Robert Crais - Suspect

Scott found the stack of reports and interviews concerning Eric Pahlasian. There were so many interviews with family members, employees, investors, and others they stacked almost five inches thick. Scott checked his watch, and realized how long Maggie had been locked in her run. He felt a stab of guilt, and knew he had to get back to the training facility.

Scott went to the door, and found Cowly on the phone in a cubicle against the far wall. She raised a finger, telling him she’d be off in a second, finished her call, then put down the phone.

“How you doing in there?”

“Good. I really appreciate you and Detective Orso letting me see this stuff.”

“No sweat. I was just on with Central Robbery about your Mr. Marley. They’re working a line on a crew laying off stolen goods at a swap meet. Some of the goods match up with things stolen in the area.”

“Great. I’ll let him know. Listen, I have to get back to my dog—”

“Don’t mention the swap meet.”

“What?”

“If you call Marley. You can call him if you want, but don’t mention we’re working an investigation at the swap meet. Don’t say those words. Swap meet.”

“I won’t.”

“Cool. Someone from Central will call him about his burglary. The swap meet thing isn’t his business.”

“I get it. My lips are sealed.”

“You have a picture?”

Scott was confused again.

“Of what?”

“Your dog. I love dogs.”

“I just got her yesterday.”

“Oh. Well, you get a picture, I want to see her.”

“You think it would be all right if I took a few files with me? I’ll sign for them, if you want.”

Cowly glanced around as if she was hoping to see Orso, but Orso was gone.

Scott said, “It’s the Pahlasian stuff. I’d like to read it, but it’s a phone book.”

“I can’t let you take the murder book, but you can borrow the file copies. We have them on disc.”

“Okay. Great. Those are the files I’m talking about.”

He followed her back into the conference room. She frowned when she saw the files and folders spread across the table.

“Dude. I hope you weren’t planning to leave this mess.”

“No way. I’ll put them back before I leave.”

Scott pointed out the towering Pahlasian file.

“This is what I want. The files Detective Orso took from the box.”

She grew thoughtful, and Scott worried she was going to change her mind, but then she nodded.

“It’s okay. Orso won’t have a problem unless you lose something. The handwritten notes aren’t on the disc.”

“When do you want them back?”

“If we need something, I’ll call you. Just put the rest of this stuff back before you leave, okay?”

“You got it.”

Scott returned the folders to their proper file hangers, and was fingering through the hangers when he saw a small manila envelope in the bottom of the box. It was fastened shut by a metal clasp, and had a handwritten note on front: return to John Chen .

Scott opened the clasp and upended the envelope. A sealed plastic evidence bag containing what looked like a short brown leather strap slid out, along with a photograph of the strap, a note card, and an SID document. The strap was smeared with what appeared to be a reddish powder. Melon had written a note on the card: John, thanks. I agree. You can trash it.

The SID document identified the strap as half of an inexpensive watchband of no identifiable manufacturer, item #307 on the SID collection list. A note was typed across the bottom of the document:

This was collected on the sidewalk north of the shooting (ref item #307) as part of general recovery. Appears to be half of women’s or men’s size small leather watchband, broken at hinge. The red smears that appear to be dried blood are common iron rust. No blood evidence found. Location, nature, and condition suggest unrelated to crime, but I wanted to check before I dispose.

Scott tensed when he saw the band had been collected on the north side of the street. The Kenworth had come from the north. Shin’s building was on the north.

The photograph showed the leather strap with a white number card (#307) beside it on a sidewalk. Scott went back to the master evidence list in the SID file, looked up its reference number, and found the diagram showing where the watchband was found. When Scott saw the diagram, he felt as if his heart was rolling to a slow stop. Item #307 had been collected directly beneath the roof overlooking the crime scene where Scott had stood that morning and touched the wrought-iron bars that striped his hand with rust.

Scott took out his phone and photographed the diagram. He took a second picture to make sure the image was sharp, then returned the remaining files to their proper hangers.

Scott studied the rusty smears, and thought they looked like the rust he’d gotten on his hands. He wondered why Melon hadn’t returned the envelope to Chen, and decided it had fallen between the hangers. Melon had probably forgotten about it. After all, if the broken strap was trash, it wasn’t worth thinking about.

Scott put everything back into the file box exactly as he had found it except for the watchband. He slipped it back into the envelope, put the envelope in his pocket, and picked up the Pahlasian files. He thanked Cowly on his way out.

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.”