* Thank you so much to everyone who has left reviews! I know the website hasn't always been alerting you when there's a new chapter. Sometimes when I log in on the app it shows I've only posted 4 chapters, so I have to close it out and open it again. Not sure why it's being glitchy. I'm trying to post a chapter every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, (sorry this week has been off!) so maybe if you just check on those days it will be simpler. Thanks so much agin for reading along!
Chapter 12 — I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog too.
Frank and Joe pulled up at the house with a squeal of tires at the same time the squad car arrived, lights flashing, but sirens off.
"Jeez, Frank, you'll never get to ask this woman out if you kill us both trying to rescue her," Joe muttered, unbuckling from the passenger seat. "I'm driving for the rest of the day."
Frank ignored his brother, relieved to see Nancy sitting calmly in the front yard. Her pale red hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and she wore jeans and a t-shirt, looking far younger and more vulnerable as she there cross-legged on the grass than he'd ever seen her. Trying to push aside his feelings and focus on the task at hand, he pulled his notebook from his breast pocket and said grimly, "Ms. Drew, could you tell me what happened?"
Nancy looked up at him, squinting in the sun. "Nope," she said, holding out her phone.
He frowned as he reached for the phone. A text thread was pulled up with the label Morton — Lawyer.
DO NOT SAY A WORD UNTIL I GET THERE. I DON'T CARE IF HE STARTS TALKING ABOUT TEA OR LAUNDRY OR WALKS ON THE BEACH.
I get it. Don't yell at me.
Sorry — not yelling, just trying to be emphatic. Frank seems to be acting a bit out of character regarding this case. We don't want any surprises.
A snort sounded close to his ear, and Frank turned to glare at his brother. Joe slipped his sunglasses on and gave him an unrepentant grin. "See, I'm not the only one who thinks you're sticking your neck out over this," Joe muttered. "Now where is this dog?" he asked loudly, turning towards Nancy.
She pointed to the items laid out on the ground beside her. The brothers were already wearing latex gloves from the box they kept in their vehicle. Heck, even their personal cars had extra boxes of gloves, first aid kits, and evidence bags. You just never knew what you might need when.
Joe squatted on the ground beside Nancy and ran his hands over the small body, then gently turned it over and checked the other side. "No physical wounds that I can see, but I think we should do a post-mortem to see what might show up."
"I'll let you break the news to the M.E. that he gets to autopsy a dog," Frank said, shaking his head. "Ms. Drew," he went on, returning her phone and then pointing towards a large elm tree at the edge of the front yard, "if you would move over there, our forensic team is going to gather further evidence from the area. Bag and tag the dog, the shirt, and the knife," he called to the other suits that had pulled up in the car just a few moments ago. "Then soil samples." The words came out more sharply than he'd expected. He'd slipped into lead detective mode and was barking orders without even thinking about it. The others moved quickly to comply.
He waved over Detective Sanders, the only female field agent in forensics. "Sanders, can you collect clothes and trace evidence from Ms. Drew?" He tried to make his voice soft and calm as he turned towards Nancy. "We'll get this over with as quickly as possible so you can clean up before coming to the station."
"Why don't we go into the house?" Detective Sanders suggested with a smile. "Get away from all the noise, get this over with." She shot Frank a smirk as she added, "Word around the station is you make a great cup of tea."
Nancy glanced from Sanders to him warily, and may have blushed, but he couldn't really tell in the dappled sunlight under the tree. She nodded and trudged off toward the house, Sanders following with her kit, a square metal box containing tools that could condemn or exonerate. Of course this is just routine, Frank told himself. Nancy's reporting evidence like she should, and nothing will implicate her. But the situation made him uneasy. Marisol's body had been dumped at her store, and now another body winds up at her house. No matter that it was just a dog. If that knife was the murder weapon, then the killer had knowledge and access to Nancy's home, and that was troubling.
His team did their job quickly and efficiently, and in an hour they were packing things up to return to the station. Joe had been designated to walk across the street and ask the neighbor to identify the dog, and then been the one to deal with the aftermath of disbelief and tears. But the drama had at least yielded some information, once the wife had been returned to the house. Mr. Reiner, a retired shift manager from a nearby plastics manufacturer, stood on the sidewalk with a grim expression, arms crossed, as he answered their questions. Yeah, over the last week the dog had become obsessed with Ms. Drew's flower beds. He'd frequently retrieved the little thing from snuffling about in the dirt. Reiner didn't think Ms. Drew had been home most of the time when that happened. She'd never complained about the dog. And he didn't think she seemed the type to resort to something this drastic. She was a good neighbor, friendly, but not one to get involved in other people's business. Kept her house and yard maintained, even without a husband. No, he didn't recognize the shirt or the knife. Yeah, he'd heard about the body at the store. No, he didn't have any thoughts about who could have done something like this. Seemed crazy to him and figuring it out was a job for the police. With that, he turned to go back to his own house.
Frank was standing near the mailbox, studying the yard, trying to visualize when and where someone could have snuck up to the house and had time to dig a hole in the ground without anyone noticing. It was the last rose bush, planted at the corner of the house where the front yard met the skinny strip of yard that ran between Nancy's house and the yellow house next door where George Fayne lived with her grandmother. It was probably easy enough to manage in the middle of the night. And looking at the configuration of windows, the rooms closest to the area didn't seem to be bedrooms, so it was unlikely anyone would hear anything.
Mr. Reiner walked past him going back to his own house and then paused. "I'd check with the lady next door," he said, pointing to the yellow house. "The Faynes. A regular Gladys Kravitz that one, keeps an eye on everything going on around here."
"I'll do that," Frank nodded, though it took him a moment to recognize the reference, one of those old TV shows that had already been in reruns in his childhood. The nosy neighbor was always on the lookout for any sign of something weird. If that described Mrs. Fayne, she probably was a good one to interview. She'd likely have accurate observations and off base interpretations of things. If he could sift one from the other it might help with their timeline of events.
"And is it possible to get the dog back?" the man asked gruffly. "My wife will probably want to bury it."
"I'm afraid we are going to have to run some tests on it first," Frank said apologetically. He rather liked the no-nonsense man. "But as soon as we can, we will get it back to you."
The man made a face and nodded, then walked back into his house, banging the door closed behind him. Detective Sanders came out of Nancy's house at the same moment, Nancy following her. Sanders caught his gaze and gave a quick nod. Under the pretense of a cup of tea and letting Nancy get cleaned up, Sanders would have looked over as much of the house as possible. Frank felt a slight pang of guilt, which was wholly unnecessary and out of character. It had to be done, and Nancy had given permission for Detective Sanders to come into her home. Whatever observations, photos, and evidence had been collected in there was admissible. Nancy knew that. And as old-fashioned as it might be, Frank still believed deep down that the justice system worked. If he did his job and followed the evidence, the truth would come out, the guilty would be punished, and the innocent would go free.
He was moving to ask Nancy to come down to the station to fill out a report and answer questions once Chet arrived, but Joe beat him to it. His brother was walking Nancy to their car and helping her into the backseat by the time Frank reached them. "Chet called her and said he was on his way to the station," Joe informed him, as he closed the car door. "She asked if we could bring her in and she'd take a taxi back so she didn't have to deal with parking."
Frank nodded. "I heard you question the neighbor. What's your take on things?"
"It's weird," Joe said, shaking his head. "I'd guess the knife and shirt were buried the night Marisol was killed, or close to it. The dog's intrigued by the scent of blood and keeps trying to dig it up, so the dog has to go. No idea how it died, but I'm not a vet. Someone could have wrung its neck. But why do that instead of just moving the evidence? Unless you're trying to pin the whole thing on the laundry lady. But it's a sloppy way to do that."
Frank nodded his agreement, but Joe wasn't finished. "The other option is that Drew is setting this all up herself," he added, staring fixedly at his brother. "She keeps calling to report things because it shifts suspicion off of her. Then nothing is sloppy. It's all very well calculated. You said if she were to murder someone she'd be smart about it."
"Why go to all that trouble?" Frank argued. "It would have been simpler to dump the body somewhere else entirely, and then no investigation would have looked seriously at Ms. Drew as a suspect. It's one thing to be calculated, it's another to be needlessly complicated."
Joe grunted an acknowledgement as he swiped the keys from Frank's hand. They climbed into the car, Nancy sitting quietly in the backseat. Frank was instantly aware of a light fruity scent filling the car, and he glanced at her in the rearview mirror. Her perfume or shampoo maybe? She had dressed for battle this time, sober and professional-looking in dark slacks and a tailored blouse. Her hair looked slightly damp still, but was twisted up in a bun, showing off a pair of tiny pearl earrings.
"So are we going to sit in silence the whole way?" Joe asked with a sly grin.
"The weather is very nice for this time of year," Nancy said. "Unseasonably warm."
Joe huffed a soft laugh and pulled away from the curb. Frank studied her in the rearview mirror. She sat with her hands clasped primly in her lap, staring out the window.
He forced his eyes away and they rode on in silence, but he kept glancing back at her in the mirror, wondering if he'd ever catch her looking at him, and then berating himself for feeling like a silly teenager.
As they pulled into the station she finally met his gaze, those big blue eyes watching him solemnly. "Black tea with a splash of milk," she said softly. "No flavorings. No sugar. Tea blend heavy on the Assam. Steeped for at least three minutes. And if the water hasn't boiled the tea won't steep properly. I never actually answered your question yesterday." And then she looked away.
