“I guess it is. Let’s get started.”
Budress nodded toward the kennel building.
“Go get an arm protector, a twenty-foot lead, a six-foot lead, and whatever you use to reward her. I’ll wait.”
Scott started to the kennel, and Maggie fell in on his left side. He had cut and bagged half a pound of baloney, but now worried if it would be enough, and if Budress would object to his using food as a reward. Then he checked his watch, and wondered how much they could accomplish before he left to see Orso. He wanted to share what he learned about the neighborhood burglaries from Marley, and believed Orso would see the potential. Maybe after nine months of nothing, a new lead was beginning to develop.
Scott picked up his pace, and was thinking about Orso when the gunshot cracked the air behind him. Scott ducked into a crouch, and Maggie almost upended him. She tried to wedge herself beneath him, and was wrapped so tightly between his legs he felt her trembling.
Scott’s heart hammered and his breathing was fast and shallow, but he knew what had happened even before he looked back at Budress.
Budress was holding the starter pistol loose at his leg. The smile was gone from his peeling face, and now he looked sad.
He said, “Sorry, man. It’s a shame. That poor dog has a problem.”
Scott’s heart slowed. He laid a hand on Maggie’s trembling back, and spoke to her softly.
“Hey, baby girl. That’s just a noise. You can stay under me long as you like.”
He stroked her back and sides, kneaded her ears, and kept talking in the calm voice. He took out the bag of baloney, stroking her the whole time.
“Check it out, Maggie girl. Look what I have.”
She raised her head when he offered the square of baloney, and licked it from his fingers.
Scott made the high-pitched squeaky voice, told her what a good girl she was, and offered another piece. She sat up to eat it.
Budress said, “I’ve seen this before, y’know, with war dogs. It’s a long road back.”
Scott stood, and teased her by holding another piece high above her head.
“Stand up, girl. Stand tall and get it.”
She raised up onto her hind legs, standing tall for the meat. Scott let her have it, then ruffled her fur as he praised her.
He looked at Budress, and his voice wasn’t squeaky.
“Another twenty minutes or so, shoot it again.”
Budress nodded.
“You won’t know it’s coming.”
“I don’t want to know it’s coming. Neither does she.”
Budress slowly smiled.
“Get the arm protector and the leads. Let’s get this war dog back in business.”
Two hours and forty-five minutes later, Scott kenneled Maggie and drove downtown to see Orso. She whined when he left, and pawed at the gate.
12.
Twenty minutes later, Orso and a short, attractive brunette wearing a black pantsuit were waiting when the elevator doors opened at the Boat. Orso stuck out his hand, and introduced the woman.
“Scott, this is Joyce Cowly. Detective Cowly has been reviewing the file, and probably knows it better than me.”
Scott nodded, but wasn’t sure what to say.
“Okay. Thanks. Good to meet you.”
Cowly’s handshake was firm and strong, but not mannish. She was in her late thirties, with a relaxed manner and the strong build of a woman who might have been one of those sparkplug gymnasts when she was a teenager. She smiled as she shook Scott’s hand, and handed him her card as Orso led them toward the RHD office. Scott wondered if Orso would meet him at the elevator every time he arrived.
Cowly said, “You were at Rampart before Metro, right? I was Rampart Homicide before here.”
Scott checked her face again, but didn’t recall her.
“Sorry, I don’t remember.”
“No reason you should. I’ve been here for three years.”
Orso said, “Three and a half. Joyce spent most of her time here on serial cases with me. I told her about our conversation yesterday, and she has a few questions.”
Scott followed them to the same conference room, where he saw the cardboard box was now on the table with the files and materials back in their hangers. A large blue three-ring binder sat on the table beside it. Scott knew this was the murder book, which homicide detectives used to organize and record their investigations.
Orso and Cowly dropped into chairs, but Scott rounded the table to Orso’s poster-sized diagram of the crime scene.
“Before we get started, I went to Nelson Shin’s store this morning, and met a man who has a business two doors down—here.”
Scott found Shin’s store on the diagram, then pointed out Elton Marley’s location.
“Marley was burglarized two weeks ago. He’s been hit four or five times in the past year, and he told me a lot of other businesses in the area have been hit, too. Your diagram here doesn’t show a delivery area behind the building that opens off this alley—”
Scott drew an invisible box with his finger to illustrate the area behind the buildings where Marley had been loading his van. Orso and Cowly were watching him.
“A fire escape goes to the roof. There’s no security except for window bars on the lowest windows, and the area back here is totally hidden from view. I’m thinking the bad guys use the fire escape to reach the higher windows. They dinged Marley for a computer and a scanner this time. Last time, they grabbed a boom box, another computer, and a few bottles of rum.”
Orso glanced at Cowly.
“Small-time breaking and entering, easy-to-carry goods.”
Cowly nodded.
“Neighborhood locals.”
Scott pushed on with his theory.
“Whoever it is, if the same perp is behind all these jobs, he might be the person who broke into Shin’s the night I was shot. Also, I went up to the roof. It’s a total party hangout—”
Scott took out his cell phone, found a good picture of the beer cans and debris, and passed the phone to Orso.
“Maybe the guy who hit Shin’s store was long gone, but if someone else was up here when the Kenworth hit the Bentley, they could have seen everything.”
Cowly leaned toward him.
“Did Marley file a report?”
“Two weeks ago. Someone went out, but Marley hasn’t heard back. I told him I’d check the status and get back to him.”
Orso glanced at Cowly.
“That’s Central Robbery. Ask them for the robbery reports and arrests in this area for the past two years. And whatever they have on Mr. Marley. I’ll want to speak with the DIC.”
DIC was Detective-in-Charge.
Cowly asked Scott to repeat Marley’s full name and the address of his store, and wrote the information on her pad. As she wrote, Orso turned back to Scott.
“This is a good find. Good thinking. I like this.”
