Mercifully, he finally got the back door open, and they walked into the house, Officer Krupkee leaping around at the end of his handler's chain like a demon possessed. Shane reached down and unhooked the leash. The dog took off, running around the kitchen, sniffing, pawing; then, unrewarded, he dashed toward the living room while Shane followed. Alexa was a few feet behind.
'We're looking for his stash, is that the drill?' she asked.
'If Shephard used drugs, he would probably have a stash here somewhere,' Shane admitted. 'When I used to work drug homicides, way back before I became the leading department kook-a-boo, I found that hypes would often hide confidential stuff with their works: hot merchandise, murder weapons, dirty pictures, right there next to their happy bag.'
'And that's what we're looking for?'
'If somebody forced Mark to smoke a joint before killing him, this place will be clean. We need to know either way.'
'Why?'
'Alexa, stop chewing on my foot, okay? I need a witness. You're it. If I turn up anything and I'm here alone, they'll probably say I planted it. My word is about as good as a junkie's promise right now.'
Suddenly, Officer Krupkee started barking. Shane and Alexa went into Mark Shephard's bedroom and saw the dog sniffing and pawing at the heating grate in the wall down by the floorboards, across from the bed.
Shane looked at Alexa, whose face and features were tense. He dropped down on his hands and knees. The screws on the vent were loose, so he began pulling them out with his thumb and fingernails. One by one, he extracted them while the leaping, barking dog jumped and lunged around, eager to help, pawing and growling at the heating grate.
'Good going, Krup,' Shane said. 'Alexa, lock him in the bathroom, will ya?'
She grabbed the chain, dragged the dog off. Shane heard her give the dog a 'sit/stay' command. Then he heard the bathroom door close. He waited for her to return before pulling the heating grate away from the wall. She kneeled and they both looked inside.
Shane could see something way in the back of the exposed opening. He put on a pair of rubber gloves, reached into the small hollowed compartment, and pulled the contents out of the wall. What came first was a large black metal box, about a foot long and six inches high. Shane set it down in front of them and glanced over at Alexa, who nodded. He opened it and inside found a very sophisticated high-frequency radio of some sort. It was set to 367.23 on the UHF band. The radio was turned off. Shane looked up at Alexa, who nodded again, so he turned it on. The batteries were working, but nothing was broadcasting: static hissed. He switched it off.
'Ever seen one of these before?' he asked.
'No… Looks scrambled. I don't think it's department-issue.'
Shane peered back inside the opening in the wall, took a penlight out of his pocket, and shined it inside. There was another box in the hollowed-out vent. He pulled it out. This one was mahogany, or some kind of polished wood, and was much smaller. He lifted the lid, and inside was what looked like a few rocks of cocaine, some marijuana, and a bag of pills.
'Shit,' he heard Alexa say under her breath.
'I'm sorry,' he murmured, but didn't risk a look at her. Instead, both of them just stared at the box.
When he finally looked up, he saw nothing on her beautiful face, no expression of any kind.
'I think we can go see Chief Filosiani now,' Shane said. 'I finally have something to show him.'
'He's out of town until tomorrow, at a police chiefs' conference in San Francisco,' she said softly.
'Tomorrow then, as soon as he gets back. Set it up.' Shane took out his camera and photographed the heating grate. He and Alexa bagged the radio and wooden box, then loaded them both into the trunk of her Crown Vic. She got into the front seat, and after Shane put Officer Krupkee into the back of his Acura, he went to her driver's-side window and squatted down so he could look in at her.
'Alexa, we can't let this destroy us. I don't want this to wreck what we have.'
'It's not you, Shane… I love you. It's me.' Then without saying another word, she drove off.
Chapter 14
AND SINCE I think this guy could be dangerous,' Shane said, 'I'm not going to take a chance on what happened last time happening again.'
They were driving to the airport. Chooch was heading off to quarterback camp. His duffel was stuffed; his helmet and pads were on the backseat.
'No way what happened last time can ever happen again,' Chooch said.
They were talking about the Naval Yard case, when Chooch had been kidnapped in an attempt to get Shane to back off.
'So why didn't you give Alexa the ring?' Chooch asked, to change the subject.
'Don't worry about me and Alexa. Things always happen for the best.'
'Shane, you're screwing this up.'
'Maybe, but you don't have all of it.'
'So, tell me.'
'No.'
'Why?'
''Cause I haven't got it completely figured out myself yet. And you may be right. I may be screwing it up, but you've gotta let me and Alexa work it out. This stuff can't be forced.'
'You know, I love her, too,' Chooch said.
'I know. I know you do.'
When they arrived at the airport, Shane left his car parked at the LAPD substation. He got Chooch's stuff out of the backseat, and they walked to the Southwest Airlines terminal. Security was intense since the World Trade Center disaster; it took almost two hours to get to the counter. Shane helped Chooch check in and get his seat assignment, then they sat outside the metal detector in the lobby while people milled around, full of their own life's worries.
'Chooch, look, I'm not gonna mess it up. Okay?'
'She's the best person we ever knew, and I'm urging you-shit, man, I'm begging you… Give her the fucking ring.'
'Don't swear so much,' Shane said. 'Your mouth is getting terrible. Swearing doesn't make you an adult.'
Chooch smiled. 'Okay,' he finally said. 'I'll work on it, but give her the frickin' ring.'
It was time for Chooch to go, and his son stood. Shane was surprised lately to see that he and Chooch were exactly the same height. At six feet, they were eye to eye when they gave each other a hug.
'I love you, man,' Shane said.
'Me too, Dad.' Then Chooch grabbed his pads and helmet, which he had elected to carry onto the flight, and walked to the end of the line. Shane stood and watched as he got through the entrance, then turned back. 'Give her the ring, Shane,' he said once more.
'Is that your last comment on the matter?'
'That's it.' Chooch smiled, then he was gone.
After that a strange series of events occurred.
As Shane was standing in the parking lot by the substation, about to get into his car, he noticed that on the trunk lids of most of the squad cars was a fine black dust. It reminded him of the black dust he'd seen on the trunk and hood of Jody's Charger as he looked over and saw his 'dead' friend speeding along next to him on the San Diego Freeway Friday morning. Most dirty cars had brown dust, not black.
A uniformed police officer, a sergeant, moved past him on his way out of the substation, and Shane stopped him. 'Hey, excuse me, Sarge…'
The man turned.
