“We can come back with a warrant, Mr. O’Sullivan,” Detective Fagles said, speaking up for the first time. I turned my head to glare at him.
“I’m well aware, Detective. If you’d like to waste your time, go right ahead. My dog is not here, nor will he be here if you come back. Why are you looking for my dog, anyway? What led you to my door?”
“We’re not at liberty to discuss details of the investigation,” Jimenez said.
“It sounds like a pretty good one. Colonel Mustard did it in the park with the wolfhound, eh? I can hardly believe you’d be checking every single wolfhound owner in the valley. If you heard I still had a wolfhound from my neighbor across the street, he’s not exactly a reliable witness. Last night he was cited by Officer Benton of the Tempe PD for making a false 911 call.”
The two detectives exchanged a glance, and I knew that was it. Mr. Semerdjian was at it again. I’d have to ask Oberon to leave him a present on his front doorstep. He’d do it camouflaged too, so that even if Mr. Semerdjian was watching-and he probably would be-it would appear to be undeniable, physical evidence that, sometimes, shit just happens.
“Have you checked the animal shelter for your lost dog, Mr. O’Sullivan?” Jimenez asked. Fagles went back to glaring at me from behind his sunglasses.
“Not yet,” I said.
“Aren’t you concerned about his welfare?”
“Of course I am. He’s properly licensed and has my phone number on a tag around his neck. I’m expecting a call any minute.”
They stared at me stone-faced for a few moments to let me know that the sarcasm wasn’t appreciated. I stared back to let them know I wasn’t intimidated. Your move, youngsters.
I could tell they didn’t quite know what to make of me. Seeing the world through a perp filter as they did, I must look to them like a sullen stoner punk pretending to attend college, but I wasn’t behaving like one. I was too alert, too sharp. Maybe that made me a dealer. Perhaps they assumed I wasn’t letting them in because they’d find my hydroponic weed operation and psychedelic mushrooms in the closet, or maybe a three-foot-tall bong made of blown glass in Day-Glo hippie colors sitting on the coffee table.
Finally Jimenez broke the silence. He gave me a business card and said, “We’d like you to call us if you find your dog.”
I took the card and slipped it into my pocket without looking at it. “Good day, gentlemen,” I said, giving them a broad hint to get the hell off my porch. Jimenez took the hint, but Fagles remained. Apparently he wanted to have a staring contest or mutter a threat to me. What an idiot. I knew how to be patient. I put my hands in my pockets and flashed him a fake smile. That got a reaction.
He uncrossed his arms, pointed a finger at me, and said, “We’ll be watching.”
Please. Whatever. I kept on smiling and said nothing.
Jimenez paused in the street and turned around, that being the point where he was supposed to realize Fagles hadn’t followed him off the porch.
“Detective Fagles, we have other people to talk to,” he called.
What a lovely straight line. Keeping his voice pitched for my ears only, Fagles said, “Yeah, like the judge.” Gods Below, did this routine work on anyone? With one last aggressive clenching of his jaw, Fagles turned and stepped off the porch. As he did, he turned his head toward the east side of the lawn, where all the pink grass was. Just looking around. No reaction. The grass probably didn’t look pink through those tinted sunglasses of his. Good job, Detective! Jimenez was oblivious as well. He was watching me to see if my body language screamed “GUILTY!” Then he strolled unhurriedly to their unmarked Crown Victoria once Fagles had caught up.
I returned inside once they had driven off, and Oberon nuzzled my hand at once.
‹I was quiet,› he said, very pleased with himself.
I chuckled and scratched him behind the ears. “Yes, you were. Genghis Khan would have admired your craftiness.”
I lifted the camouflage off him so that he would feel comfortable, and then I sat back down to a half-eaten lukewarm omelet and a cup of coffee I had to warm up to make palatable. After cleaning up, I set about looking for anything the cops would find incriminating should they come in here with a warrant. They would be supposedly searching for a dog, but that wouldn’t stop them from snooping around either, unless I had a lawyer here. Even then, they might stumble across something or damage something in the process of their search that I didn’t want them to-mostly my books. I had some pretty arcane titles behind glass in my study, with paper so old it was ready to crumble. Cops wouldn’t be gentle with those if they wanted to rifle through them; I’d need to pay Hal $350 an hour to camp here and make sure they didn’t look for Oberon inside my books. What a pain in the ass. Well, they should owe me some time after all that blood I gave Leif last night. That battle had taken much less than an hour, and the cleanup lasted maybe another, so I should be paid up for ten hours already. Speaking of blood, I put the scrap of paper with Radomila’s blood on it inside an old collection of stories about the Fianna and locked it away in the glass bookcase in my study.
To be safe, I camouflaged my herbs in the backyard so it looked like I had nothing along my fence but empty shelves. No telling what the cops would think about all the plant life back there; they’d probably assume some of it must be illegal and confiscate the lot of it to have it analyzed, and I’m sure it would come back to me half dead or worse. Fagles would do it just to get back at me for staring him down.
While it was a load of inconvenience, I couldn’t get myself too angry with them. They were only doing their jobs, and, after all, I really was the bad guy in this case-or, at least, Oberon was.
Satisfied that I had hidden what needed hiding, I put in a call to Hal on his cell phone and explained my extraordinary needs for a Sunday. If Jimenez could get a warrant on Sunday, then I could get a lawyer. Hal said he’d send over a junior associate to guard the castle.
“Is he a pack member?” I asked.
“Yes. Does that matter?”
“Just tell him to keep a sharp ear and nose out. If one of my pantheon is behind this, then there might be some magical skulduggery going on. The police might bring someone along who isn’t entirely human, for example.”
“They probably won’t show up at all. I’ve never heard of a search warrant for a dog. You may be the most paranoid man I’ve ever met.”
“I’m certainly the longest lived you’ve ever met.”
“Point taken. I’ll tell him.”
I showered and dressed, cast camouflage back on Oberon, and slung Fragarach across my back. I was anxious to visit the widow’s house and make sure she was okay.
Nothing looked amiss from the street. The blood had washed away or soaked into the asphalt sufficiently. Going around to the back, I saw nothing, not so much as a disturbed patch of ground. With a shudder, I considered the likelihood that the Morrigan had eaten him. Shaking my head to clear the grisly image, I walked back to the front, Oberon panting softly behind me. I knocked on the widow’s front door and she answered after a minute, looking spry and chipper.
“Ah, me dear boy Atticus, ’tis a pleasure to see ye again and that’s no lie. Have ye killed any more Brits for me?”
“Good morning, Mrs. MacDonagh. No, I haven’t killed any more Brits. I hope you won’t be talking about that with anyone.”
“Tish, d’ye think I’m daft? I’m not there yet, thank the Lord. It’s all due to clean livin’ and good Irish whiskey. Would y’be havin’ some with me? Come on in.” She opened the screen door and beckoned.
“No, thank you, Mrs. MacDonagh, it’s not yet ten in the morning, and it’s Sunday.”
“An’ don’t I know it? I have to be goin’ to Mass soon enough at the Newman Center. But the father can drone on at times, and he keeps preaching to the youngsters what go there, all those ASU kids, y’know, who have those merry sins of the flesh to worry about, so I find a finger or two o’ the Irish helps me bear it with patience.”
“Wait. You go to church drunk?”
“Mellow is the word I’d be usin’, if y’please.”
“You don’t drive there, uh, mellow, do you?”
“Of course not!” She looked affronted. “I get a ride from that nice Murphy family what lives down the street.”
