Suspect (10 page)

14.

It was late afternoon when Scott returned to the training facility. Almost a dozen personal and LAPD K-9 cars crowded the parking lot. He heard barking and shouted commands behind the building, as dogs and handlers trained.

Scott parked opposite the office end of the building, and let himself into the kennel. Maggie was on her feet in the run, watching for him when he opened the door as if she knew it was him before she saw him. She barked twice, then raised up to place her front paws on the gate. Scott smiled when he saw her tail wag.

“Hey, Maggie girl. You miss me? I sure missed you!”

She dropped to all fours as he approached. He stepped inside, scratched her ears, and grabbed the thick fur on the sides of her face. Her tongue lolled out with pleasure, and she tried to play-bite his arm.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long. You think I left you?”

He stroked her sides and back, and down along her legs.

“No way, dog. I’m here to stay.”

Budress came along the runs from the office.

“Got all sulky when you left.”

“Yeah?”

Budress rotated his right arm.

“Shit, man, I’m gonna be sore. That dog hits like a linebacker.”

“She was into it.”

They had worked on bite commands and suspect-aggression earlier that morning, with Budress playing the suspect. Leland had come out to watch. Maggie was hesitant at first, but remembered the military command words, and her USMC training had quickly returned. She would focus on Budress at Scott’s command, and watch him without moving unless Scott ordered her to attack or Budress moved toward Scott or herself. Then she would charge for his padded arm like a heat-seeking missile. It was the only part of her exercises she seemed to enjoy.

Budress went on, lowering his voice.

“Leland was impressed. These Mals are fast and all teeth and love to bite, but these big shepherds, man, she’s thirty pounds heavier and she’ll knock you on your ass.”

Scott stroked her a last time, and clipped on her lead.

“I’ll work her some more.”

“She’s worked enough.”

Budress now blocked the gate. He lowered his voice even more.

“She was limping. After you left, when she was pacing here in the run. I don’t know if Leland saw.”

Scott stared at the man for a moment, then led Maggie out of the run, watching her.

“She’s walking fine.”

“It was small. The back legs. She kinda dragged the right rear.”

Scott led her in a tight circle, then down past the runs and back, watching her walk.

“Looks good to me.”

Budress nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

“Okay, well, maybe she tweaked something what with all the running around.”

Scott ran his hands over her back legs and feet, and felt her hips. She showed no discomfort.

“She’s fine.”

“Wanted to let you know. I didn’t tell Leland.”

Budress rubbed the top of her head, then glanced at Scott.

“Work on her conditioning. But not here, okay? You’re done here today. Take her jogging. Throw the ball. We’ll work on her startle response more tomorrow.”

“Thanks for not telling Leland.”

Budress rubbed the top of her head again.

“She’s a good dog.”

Scott watched Budress walk away, then led Maggie out to his car, checking her gait for the limp. She hopped 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 meat, and set the course the investigation eventually followed.

Melon and Stengler had driven to her home in Beverly Hills, where Melon informed her that her husband had been murdered. Melon noted she appeared genuinely shocked, and required several minutes before they could continue. During this first interview, she agreed to speak without the presence of an attorney and signed a document to that effect. She identified Beloit as her husband’s cousin, and described him as a “great guy” who stayed at their home when he visited. She stated her husband told her he was going to pick up Beloit at LAX, take him to dinner at a new downtown restaurant called Tyler’s, and drive Beloit past two downtown properties Eric hoped to buy. Melon then allowed her to phone her husband’s office, where she spoke with a Michael Nathan to obtain the addresses of the two buildings. She grew so emotional when informing Nathan of the murders that Melon took the phone. Nathan was unable to explain why Pahlasian would show Beloit the two buildings at such an unusual hour. The interview ended shortly thereafter when Mrs. Pahlasian’s children returned from school. Melon closed the report by stating both he and Stengler found Mrs. Pahlasian credible, sincere, and believable in her grief.

Scott copied the addresses for the two downtown properties and the restaurants, then stared at the ceiling. He felt drained, as if Adrienne Pahlasian’s grief had been added to his own.

Maggie yawned. Scott glanced over, and found her watching him. He swung his feet from the couch, and fought back a grimace.

“Let’s take a walk. We’ll eat when we get back.”

Maggie knew the word “walk.” She lurched to her feet, and went to her lead.

Scott bagged two slices of baloney, clipped on her lead, then remembered Budress advising him to work on her conditioning. He stuffed the green tennis ball into his pocket along with a poop bag.

Scott was relieved to find the park deserted except for a man and woman jogging around the perimeter. He unclipped Maggie’s lead and told her to sit. She watched him expectantly for the next command. Instead of giving a command, Scott grabbed the sides of her head, rubbed his head on her face, and let her escape. She was in full play mode. She dipped her chest to the ground, stuck her butt in the air, and made play growls. Scott decided this was the time for running. He pulled out the green ball, waved it over her nose, and threw it across the field.

“Get it, girl. Get it!”

Maggie broke after the ball, but abruptly stopped. She watched the ball bounce, then returned to Scott with her head and tail sagging.

Scott considered the situation, then clipped her lead.

“Okay. If we don’t chase balls, we jog.”

A sharp pain tightened Scott’s side when he started off, and his leg lit up with the pinpricks of moving scar tissue.

“Next time I’ll take a pill.”

He remembered Maggie was loping along with a shattered rear end, and wondered if her wounds hurt the same as his. She wasn’t limping and showed no discomfort, but maybe she was tougher than him. Maggie had stuck with her partner. He felt a stab of shame and gritted his teeth.

“Okay. No painkillers for you, then none for me.”

They chased the ball another eight times before Maggie’s right rear leg began to drag. It was slight, but Scott immediately stopped. He probed her hips and flexed the leg. She showed no discomfort, but Scott headed for home. By the time they reached Mrs. Earle’s house, the limp was gone, but Scott was worried.

He fed Maggie first, then showered and ate half the roast chicken. When the remains of the chicken were away, he gave her a series of commands, rolled her onto her back, and held her so she had to struggle to get away. Even with all the rough play, she walked normally, so Scott decided to tell Budress the limp had not recurred. He opened a beer, and resumed reading.

In Adrienne Pahlasian’s next two interviews, she answered questions about her husband’s family and business, and provided the names of friends, family, and business associates. Scott found these interviews boring, so he skipped ahead.

Tyler’s manager was named Emile Tanager. Tanager provided precise arrival and departure information based upon the times orders were placed and the tab was closed. The two men arrived together and placed an order for drinks at 12:41. Pahlasian closed their tab on his American Express card at 1:39. Melon had made a handwritten note on Tanager’s interview, saying the manager provided a DVD security video, which was booked into evidence as item #H6218A.

Scott sat back when he read Melon’s note. The idea of a security video had not occurred to him. He copied the times, and took the notes to his computer.

Scott printed a map of the downtown area, then located Tyler’s and the two commercial buildings. He marked the three locations with red dots, and added a fourth dot where he and Stephanie were shot.

Scott pinned the map to the wall by his diagram, then sat on the floor to study his notes. Maggie came over, sniffed, and lay down beside him. Scott guessed the drive from Tyler’s to either building had taken no more than five or six minutes. The drive from the first building to the second probably added another seven or eight. Scott threw in an extra ten minutes at each building for Pahlasian to make his sales pitch, which added twenty minutes to his total. Scott frowned at the times. No matter which building they visited first, there were almost thirty minutes missing when Pahlasian and Beloit reached the kill zone.

Scott stood to look at his map. Maggie stood with him, and shook off a cloud of fur.

Scott touched her head.

“What do you think, Mags? Would two rich dudes in a Bentley walk around in a crappy neighborhood like this, that time of night?”

The four red dots looked like bugs trapped in a spider web.

Scott eased back to the floor like a creaky old man, and picked up the plastic bag containing the broken watchband. He reread Chen’s note:

No blood evidence.

Common rust.

Maggie sniffed the bag, but Scott nudged her away.

“Not now, baby.”

He took the brown band from the bag, and held it close to examine the rust. Maggie leaned in again, and sniffed the strap. This time he didn’t push her away.

Common rust. He wondered if SID could tell whether the rust on the watchband came from the wrought-iron rail on the roof.

Maggie sniff-sniff-sniffed the strap, and this time her curiosity made Scott smile.

“What do you think? Some dude on the roof, or am I losing my mind?”

Maggie tentatively licked Scott’s face. With her ears folded back, her warm brown eyes looked sad.

“I know. I’m crazy.”

Scott put the watchband back into its bag, sealed it, and stretched out on the floor. His shoulder hurt. His side hurt. His leg hurt. His head hurt. His entire body, his past, and his future all hurt.

He looked up at the diagrams and pictures pinned to the wall, seeing them upside down. He stared at Stephanie’s picture. The white line surrounding her body was bright against the blood cloverleaf upon which she lay. He pointed at her.

“I’m coming.”

He lowered his hand to Maggie’s back. Her warmth and the rise and fall as she breathed were comforting.

Scott felt himself drifting, and soon he was with Stephanie again.

Beside him, Maggie’s nose drew in his smells, and tasted his changes. After a while, she whimpered, but Scott was far away and did not hear.