A Shot in the Bark (A Dog Park Mystery) (3 page)

"Around six."

Dourson raised his eyebrows.

"All the dogs know is that it's daylight. They could care less about what time it is."

Dourson smiled at that. "Is that everyday?"

"Pretty much."

Dourson turned to Lia, "You were here before that. When did you get here?"

"O-dark-thirty? I don't know. I left the house a little after four and we walked up here."

"Who was with you?"

"Just the dogs, Honey and Chewy."

"That's pretty early."

"I couldn't sleep."

"How long does it take you to walk up here?"

"Twenty, twenty-five minutes."

"So does four-thirty sound about right?"

"I guess, I don't know. I misplaced my cell. I don't wear a watch."

"So what happened when you got here?"

"I saw the car and I was pissed."

"Pissed? How come?"

"Didn't they tell you?"

"Tell me what? What am I missing?"

"Officer," Anna interjected. "Detective, he was her boyfriend. She broke up with him yesterday."

"I'm sorry."

Lia's tears started again. "I'm sorry, too. So sorry."

Dourson was gentle. "Lia, are you okay to do this?"

"I don't want to wait."

"Okay, tell me what happened after you got here. Take your time."

"I was pissed." Lia restarted her story and haltingly recounted events up to the time she threw open the car door.

"What did you see?"

"Blood, all over. The back window, the seat. He was just laying there in it with his mouth open."

"This is really important. Did you touch anything?"

"No, no. The passenger side door handle, that's it."

"Why the passenger side door?"

"It was closest."

"Detective Dourson surveyed the trio. "Did anyone else touch anything?"

"I looked in because she was just staring and wouldn't say anything," Jim volunteered, "I didn't touch the car."

"How about you, Anna?"

"I didn't go near the car."

Dourson turned back to Lia. "Tell me about the breakup. Was this your idea?"

Lia dully cited the hours of phone calls and recriminations laced with wheedling, begging and vicious profanity. No, she couldn't remember exactly what he said. The verbal barrage flooded her, leaving behind a vile tone, but no quotes. She did recall he'd called her "Angel" in one sentence, and used the "C" word in the next.

"That's why I couldn't sleep, it was so nasty. I couldn't get it out of my head." She looked up at him then, finally, her jade eyes glistening and her lashes damp. "Was it suicide, Detective?"

Dourson paused for a moment, struck by mossy eyes that reminded him of cool green walks in Kentucky hollers. They were complimented by a soft, vulnerable mouth and those slightly aloof cheekbones. He noticed a slight dent in her chin, as if someone had pressed their thumb in it and left their imprint. Her hair was bound up in a clip. Spiraling tendrils escaped, emphasizing her long neck and reinforcing her fragility. He mentally shook his head and focussed on her question. "It's early to say."

"I'm sure you're not allowed to say, anyway."

"That, too, but really, it's too early to know for sure."

"I was so angry. I wanted him gone, but I didn't want that."

"I know."

"Do you?" she pleaded.

"Yeah, I think so," he said, as his heart broke for her.

Dourson collected contact information for Lia, Jim and Anna, and for Luthor's parents. Anna led Lia out to her SUV while Jim followed along with the dogs. Dourson picked up Lia's abandoned coffee. It was still almost full. He smelled hazelnut. He dumped it in the trash.

She remembered most the explosion of blood, the mess, and the blow-back speckling her clothes and skin. There would be plenty of time to burn her clothes, and the neighbors would just assume she was grilling out. She'd encourage that impression by dumping on Liquid Smoke. The police might never ask questions, not if they bought the suicide scenario she created.

She'd disliked doing it this way. Luthor had no convenient health issues to exploit, nor did he care for outdoor activities that could be manipulated into accidents. He had only one obvious weakness, and that was his dependence on Lia.

She pondered the cell phone in her hand. It had been so easy to lift from Lia's tote. Easier still to lure Luthor with a text message. But what to do with it? Return it to Lia? Destroy it? It would be easiest to destroy it and Lia would probably figure she'd lost it. It wouldn't be too difficult to return, just drop it behind the driver's seat of her Volvo. The windows were always open for the dogs. But she'd have to remove those final text messages, and if the police came asking questions, possession of the phone would cause Lia problems.

If she got the phone back, Lia would feel compelled to access all of Luthor's messages from last night. She could still do it without the phone, but would she bother? Too bad there was no way for her to find out what was on voicemail without it being flagged that it had been accessed. Luthor's messages shouldn't be incriminating. How could they be? Checking messages would tip Lia off that someone else had her phone, and that wouldn't be good at all.

It had taken more time to dig Luthor's phone out of his jacket and pull off those last texts than it had to kill him. It had been delicate going, putting it back. She'd felt horribly exposed even though trees blocked the view of the parking lot from the street. But she couldn't have Luthor's phone missing. That would be a tip-off. And if police ruled it suicide, they wouldn't bother to pull the phone records, would they?

Such a nasty job, all the way around. She disliked guns, disliked blood, and disliked loose ends. She looked at the loose end in her palm and smiled with sudden inspiration. Insurance. She'd leave the messages and hang onto it for now. Just in case.

Lia woke up late the next day. Or rather, Chewy and Honey woke her up, tag teaming her with kisses and bright yips, as if being happy could get her out of bed. Two nights of no sleep, then she spent yesterday either comatose or crying. Anna had hung out in the next room, checking in occasionally to bring her some tea or food. She remembered a grilled cheese sandwich she couldn't eat. She remembered a confused Chewy snuffling her tears as if to figure out what they were.

It was 8:00. The morning shift at the dog park would be in full swing. No matter how she was feeling, Honey and Chewy still needed to go run.

The Mount Airy Dog Park has two fenced areas, the smaller designated for small dogs. Few people used it because it had little shade and most of the small dogs liked chasing the big dogs on the other side. But it was a good place to go if you wanted to be alone.

Lia perched on the table nearest the fence, the only one with shade. She considered the group next door. Since the park had been closed yesterday morning, she figured everyone was peppering Anna and Jim with questions about the shooting. Terry Dunn, a robust reincarnation of Teddy Roosevelt, drew a line in the air with his finger. He appeared to be calculating the trajectory of the bullet while Marie Woo and Nadine Moyers watched.

Marie was a petite, feisty, first-generation Asian-American whose feathery, jet-black hair was accented with an eye-popping forelock in ever-changing hues. She had her head canted so that this month's magenta bangs flopped, the way they always did when she was getting ready to challenge Terry. Her unmarked skin had an ageless look, and Marie refused to enlighten anyone on that point. In contrast to her firecracker personality, Marie's face was inscrutable. The only indication of her feelings was the degree of tilt to her head. Right now, the tilt was slight and her chin was down. Her interest was academic, not personal.

Nadine was a sporty grandmother with sprightly blue eyes and snowy, boy-cut hair. Nadine could often be spotted power-walking back and forth across the park with her arms pumping determinedly and Rufus trotting dutifully behind. She had paused in this morning's trek to nowhere to catch the gossip. She touched Jim's arm with one hand, the other going to her mouth in a gesture of horror.

Catherine, wearing a fuchsia faux-silk jogging outfit, fussed with her Pomeranians. She looked up, glaring daggers at Nadine.

Funny, Lia thought, I can't hear a word they're saying and I still know exactly what's going on.

Anna and CarGo detached from the group, followed by a tall man Lia didn't know. As she approached, Anna waved, "Lia! Look who showed up! It's Detective Peter! Look who he brought with him!"

Lia squinted and sure enough, she recognized the rangy figure. She looked lower and spotted Viola dancing around CarGo in a vain attempt to get the mastiff to play.

"Detective Peter, is it?"

"Lia, you know we can't be formal here, and he's off duty now. I'm so glad you're up. I was going to check in on you when we were done here."

"So, Detective Peter, what brings you out here?" Lia asked

"Viola's staying with me for now. I thought she would like to play with her friends. She's been a bit anxious."

"How did you wind up with her?"

"Luthor's parents were less than enthusiastic about stepping up for her. I figured I could look after her until we found someone to take her."

"Yeah, the old man's allergic. So he says."

"I thought there might be a friend somewhere who would want her if I hung onto her for a few days. Otherwise, it was the shelter. So I'm letting folks know she needs a home."

"Thank you for taking her in. I don't know if I'm up to taking on another dog. I'll have to think about it."

"Sure, just let me know. By the way, we may have some questions for you, just some loose ends to tie up. Can you stop in at District Five tomorrow? Or I can come to you if you prefer."

"That would be nice. You can never park at District Five."

"It's a pain, I know. Any time in particular?"

Arrangements made, Anna and Lia watched the detective head for the parking lot with his capering dark shadow.

"That's a nice young man," Anna observed.

"Are we talking a little cougar action here?"

"Not a bad idea, but I suspect he might have a different agenda."

"Oh, really?"

There are rules to getting away with murder.

Rule Number One: You can't confide in anyone. Nobody. Not ever. Secrets are ticking time bombs. It's hard to keep a secret, but when it's your secret, you have every reason to keep it. Even with his mistakes, Harris should have gotten away with murder after two mistrials. Then a witness came forward. She claimed Harris bragged about killing his wife. A not-very-credible witness, as it turned out, but it gave the prosecution the chance to correct the mistakes they made in the first two trials. Then they nailed him the third time around.

Talking is tempting fate. That's my mantra. I don't like keeping secrets, and sometimes the pressure builds and I sit quietly and meditate. I repeat 100, 1,000 times, "Talking is tempting fate," while I close my eyes and imagine the color orange to remind myself how ghastly it looks on me.

Rule Number Two: Never kill when you are angry. You make mistakes when you're angry, the biggest mistake being the desire for violence. Violence leaves behind evidence of violence, the biggest piece of evidence being that the death was, in fact, murder and not an accident or natural causes.

Rule Number Three: Make it look like something else. An accident, suicide, a health condition, anything but murder. You can't be convicted for a crime if no one knows one occurred.

Rule Number Four: Plan, plan, plan. Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. You have to review and practice your plan enough to find all the holes, and there are always holes. It has to be second nature because the mind often blanks when stressed. You've got to be programmed in case fear strikes. When your mind blanks, you've got to go on auto-pilot.

Rule Number Five: Never repeat yourself. Don't kill two husbands, two bosses, or two landlords. Never kill two people the same way. Repeating creates patterns and patterns create suspicion. Avoid connections between victims because connections will eventually form a net with you in it.

Rule Number Six: If you can't have an alibi, don't have a motive, at least not an obvious one. Cops know nobody has an alibi when they are at home in bed at night, but they don't care unless they think you had a reason to kill your victim. So if you think someone might become a target, don't engage in conflict with them.

Rule Number Seven: Keep still. Once you set everything in motion, do nothing that was not part of the original plan. People who scramble to protect themselves only wind up drawing attention to the thing they want to hide.

Rule Number Eight: Avoid casting suspicion on anyone else if you can help it. It's bad karma. Unless the person is really, truly, odious.

Rule Number Nine: No Souvenirs. Souvenirs are evidence. You never know when evidence will surface. Keep your memories and nothing else.

Peter rang the bell for Lia's half of a two-family at 10:00 a.m. as planned. Lia unlatched the screen door only to have it shoved open to the sound of excited whimpering. Paws landed on her thighs.

"Viola!" She knelt down for frantic puppy kisses. "Aw, sweetie, I missed you." She looked up at Peter. "Thanks for bringing her."

"Do you want me to hang onto her or should I unclip her?"

"Let her go, sure." By this time, Honey and Chewy were sniffing Viola and barking. The trio ran off to the back of the house for a canine reunion.

"Can I get you anything? I've got green tea, herbal, filtered water, or I could juice up some carrots and celery for you."