Robert Crais - Suspect

Three hours earlier, this living, feeling, warm-blooded creature of God had licked the tears from his face, and now she shivered as a garbage truck rumbled past. Scott scratched her head, stroked her back, and whispered in her ear.

“It’s okay, dog. It’s okay if you’re scared. I’m scared, too.”

Words he had never spoken to another living being.

Scott’s eyes filled as the words came to him, but he said them again as he stroked her back.

“I’ll protect you.”

Scott pushed to his feet, wiped his eyes clear, and took a plastic Ziploc bag from his pocket. He had sliced the baloney into squares, and brought them along as treats. Food as a reward was frowned upon, but Scott figured he had to go with what worked.

Maggie looked up even before he opened the bag. Her ears stood strong and straight, and her nostrils flickered and danced.

“You’re a good girl, baby. You’re a brave dog.”

She took a square as if she was starving, and whined for more, but this was a good whine. He fed her a second square, put away the bag, and turned down the alley. Maggie stepped livelier now, and snuck glances at his pocket.

The delivery area behind Shin’s building was a place for shopkeepers to load and unload their goods, and toss their trash. A pale blue van with its side panel open was currently parked outside a door. A heavyset young Asian man guided a hand dolly stacked with boxes from the store, and loaded the boxes into the van. The boxes were labeled MarleyWorld Island.

Scott led Maggie around the van to the rear of Shin’s store. The door on this side of the building was as bulletproof as the front, but greasy windows were cut into the back of the four-story building, and a rusted fire escape climbed to the roof. The lowest windows were protected by security bars, but the higher windows were not. The fire escape’s retractable ladder was too high to reach from the ground, but a person standing on top of the van could reach it, and climb to the higher windows or break into the upper-floor doors.

Scott was wondering how he could reach the roof when a tall thin man with a Jamaican accent came storming around the van.

“Ahr you de wahn gahnna stop dese crime?”

The man strode past the van directly toward Scott, shaking his finger, and speaking in a loud, demanding voice.

Maggie lunged at him so hard Scott almost lost her leash. Her ears were cocked forward like furry black spikes, her tail was straight back, and the fur along her spine bristled with fury as she barked.

The man stumbled backwards, scrambled into the van, and slammed the door.

Scott said, “Out.”

This was the command word to break off the attack, but Maggie ignored him. Her claws raked the asphalt as she snarled and barked, straining against the leash.

Then Leland’s voice came to Scott, shouting: Say it like you mean it, goddamnit! You’re the alpha here. She will love and protect her alpha, but you are the boss!

Scott raised and deepened his voice. The command voice. All authority. Alpha.

“Out, Maggie! Maggie, OUT!”

It was like flipping a switch. Maggie broke off her attack, returned to his left side, and sat, though her eyes never left the man in the van.

Scott was shaken by her sudden ferocity. She did not look at Scott, not even a glance. She watched the man in the van, and Scott knew if he released her she would attack the door and try to chew through the metal to reach him.

Scott scratched her ears.

“Good dog. Atta girl, Maggie.”

Leland, screaming again: The praise voice, you goddamned fool! They like it all high and squeaky! Be her. Listen to her. Let her TEACH you!

Scott made his voice high and squeaky, as if he was talking to a Chihuahua instead of an eighty-five-pound German shepherd who could tear a man’s throat out.

“That’s my good girl, Maggie. You’re my good girl.”

Maggie’s tail wagged. She stood when he took out the Ziploc. He gave her another piece of baloney, and told her to sit. She sat.

Scott looked at the man in the van, and made a roll-down-the-window gesture. The man rolled down the window halfway.

“Dat dog hab rabies! I not comeeng out.”

“I’m sorry, sir. You scared her. You don’t have to get out.”

“I abide de law an’ be good ceetysen. She wahn to bite sahm one, let her bite de bahstards who steal frahm my bizzyness.”

Scott glanced past the van into the man’s shop. The kid with the hand dolly peeked out, then ducked away.

“Is this your place of business?”

“Yes. I am Elton Joshua Marley. Doan let dat dog bite my helper. He got deeliveries to make.”

“She’s not going to bite anyone. What were you asking me?”

“Have you catched dese people who did dis?”

“You were robbed?”

Mr. Marley scowled again, and nervously glanced at the dog.

“Dat be now two weeks ago. De officers, dey come, but dey never come back. Hab you caught dese people or no?”

Scott considered this for a moment, then took out his pad.

“I don’t know, sir, but I’ll find out. How do you spell your name?”

Scott copied the man’s info, along with the date of the burglary. By the time he finished making notes, he had coaxed Marley from the van. Marley kept a wary eye on Maggie as he led Scott past the kid loading boxes, and into his shop.

Marley bought cheap Caribbean-style clothes from manufacturers in Mexico, and resold them under his own label in low-end shops throughout Southern California. The shop was filled with boxes of short-sleeved shirts, T-shirts, and cargo shorts. Marley explained that the burglar or burglars had entered and left through a second-floor window, and made off with two desktop computers, a scanner, two telephones, a printer, and a boom box. Not exactly the crime of the century, but Marley’s shop had been burgled four times in the past year.

Scott said, “No alarm?”

“De owner, he put in de alarm last year, but dey break, and he no fix, dat cheep bahstard. I put de leetle camerah here, but dey take.”

Marley had installed a do-it-yourself security camera on the ceiling, but the thief or thieves stole the camera and its hard drive two burglaries ago.

Scott thought of Shin as they left Marley’s shop. The old building was a burglar’s heaven. A mercury-vapor lamp was mounted overhead, but the little delivery area was hidden from the street. With no security cameras in evidence, a thief would have little fear of being discovered.

Marley went on, still complaining.

“I call you two weeks ago. De police, dey cahm, dey go, an’ thas last I heer. Every morneeng I come, I wait for more stealeeng. My insurance, he no pay more. He wahnt charge so much, I cannot pay.”

Scott glanced at Shin’s again.

“Have all the shops along here been broken into?”

“Ehveebody. Dese assholes, dey break in all de time. Dis block, across de street, on de next block.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Two or tree years. I only be heer wahn year, but thees is waht I heer.”

“Is there a way up to the roof besides the fire escape?”

Marley led them inside to a common stairwell, and gave Scott a key to the roof. There was no elevator in the old building. Scott’s leg and side ached as he climbed, and the ache grew worse. By the third floor, he stopped, and dry-swallowed a Vicodin. Maggie was engaged and interested as they climbed, but when Scott stopped to let the pain pass, she whimpered. Scott realized she was reading his hurt, and touched her head.

“How about you? Your hips okay?”

He smiled, and she seemed to smile back, so they continued up to the roof and out a metal service door fitted with an industrial security lock. The lock could only be locked and unlocked from the inside. There were no keyholes on the outside, but this hadn’t stopped people from trying to break in. The steel frame was scarred with old jimmy marks and dents where people had tried to pry open the door. Most of the marks were painted over or rusted.