Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 03 - Sleight of Paw (12 page)

“I’m almost ready,” she said.

“Ready for what? Are we going out someplace?”

The door to the bathroom opened, the light went out, and Savannah stepped into the dimly lit room wearing a low-cut, slinky, black negligee; her hair was pulled back on one side and hanging partially over one eye in soft layered curls. She stopped and leaned against the door jamb, a sultry look on her beautiful face.

“Wow!” Michael said in a low voice. “You look scrumptious. Come get in bed so I can unwrap you.”

“First, you get to unwrap this,” she said walking over slowly and handing him a small box wrapped with pretty paper and a bow.

“I’d rather open this,” he said reaching up and putting his hands around Savannah’s waist and then running them down over her hips.

“Okay. But first you have to open this.”

“If you say so,” he said impatiently. “What is it? You know, nothing can top what I’ve already received from you, Adam, Maggie, and Max. Nothing.”

She smiled. “I think you’ll beg to differ in a few minutes.”

“I don’t think so,” he said while pulling the bow and paper off the little box. He opened the lid, moved some tissue paper aside, and froze in place. As if in a daze, he stared down into the box. Finally, he blurted, “Booties?” He looked up at Savannah, who had a big smile on her face.

“Yes.”

He lifted the yellow booties out of the box and held them up. “Booties? Does this mean…?” he started.

“Yes, Michael. It means that I want us to have a baby.”

“Now?”

“Yes. As soon as possible. That is, if you still want to…”

“Want to? Absolutely, I want to more than almost anything. Oh, Savannah,” he said, reaching up and pulling her down into the bed with him. “Now you have given me everything I could ever ask for. Thank you, honey.”

“Sooooo, shall we get started?”

“Get started?” he asked.

“Making that baby, silly.”

“Oh yes.” He reached up and turned off the bedside lamp.

***

“Who’s visiting us so early?” Michael asked as he pulled on his jeans and a tee and rushed to the front door.

“Michael Ivey?”

“Yes,” Michael replied, a puzzled look on his face. His eyes darted from one to the other sheriff’s deputies who were standing outside the door of his home.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Peter Gamble.”

“What?” he said out loud.

Savannah gasped when she walked into the living room and saw a sheriff’s deputy preparing to snap a pair of handcuffs on her husband’s wrists. “No!” she screamed. “NO!”

“He’ll be at the main jail ma’am, if you want to call him a lawyer.”

“It’ll be okay, Savannah. Call Sondra. I’ll be all right. It’s just some sort of mistake.” He then pulled back from the deputy. “Can I at least put on a pair of shoes and grab a jacket? It’s cold out there.”

The deputies complied and then Savannah watched as they escorted her husband out and helped him into the backseat of a patrol car. Just then Savannah’s phone rang. She looked at the screen and then wailed into the receiver, “Oh Auntie, they’ve just arrested Michael.”

“Well, damn. I saw the cars over there and wondered what was going on.” She paused. “Arrested him, huh? Un-friggin-believable! Why? Do you know?”

“No. There must be new evidence, I would imagine. Listen, Auntie, I have to call Sondra. I want him out of there as soon as possible. What time is it, anyway—oh, six-forty-five. Probably too early to call.” She then shook her head and said, “I can’t believe this is happening to us. It’s crazy.”

“I know, Vannie. Just try to stay calm. Let us know how we can help. Anything, okay?”

“Sure, Auntie. Thank you so much. I’ll talk to you later.”

***

It was nearly eight by the time Craig arrived. “Hi Dr. Mike,” he said as he entered the interrogation room where Michael sat in a chair at a six-foot table. A uniformed sheriff’s deputy stood against the wall in the back of the room. Craig placed a briefcase on the floor and then stood staring at the unlikely prisoner.

“Craig, can you tell me what’s going on? Why am I here? I’m being arrested for murder? That’s crazy.”

“Michael, calm down. I’m sure there’s been a mistake here someplace, but…” he paused. He then reached down and took something out of his briefcase and laid it on the table in front of them. “We found this on your property, Michael. It checks out as the murder weapon.”

Michael stared over at the object and shook his head. “Well, I’ve never seen it before.” He looked up at the detective. “It’s not mine, Craig.”

“Are you sure?” Craig asked, raising one foot and resting it on the seat of a chair.

“Yeah, I’m sure. That’s not my knife. You have my knife. When do I get it back, by the way?”

Craig ignored the question. “Well, Michael, take a look at this.” He turned the blood-stained knife over and pointed through the plastic bag to a spot on the blade. “It has your initials on it.”

“What?” Michael squinted to see the initials. “MI,” he said. “Jees, someone really has gone to a lot of trouble to incriminate me; that’s all I can say.” He sat back in his chair and looked intently at the detective. “Anything of mine with initials on it, Craig, is engraved MMI, never just MI.”

“MMI, huh? What does it stand for?” he asked removing his foot from the chair, scooting it toward him, and sitting down.

“Michael Matthew Ivey. I use the M initial on my checks—everything.” He rose briefly and dug into his pocket. “Here, this is my name tag for work. See, Michael M. Ivey.” He pulled out his wallet. “All of my credit cards have my middle initial.”

“I see,” Craig said staring over at Michael while rubbing his chin. He then said, “We talked to the guy at the engraving shop. The owner wasn’t there. It was a new kid and he didn’t know nothin’ about tracking records. It’s the only engraving shop for miles, so the work was probably done there, unless the knife came from somewhere else—it was a gift from one of Savannah’s relatives in LA, for example… Would they use the M initial or not?”

“Heck, I don’t know,” Michael squirmed in his seat. He glared across at Craig. “It is not my knife. I’ve never seen it before.”

“I want to see my client.” Craig and Michael turned toward the door as Sondra Blair walked in. When she spotted Michael, she headed toward him and asked, “Michael, what’s going on?”

“Maybe I can explain,” Craig said. “A known enemy of Michael Ivey’s was found dead at his veterinary clinic—murdered—and a knife with the initials MI has been discovered on Dr. Ivey’s home property. We have arrested him for the murder of Peter Gamble.”

“That’s preposterous,” she said. “This man is an upstanding, well-thought-of citizen in this community. He has no record anywhere and you cannot place him at the scene at the time of the crime, now can you?”

Craig thought about it and said, “No, we can’t.”

“Did you find his prints on the weapon?”

“No.”

“So what you have is circumstantial? Would you say this is true, Detective?” She swished past Craig, walked to where Michael sat, and stood behind him. “So you don’t really have any concrete evidence, do you, Detective?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Craig said with a hint of a smile.

“Then I suggest you let this man get back to his family and work.”

Craig leaned back in his chair and said, “Well, we haven’t booked him yet. I don’t think he’s a flight risk. Maybe you’re right, Ms. Blair. Let’s give the case more time to incubate. Ivey, go home, will ya.”

“Sure will, Cra…er, Detective. Thank you.” He turned to his attorney. “And thank you, Sondra.”

“Yes, Michael. Now I’d like to see you and your wife in my office sometime today. Can you arrange that?”

“Yes; how’s the noon hour or after office hours—five-thirty?”

“Make it six.” She then turned to Craig and said, “Can I compare notes with you, Detective? I’d like to know more about your investigation, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” he said, staring over at her for a moment. “There are some things I can share. Let’s go into my office.”

Sondra Blair made copious notes as Craig responded to most of her questions, but she was aware that he was holding back.
That’s fair in an active investigation,
she thought. After speaking with Craig for forty-five minutes, Sondra excused herself. The two shook hands and went their separate ways.

She left his office feeling that she had enough information to discuss the case with Michael. She thought it strange that she had been gearing up to represent Michael Ivey—the victim in an assault case—and now may be representing that same client as the accused in a murder case
.

***

Savannah had seen three patients so far Thursday morning, checking her cell phone after each one—hoping for a message from Michael or Sondra Blair. The third time was the charm for her. It was nine-thirty when she saw Michael’s text. “I’m on my way to work. All is well. Love you.”

She glanced out the window just in time to see him pull into the parking lot and waited for him to appear at the back door.

“Hi, honey. I’m so glad to see you! Come tell me what happened,” she said as she led him into her office and closed the door.

He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to him, burying his face in her neck. After several moments, he pulled away and smiled weakly at her. She stared into his eyes as if searching for the answers she so desperately wanted. “They found the murder weapon on our property.”

“Where?” she asked, her face contorted into a scowl.

“I don’t exactly know. But the thing has the initials MI on it.” He turned away and ran his hand through his hair. He shook his head and said, “Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to implicate me, Savannah.”

“But they let you go. You didn’t have to put up any bail money, did you?”

“No. But they don’t want me to leave the area. I’m still some sort of suspect.”

Savannah reached out and rubbed his back. “I am so sorry, Michael. This is just awful.” She turned toward her desk, leaned her palms on the desktop, and said, “I’m so sorry this is happening.” Unsuccessfully fighting back tears, she whispered, “I’m so scared for you…for us.” He walked over and wrapped his arms around her. She faced him and asked, “What do we do next?”

“We have a meeting with Sondra Blair this evening after work. In the meantime,” he worked hard at a genuine smile, “what do you say we just take care of our patients?”

She wiped at her eyes. “Okay,” she said in a weak voice. She then took in a deep breath as if willing herself to be strong. “We don’t have many patients this afternoon, so I’m going to run some errands, later. What time is our appointment?”

“Six. Let’s try to get out of here by five, go home and feed the critters, and maybe have a bowl of that soup you made, before we meet with her. Sound okay?” Michael asked.

“Perfect,” she said. “I’ll feel better knowing we have a plan—that there’s something we can actually do.” She stared down at the floor and shook her head. “I just hate feeling helpless in all this.” She reached over and kissed her husband lightly on one cheek. “I’ll see you later,” she said while running one hand along the side of his face.

She started to walk away when Michael grabbed her wrist. He looked deep into her eyes. “It’ll be okay. We
will
be okay.”

***

Craig Sledge pulled into the Ivey Veterinary Clinic parking lot around mid morning. He parked at the outer perimeter and exited his unmarked car. In typical detective fashion, he began to scan the area with his eyes.
Employees’ cars, no doubt,
he thought to himself.
Maybe a few clients’ cars…a mud-splattered monster truck, a few SUVs, Dr. Ivey’s vet truck, a dull red pickup that’s seen better days, and an older black sedan with tinted windows. Could it be?
He walked over to more closely inspect the car. After squatting down to examine the tires, he walked around to the front of the car and peered inside through the windshield.
Nothing out of the ordinary,
he thought.
A large coke cup from a fast-food store in the cup holder, food wrappers and a discount store bag on the passenger seat, a leather jacket lying across the backseat…what’s this?
He walked to the back of the car and studied the back window.
In Memory of, Jason Merrick, 1987-2010 .

Craig looked around to see if he was alone. He then took out his cell phone and snapped a few photos of the car—especially the back window. That done, he reached into his jacket pocket, retrieved his pad and pen, and noted the license plate number. He then walked into the waiting room of the veterinary clinic. He nodded to an older woman who sat next to a cat carrier and acknowledged a couple with a frightened little dog on a leash. “Hello. Good morning,” he said as he made his way to the receptionist desk. “Scarlett, right?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Detective Craig Sledge,” he said, discretely displaying his badge.

She looked at it and then made eye contact.

“Can you tell me who drives that black Toyota out there in the parking lot?”

“Uh, no.” The petite freckle-faced receptionist said, shaking her head back and forth slowly. She strained to look out the front window to see which car Craig was talking about. Just then, Lisa walked in from the back, carrying an armful of charts. Scarlett acknowledged her, “Hey Lisa, do you know who drives that black car out there?”

Lisa, a heavyset woman in her mid thirties, glanced toward the window and said, “It could be the new girl, Alyce.”

“May I speak to her, please?” Craig asked.

Lisa glanced over at him. “Um, sure,” she said, while placing the charts on Scarlett’s desk. “I’ll go get her.”

“Just ask her to meet me out front, will you?”

Within a few minutes a thirty-something woman with long stringy brown hair and a plain face walked up to him. “You want to see me?”

“Yes. I’m Detective Craig Sledge,” he said, flashing his badge. “Is this your car over here? The black Toyota?”

“Yeah,” she said hesitantly. “What about it?”

“Are you the only one who drives this car?” he asked, looking her directly in the eyes.

“Yeah!”

“You haven’t loaned it out and it hasn’t been stolen anytime recently, then?”

“Uh, no, why?”

“Well, it looks a lot like a car that’s been involved in some crimes.”

Alyce took a step back. Her eyes darted from side to side. She fidgeted with something in her hands. “What are you talking about, man?”

“Have you tried to snatch any dogs, lately? Or slash any tires?”

“No, man,” she said, staring down at her hands.

The newest rooky on the squad would see right through this gal’s shell. She is guilty as sin of something. Just look at her squirm. Now let’s see if she’ll tell me what she’s guilty of.

He started to speak when Alyce looked up. She grimaced. “You know, in that neighborhood where I live, things go missing in the night. Maybe someone took my car when I didn’t know it. There’s a lot of crime in this town, you know.” She shook her head in an attempt to flip her hair away from her face. “Yeah, I’ll bet someone’s been driving my car. I noticed my gas tank was low the other day when I went to go someplace. Someone’s probably been hot-wiring my car.”

Craig stared at her for a moment. And then he asked, “Who’s Jason Merrick?”

Alyce let out a breath and slumped a little. “A friend of mine.”

“How’d he die?”