5

"Lieutenant? We got it! We have the address of the woman who owns the vehicle!"

"Good work, sergeant! What is it?"

"Here. It's on this slip of paper."

Columbo took the paper and held it up closer to his hazel eyes, examining it carefully. The address was indeed familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Perhaps it had come up in a previous case, or…

Perhaps it didn't matter. The only thing worth doing now was getting in his car and driving to that address as soon as possible. Dog's life may very well depend on it.

"Thanks again, Sergeant!" Columbo shouted through a cigar as he ran off towards the exit.

"You don't want me to come with you, Lieutenant?" Coleman shouted from the desk.

"No time for that now! But thanks!"

Columbo pulled up his worn, beat-up cabriolet to the curb of a familiar driveway. Yes, he had definitely been to this house on a case before…but when? And which case had it been?

In his career, he must have visited thousands of homes…but only a look inside would yield any clues.

Locking the car and quickly jogging towards the front steps, Columbo knocked hard on the door several times until his knuckles were sore. His heart was thundering in his chest. To think that on the other side of this door, his beloved dog might still be alive and well….

"L.A P. D! Open up!" Columbo shouted, dispensing with his usual calm demeanor and cutting straight to the chase here. His Dog was in trouble, God dammit. There was no time to be calm, and frankly, he wasn't interested in playing nice with whoever was behind this door.

However, after pounding on the door and shouting until his voice was raw, there was no answer. He was now readying himself to break the glass to get inside, but to his complete astonishment, the door was never locked at all.

With a simple push, it swung open.

Perplexed, Columbo stepped carefully inside. A little, and often dependable voice in his head warned him that this had all the makings of a trap, custom-made just for him…but even so, he had to search the house top to bottom, even at the risk of his own neck.

However, he didn't have to waste time searching every floor. There was something on the living kitchen table that caught his eye…something that was clearly meant for him, and him alone.

A small note, written neatly in blue ink. Definitely a woman's handwriting, and therefore, most definitely the same woman who had his dog. It read:

"Did you think it would be that easy, Lieutenant? Why don't you go find a Pig Sty where you belong?"

Columbo was so enraged and so nauseous with worry, that he almost ripped up the note into pieces, but at the last second, he managed to regain enough composure to stop himself. This was perhaps the most crucial piece of evidence they had so far, and in these two sinister sentences, there had to be a clue of some sort. There must be…

"Hi, it's me again. Are you still awake?"

"Of course. Have you found him?"

"Not exactly. I tracked down the address of the woman who owns the car, but…Dog isn't here. I checked every room to be sure."

"Well, you must be getting close if this is her house!"

"You know, it's so strange…I know I've been in this house before, on a case…but I can't remember which one. I can't even remember who lived in this house! All I found was this note on the kitchen table…I can't make heads or tails of it, but maybe you can?"

"What does it say?"

"It says…."Did you think it would be that easy, Lieutenant? Why don't you go find a Pig Sty where you belong?"

"Hmph…those are some fine choice words. Why Pig Sty? Why those two words specifically? Does that have any meaning to you?"

"No, I…"

Suddenly, all at once…a memory resurfaced and hit Columbo as hard as a train. It hit him so hard, that the phone slipped from his grasp and was left hanging from the receiver for a moment.

Time seemed to wind backward, back many years ago…right back to this very same house.

"You…you must belong in some Pig Sty! Do you do that in your own home? Do you?!"

"I'm sorry ma'am…forgive me, I'm awfully sorry."

"GET HIM OUT OF HERE! GET HIM OUT!"

Columbo was only whisked back to the present at the sound of his Wife's voice on the other end of the line, from the phone that was currently hanging off the receiver…

"Frank? Frank?! What is it? Are you okay?"

Columbo slowly grabbed the phone and put it back up to his ear, his heart pounding, his hands shaking…

"C-cigar ashes!" Was all he could manage to blurt out as he was still reeling from that painful, embarrassing memory. No wonder he had forgotten it.

"What? What are you talking about, Frank?"

"Cigar ashes on her floor! I was working on a case here…I was tired…I didn't notice the ashes from my cigar that fell onto her floor and that's when she said I belong in a…."

Columbo's features slowly settled into perfect focus, with a frown of determination.

"I know who took our dog..."