in when he opened the door, and filled the back seat. Only two days, and it had become automatic. She jumped into the car without hesitation or signs of discomfort.
“He’s right. You probably just tweaked a muscle.”
Scott slid in behind the wheel, closed his door, and Maggie immediately took her place on the console, blocking his view out the passenger window.
“You’re going to get us killed. I can’t see.”
Her tongue hung free and she panted. Scott dug his elbow into her shoulder and tried to push her back, but she leaned into him and didn’t move.
“C’mon. I can’t see. Get in back.”
She panted louder, and licked his face.
Scott fired up the Trans Am and pulled out into the street. He wondered if she had ridden in the Hummers this way, standing between the front seats to see what was coming. A bunch of grunts in an armored Humvee could probably see over her, but he had to push her head out of the way.
Scott picked up the freeway and headed home toward the Valley. He was thinking about the rusty brown strap when he remembered his promise to Elton Marley. He called him, reported what he had learned, and told him that a detective from Central Robbery would be in touch.
Marley said, “Ee already hab call. Two weeks, I heer no-teeng, now dey call. T’ank you for helpeeng dis way.”
“No problem, sir. You helped me this morning.”
“Dey comin’ back, dey say. We see. I geeb you free shirt. You look good in MarleyWorld shirts. De women, dey lub you.”
Scott told Marley he would check back to make sure the robbery detectives followed up, then dropped his phone between his legs. He normally kept it on the console, but the console was filled with dog.
Maggie sniffed the pocket where he stowed the baloney, and licked her lips. This reminded Scott he needed baloney and plastic bags, so he dropped off the freeway in Toluca Lake to find a market. Maggie nosed at his pocket.
“Okay. Soon. I’m looking.”
He bogged down in traffic three blocks from the freeway. Yet another apartment building was being framed on a lot intended for a single-family home. A lumber truck was blocking the street as it crept off the site, and a food truck maneuvered to take its place. Locked in the standstill, Scott watched the framers perched in the wood skeleton like spiders, banging away with their nail guns and hammers. A few climbed down to the food truck, but most continued working. The banging ebbed and flowed around periods of silence; sometimes a single hammer, sometimes a dozen hammers at once, sometimes nail guns snapping so fast the construction site sounded like the Police Academy pistol range.
Scott grabbed the fur behind Maggie’s ear and ruffled her. It was early for dinner, but Scott had an idea.
“You hungry, big girl? I’m starving.”
He parked a block and a half past the construction site, clipped Maggie’s lead, and walked her back to the food truck. Maggie grew more anxious the closer they got, so he stopped every few feet to stroke her.
Three workmen were waiting at the food truck, so Scott lined up with them. Maggie twined around his legs, and shifted from side to side. The nail guns and hammers were loud, and every few minutes a power saw screamed. Scott squatted beside her, and offered the last of the baloney. She didn’t take it.
“It’s okay, baby. I know it’s scary.”
The man in front of him gave them a friendly smile.
“You a policeman, he must be a police dog.”
“She. Yeah, she’s a police dog.”
Scott continued to stroke her.
The man said, “She’s a beauty. We had a shepherd when I was a kid, but now I got this wife hates dogs. Allergic, she says. I’m gettin’ allergic to her.”
The food truck didn’t have baloney, so Scott bought two turkey sandwiches, two ham sandwiches, and two hot dogs, all plain. He led Maggie to a small trailer serving as the construction office, and asked the foreman if they could sit outside to eat.
The foreman said, “You here to arrest someone?”
“Nope. Just want to sit here with my dog.”
“Knock yourself out.”
Scott sat on the edge of the building’s foundation, and took up the slack on the lead to keep Maggie close. Whenever a saw screamed or the nail guns banged, she twisted and turned, trying to get away from the sound. Scott felt guilty and conflicted, but stroked her and talked to her, and offered her food. He kept a hand on her the entire time, so they were always connected. This wasn’t something Leland told him to do, but Scott sensed his touch was important.
The workmen occasionally stopped to ask questions, and almost all of them asked if they could pet her. Scott held her collar, told them to move slowly, and let them. After a sniff, Maggie seemed fine with it. The men all told her how beautiful she was.
Scott felt her grow calmer. She stopped fidgeting, her muscles relaxed, and after thirty-five minutes, she finally sat. A few minutes later, she took a piece of hot dog, even with a saw screaming above them. He stroked her, told her how wonderful she was, and broke off more pieces. A noise occasionally startled her, and she would lurch to her feet, but Scott noticed it took her less time to relax. She ate the hot dogs and the turkey, but not the ham. Scott ate the ham.
They sat together for well over an hour, but Scott was in no hurry to leave. He enjoyed sitting with her, talking with the workmen about her, and realized he had not felt this calm in weeks. Then he decided he had not felt so peaceful since the shooting. Scott ruffled her fur.
“It flows both ways.”
Scott and Maggie went home.
15.
Scott changed into civilian clothes, took Maggie for a short walk, and told her she had to hang out by herself for a few minutes. He raced to a nearby market, bought three pounds of sliced baloney, five boxes of plastic bags, and a roast chicken. He drove home as if he was rolling Code 3. He worried she was barking or ripping apart his apartment, but when he ran inside, Maggie was in her crate, chin down between her front paws, watching him.
“Hey, dog.”
Maggie’s tail thumped. She stepped out to greet him, and Scott felt an enormous sense of relief.
He put away the groceries, changed Maggie’s water, and printed the pictures he had taken in Orso’s office. He did not print the picture of Stephanie’s body. He pinned the pictures to the wall by his crime scene diagram, then drew in Marley’s shop, Shin’s shop, the alley, and the loading area and fire escape behind their building. He drew a small X on the sidewalk where the criminalist found the leather strap.
When Scott finished, he studied his diagram, and felt cowardly for leaving out Stephanie. He printed her picture, and pinned it above the map.
“I’m still here.”
Scott took the stack of reports and files to the couch. It was a lot to read.
Adrienne Pahlasian, the wife, had been interviewed seven times. Each interview was thirty or forty pages long, so Scott skipped ahead to skim a few shorter interviews. A homeless man named Nathan Ivers told Melon he witnessed the shooting, and stated that the gunfire came from a glowing blue orb that hovered above the street. A woman named Mildred Bitters told Melon several tall thin men wearing black suits and dark glasses were responsible for the shooting.
Scott put these aside and returned to Adrienne Pahlasian’s first interview. He knew this interview was the
