Maximum Security (A Dog Park Mystery) (26 page)

“This person,” Peter’s index
finger now incriminated the E-FIT, “was seen selling this
phone.”

“So what, he looks like me. I’ve
got nothing to do with this.” The whine was now honed to a
hair-splitting edge.

“Cut the crap, Cox,” Brent said.
“If we have to, we’ll put you in a lineup and get a positive ID
from our several witnesses. We just thought we’d give you a chance
to come clean without the parade.”

“What are we looking at, Detective
Davis?”

“Let’s see. On the low end,
receiving stolen property. Could be theft. Then we’ve got impeding
an investigation, interfering with a corpse and the top of the line
includes your various murder charges.”

“Why don’t you make it easy on
yourself and tell us about the phone,” Peter suggested.

“Look,” Jacob exploded, “I just
found it, okay? I thought I could make a couple bucks. I didn’t do
anything to anyone!”

Peter stood up, folded his arms.
“Convince us.”

Jacob stared at the table. More
blinking. “I was hanging out at Harvest Home Park–”

“When were you there?” Brent
interrupted, keeping Jacob off balance.

“Uh –” More blinking.

“It’s not a hard question, Cox,”
Peter said.

Brent went to a sideboard in the
room, poured a glass of water out of the pitcher sitting
there.

“It was after school–”

“What day was this?” Peter
asked.

“Tuesday,” Jacob blurted. “It was
Tuesday.”

“
Which Tuesday?”
Peter asked.

“Last week . . . no, wait, a
couple weeks ago.”

“What were you doing there?” Peter
asked.

“I was just hanging, all
right?”

Brent returned with a cup of water.
“Here.” He set it down in front of Jacob. You look like you could
use a drink.”

“Who were you hanging
with?”

Jacob looked down, his eyes
tracking his hand as he picked up the cup and took a drink. More
blinks.

“Nobody. Just me.”

“Anyone see you hanging with
yourself?”

“I dunno. I don’t
remember.”

“Where in the park were
you?”

“On the bleachers, by the ball
diamonds.”

“How’d you find the
phone?”

“I was just walking and it was in
the grass.” He took another drink, his eyes again on his
hand.

“Where in the grass?”

Blink, blink, blink. “By the
playground, near my car.”

“So you just suddenly decided, ‘no
need to be a solid citizen and return it, I’ll just sell it and
make a few bucks’?”

“Uh, yeah. Like that.”

They continued to badger Jacob
while he told his story. The frequent interruptions kept him
off-center and prevented him from having time to think. Eventually
he finished, with an account of selling the phone to a man who fit
Bill Stryker’s description, at the time and date reported by
Stryker.

“This is my problem, Jacob.” Peter
leaned over the table again. “You live four houses down from Munce,
but you just so happen to find his phone in a place he is not known
to frequent, the day he goes missing. Instead of attempting to
return the phone to your neighbor, you wipe the memory and sell it.
When Munce goes missing, you don’t consider it important enough to
tell anyone. And when it turns out your neighbor is not missing,
but ripped to shreds by a pack of coyotes, you’re too busy covering
your sorry ass to let anyone know about it.”

Jacob jumped up and shouted, “How
was I supposed to know it was his phone? It’s a prepaid!” He
blinked furiously as he sat back down and folded his arms
mutinously across his chest.

“Depending on when, exactly, you
‘found’ that phone,” Brent drawled, “it either rang your ear off or
else it had an exceptional number of new voice and text messages on
it. Are you telling us you just ignored that?”

Brent’s Atlanta accent tended to
come out during interrogations. It was now so thick, Peter could
smell magnolias. “. . .

“I want a lawyer.”

Peter waved him off. “We’re done
with you. For now.”

They escorted the red faced
adolescent back to the lobby. Brent scrawled a quick note on the
back of a business card and handed it to Jacob. “For school,” he
said. “They can call me if they need verification.”

“Screw you, Asshole,” Jacob said,
tossing the card on the ground.

Cynth walked into the building just
in time to catch Jacob’s furious exit.

“My, my. Making
friends?”

“I’m having better luck with him
than I am with you,” Brent complained. “Why won’t you go out with
me?”

“Um, because you’re getting lucky
with teen-age boys? I wonder if I should report you.”

The desk sergeant snickered as
Cynth flashed her ID at the card reader on the door, letting
herself into the back. Brent spun to catch the door before it
closed again. She was already down the hall, her long braid
swinging behind her.

Peter shook his head, tsking as he
picked up the rejected business card. He put an arm around Brent’s
shoulder. “Real men don’t beg.”

“That must not have been a real
man who was leaving plants at Lia’s studio door last
year.”

“That was not begging. That was
wooing.”

“Uh-huh. ‘Brent, she’s not taking
my calls,’” Brent mocked in falsetto. “‘Oh, Brent, what am I going
to do?’” He started choking theatrically as Peter’s friendly arm
slipped around his neck. Gamely, he rasped, “You were whipped from
the word go.”

Peter dropped his arm as the door
swung open again. Brent straightened up as Captain Roller walked
through, on his way to lunch with one of the lieutenants. He called
over his shoulder, “My office. First thing tomorrow. I expect
progress.”

“Where are we going?” Brent asked.
“Dinner is across the street.” Brent pointed to the small Chinese
restaurant across Ludlow Avenue.

“Our food won’t be ready for
another ten minutes. I want to take a quick look in
here.”

Peter turned the corner, stopping
at a tiny storefront on Telford Avenue.

“Oh, no,” Brent said. “Not
again.”

“It’ll only take a
minute.”

“We’re looking for a murderer.
Have you forgotten? Tomorrow morning? Roller? Progress?”

“Dust it off, Cupcake, you’ll
survive.” A tinny bell jangled as he pushed open the door to the
jewelry store, Brent on his heels. The interior was dim, the walls
lined with glass-fronted, barrister bookcases set on top of
matching oak cabinets. Each shelf was dedicated to a single
semiprecious stone, containing loose stones, rings, necklaces,
earrings and bracelets in a wide variety of ethnic and artistic
settings.

“This is more like it,” Peter
said.

“I’m so happy for you. Let’s
go”

“Do I bitch when you waste time
flirting with Cynth down in IT?”

“Yes, you do.”

“That’s lovely, isn’t it?” a smoky
voice said.

Peter looked up from the coral and
turquoise Native American cuff he was examining to see a familiar
face surrounded by spikes of copper and lime green. “Desiree, isn’t
it? You’re a ways from the Comet. New job?” Peter could feel Brent
salivating next to him. He unobtrusively stepped on Brent’s foot
and applied a gentle pressure. Brent cleared his throat and stepped
sideways.

“You’ve got a good memory,
Detective. Second job. I decided to get serious about life after
Luthor died. I’m learning how to make jewelry while I bartend. What
case are you on today?”

“No case, looking for a ring for
my girlfriend.”

“You’ve come to the right place.
What do you want this ring to say?”

“Excuse me?”

“A ring is significant, but you’re
not looking at engagement rings, so you must want to say something
different. There’s a whole language around stones.”

“Huh.”

“For example, diamonds are a
symbol of innocence and constancy. So horribly patriarchal and
boring. When is her birthday?”

“She just had it.
October”

“Birthstones are a good place to
start. For October, you have your choice of moonstone, tourmaline,
coral and opal. Coral is believed to prevent ill fortune and offer
protection from skin disease.”

Peter shuddered. “Not a message I
want to send.”

“Then there’s moonstone. Legend
says, if you give your lover a moonstone necklace when the moon is
full, you will always have passion. Moonstones can also reunite
lovers who have quarreled.”

“There you go, Brother, just what
you need,” Brent said.

“We don’t fight. We discuss.
There’s a difference.” Peter turned back to Desiree. “Tell me about
the other stones.”

“Tourmalines are healing stones.
They heal emotional wounds. Pink tourmaline opens your ability to
surrender to love.” Desiree gave him a winsome smile with
this.

“Giving tourmaline might be
considered manipulative or even insulting, don’t you
think?”

She blinked. “You know, you might
be right. I never thought if it that way.” She led them over to the
last case. “Opals enhance creativity. They are the stone of love,
but only to faithful lovers. They’re supposed to bring misfortune
to an unfaithful lover. Otherwise, the Romans considered it a stone
of hope and good luck.”

“There you go,” Brent said.
“Insurance. Guaranteed karma if it doesn’t work out.”

Peter said, “I like how opals have
so many colors in them. She enjoys a lot of color.” He started to
mention that Lia was a painter, but considering Desiree’s history
with Lia’s former boyfriend, didn’t want her making
connections.

“Most opals are made into
cabochons. These are rounded, with a flat back instead of faceted.
We also have natural stones in the matrix.” She gestured to a
bracelet featuring an oddly shaped opal with bits of rock attached,
wrapped in an amorphous setting.

“Huh,” Peter said. He straightened
up. “Thank you, Desiree. I may be back.” He turned to Brent. “Time
to go, Grasshopper.” They exited the shop.

“How many more jewelry stores are
you going to drag me into, Brother?”

“None.”

“Seriously? You’ve given up?
Hallelujah.”

“Nope, I made up my
mind.”

“But you didn’t buy anything. What
exactly did you decide?” Brent asked, suspicious.

“I’d tell you, but you know the
drill. I’d have to kill you. Cynth would be so
disappointed.”

The dogs crowded around Brent as he
hauled the sacks of Chinese food through Lia’s front door. “Now I
know why Peter volunteered to carry both laptops.” He and the dogs
made a sort of train heading into the kitchen, with Viola
whimpering, Chewy bouncing and Honey taking advantage of her
superior size to keep the lead. “No, Chewy, down. No jumping.
Honey, that’s Italian leather you’re drooling on. Lia! Call off
your dogs!”

Lia snorted, breaking off her hello
kiss from Peter. “Sure thing, Brent. Shall I pull out the pepper
spray?”

“I don’t care what you do, as long
as you– Honey, that’s my crotch!”

“Sounds like one of your better
dates,” Peter called out. “You sure you want help? We’d hate to
spoil the mood.” Peter wrapped his forearm around Lia’s neck.
“Quick,” he whispered in Lia’s ear. “Where’s your
kubotan?”

“You’re getting even with me for
today, aren’t you? Brent, I need a hand out here,” Lia called.
“Cato’s at it again.”

Peter tightened his grip. “Things
could have gone smoother, but Brent wouldn't have been nearly so
entertained. I’m suspecting Kate didn’t tell you about her coffin
insert.”

Brent walked out of the kitchen.
Alone. “The food,” he announced, “is on top of the fridge with your
pets
gathered around it like pagan worshippers. If you want
dinner, you may retrieve it. You people must live like savages.
Please don’t conduct foreplay in front of me, it offends my
sensibilities.”

“Hand me my kubotan, it’s on the
little table by the door.”

“You sure you don’t want me to
mace him for you?” Brent asked as he passed it to her.

“Thanks for offering, but you’d
probably hit me with the overspray. Okay Mighty Sensei, your
devotee awaits.”

Peter tightened his arm. “Notice
how you can’t breathe?”

Lia gave a strangled
nod.

“Turn your face into the crook of
my elbow.” Lia complied. “Better?”

Lia took a deep breath.
“Much.”

“You know where my funny-bone is?”
Peter asked.

“I didn’t know you had a
funny-bone, Dourson,” Brent said.

“Ha, ha. Press the kubotan into my
funny-bone. It should be easy, since you’re looking right at it.
Gently now, this is just for demonstration purposes.”