It’s not a cow pie. And I know horse droppings when I see them.” His face dropped. “God, please don’t tell me it’s a bear.”
“No, nothing as tabloid fantastic as that. I’m sorry to say that unless I’m totally wrong-and I’m not-the origin of this fecal specimen is human.”
For a second, Des thought her he-guy was going to lose his striped bass. But he gathered himself, gulping, and said, “Well… that’s good, too.”
“Really? How so?”
“We’ve got a fresh human fecal specimen here.”
“Still waiting for the good part, Mitch.”
“The state forensic lab can extract the guy’s DNA from it, can’t they?”
“Actually, that’s a big no. The DNA in human fecal matter is too degraded for them to get a profile. Has something to do with the microbes in the gastrointestinal tract. If I want a sample of this bastard’s DNA, I need his blood or saliva, nasal secretions, hair
…” She carried the bagged specimen back to her car anyway. Because that’s what you did. You collected evidence. Never knew when it might prove to be valuable. She slammed the trunk shut, mustering a tight smile. “You may as well head on home. I have to help Oly knock on doors.”
“Are you going to join me later?”
“Don’t think so. I’d better hang with Bella. She’s more freaked than she’s letting on.” Des softened her gaze at him. “I’m afraid our big evening’s over. I’m real sorry.”
“Don’t be-shit happens.” He flashed a boyish grin at her. “That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I had to go there.”
“I knew that.”
“I knew you knew.” Just as he knew that he couldn’t kiss her good-night. She was in uniform. The neighbors were watching. Public Displays of Affection were a no-no. “We’re good,” he assured her as he climbed back into his truck. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“I’m not worried,” she said quietly.
Because she wasn’t. She was furious. The Dorset Flasher had made this personal now. And she wasn’t just thinking of him as some abstract loser boy any longer. She had someone very specific in mind now. Someone who was openly hostile toward Dorset’s blue-blooded dowagers… “You say hello to them and they act like you just took a leak on their shoes…” Someone she’d clashed with that very afternoon. A public altercation that had left him flat on his butt and humiliated. He’d warned her that she’d be sorry. And now there was a turd on her welcome mat. Coincidence? Des Mitry didn’t believe in the tooth fairy, clean coal technology or coincidences. What she did believe was that she had her man. He was a bitter, angry widower. He had a drinking problem. And he lived by himself smack-dab in the middle of the Historic District.
Oh, yeah, she had her man, all right. Augie Donatelli was the Dorset Flasher. Des had zero doubt. None.
The only tricky part was going to be proving it.
CHAPTER 5
Beth had a radiant smile on her face when she answered the doorbell. And was impeccably turned out in a coral knit top and white linen slacks. “I’m so thrilled to finally meet you,” she exclaimed warmly, taking Des by both hands. “Mitch was always like family. I hope you’ll think of us that way, too.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind. And real sorry about the gunny-sack,” Des said, meaning her uniform. “But I’m on the job tonight.”
“No apology necessary. Believe me, we’ll all sleep better when that sicko has been put away.” Now Beth gave Mitch a hug and said, “And don’t you look handsome.” He had on an untucked white button-down shirt and khaki shorts. “That shirt really sets off your tan. Or should I say sunburn?” Her brow furrowed with concern. “My goodness, you look awfully red all of a sudden.”
“From my daily run,” Mitch explained. “It was really windy out at the point.”
“Of course it was, dear. Of course.”
Beth’s apartment was huge, with high ceilings, tall windows and polished oak flooring. The decor was elegant but impersonal. No quirky little keepsakes. It had the feel of an executive rental, Mitch reflected. There was a screened-in porch off of the dining room. He heard voices out there.
It was a long, deep porch that looked out over an expanse of lawn to the Lieutenant River. Beth had furnished it with a white wicker loveseat and armchairs. A glass table was laden with chilled shrimp, deviled eggs and cheeses and crackers. There was hard liquor, wine, a washtub full of beer and soda on ice.
Kimberly and Kenny stood there together, hand in hand, glowing with so much love for each other that Mitch, who was known among his fellow New York film critics as the Town Crier, instantly felt himself welling up. Kimberly looked absolutely beautiful. Her long blond hair was brushed out. And the sleeveless print dress she had on showed off her lean, muscular arms and legs. She and Kenny were the same exact height-if you ignored that Kimberly wore flat sandals and Kenny thick-soled trail hikers. Still, Kenny was no longer a little twerp. He stood a wiry five feet ten
