Dog Dish of Doom, page 19
“It was Taylor,” Louise told me. “The other two were men, so they couldn’t come into the ladies’ room. But when I texted back and said I didn’t have Bruno but I could get him, they told me to meet them there. They must have been using a throwaway phone, because I already have Taylor in my contacts and it wasn’t her number.”
You have to love modern criminals. Kidnapping a woman in order to get a dog, putting a dark bag over her head, and forcing her into Grand Central Terminal was okay, but the men couldn’t possibly breach the sanctity of a women’s public bathroom in a train station.
“Why was Taylor in on this?” I wondered aloud.
“I’m guessing for the money, or the two men have something on her,” Louise said. “She seemed nervous, but she was desperate to get Bruno.”
“Why? I mean, I love Bruno but what’s so special about him? Why are people willing to kill for him?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Louise answered, her tone frosty and formal all of a sudden. “Now, please, just give me my dog so I can go home. I’m expecting people for shiva.”
I didn’t want to give her the leash. I still had suspicions about how she’d come to own Bruno, although now they were more focused on Mike Goldberg. But the fact was, as far as I knew, Louise was Bruno’s legal owner, I was simply the agent who had signed on to get him work, and she was perfectly entitled to take her dog home.
“Of course,” I said, and handed her the leash.
Louise took it from me and gripped it the wrong way, like she’d never walked a dog before and couldn’t understand how this odd contraption worked. It was not a pistol-grip lead that could conceivably be confusing; it was a straight nylon leash. But she held it like she thought it might bite her. Her voice, on the other hand, tried its very best to sound casual but came out taut and brittle.
“Come on, Bruno,” she said. Bruno lay there unmoving for a moment. But he seemed to shrug, accepting the situation, and stood up, walking in the direction in which Louise led him, toward the stairs back down toward the concourse.
Akra looked at me as we watched them walk away. “Are you crying?” she asked.
“No.”
“I’m going home now,” she said, and headed down the stairs as well.
I didn’t. I don’t know why. I just stood there, wondering if I’d have been justified at all in not giving control of Bruno back to the woman who, at least as far as I knew, was his legal guardian. I was not crying; get that out of your mind. I’m a professional and Bruno was a client. I wondered if he was still a client. Louise blew hot and cold on the subject, it seemed.
I decided to text my mother because I felt like having her around and I knew she was in the building. I got the phone out of my pocket but before I could even pull up Mom’s number (I couldn’t see her anymore from my vantage point, meaning she must have moved out of the supposed line of fire), Rodriguez appeared at my left, looking strangely on edge.
“They just walked away,” she said. “You let them just walk away.”
What was she talking about? “I figured there wasn’t any danger,” I said. “You arrested Taylor and the two guys in the ladies’ room, so I gave Louise back her dog and Akra went home. She must be a wreck.”
Rodriguez’s eyes widened, then narrowed. I wasn’t watching closely enough but I was willing to bet her pupils were dilating. “Arrested who?” she croaked out.
Mom came walking up the stairs with two iced coffees and handed me one. The woman is a saint.
“Taylor Cassidy and whoever she was working with,” I told Rodriguez, reminding her of whom she had in a squad car heading to the precinct. “Louise and Akra said you found them in the concourse ladies’ room and arrested the three of them before anything could happen.”
“We didn’t arrest anybody,” Rodriguez told me when she could find speech in her larynx again. “I don’t know anything about a women’s restroom. I just saw you hand over the dog everybody seems to be looking for and let two of our suspects walk away.”
I took a long sip of iced coffee. There was too much sweetener in it, but the caffeine was real. “I told you I should have had an earpiece,” I told Rodriguez.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Have some quesadilla to start,” Consuelo said.
She was carrying a platter of them, enough for the 101st Airborne Division in my estimation, and placing it on her dining table in a space that was cramped even with only five people present. And I must say, the quesadillas looked delicious.
Consuelo has made it a habit of inviting me to dinner at her home once a month since I hired her. She says it makes her feel like she’s more than an employee, which she is, and I think it’s also part of her plot to become a full agent, although I’m doing nothing to stand in her way. Consuelo thinks she’s cagey when in fact she’s just really good at some things. And cooking is one of them.
When Mom and Dad are in town, they are also invited to dinner and so here they were, having left Steve and Eydie back in Scarborough, freshly walked, watered, and fed. No doubt they were wondering where their pal Bruno had gone, and I couldn’t blame them. I was wondering that myself.
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat much,” I said. “I can’t believe how stupid I was.”
“To give Bruno back to his rightful owner?” Dad interjected. “What choice did you have?”
Diego, Consuelo’s twenty-two-year-old son, looked puzzled. “I thought you said you weren’t sure this woman really owned Bruno legally. So could you have kept him away from her if you’d realized the drop was shady?” Diego, who prefers to be called “Dee,” had just graduated from CCNY, the City College of New York, and was considering his options, which meant he hadn’t gotten a job yet. He wanted to go to veterinary school, but had not been able to find one that would admit him (it is incredibly difficult to get into vet school, more so than medical school) and was now considering law school, but had not yet figured out how that would be funded. Having gone to law school myself, I have often suggested that he look into the possibility of owning a Carvel franchise.
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “Detective Rodriguez wasn’t clear about that.”
The fact was, Rodriguez hadn’t been clear about a lot of things. Confronted with the tale I’d told her about Akra being held against her will, Louise just happening to run into her in the ladies’ room, and then Taylor and two men—who wouldn’t come inside because that was a serious breach of protocol—being arrested while they waited, Rodriguez had looked more pityingly at me with every word. After the first sentence, it was hard to blame her. I’d fallen for an extremely transparent scam because it was being perpetrated by two women I’d mentally identified as victims.
Rodriguez had taken Mom and me back to her precinct, taken our statements, put out a BOLO for Louise and Akra, and then, shaking her head slightly, had sent us on our way, which had in this case been to East Harlem, where Dad was waiting for us at my office. A quick stroll over to Consuelo’s apartment, and you’re pretty well caught up.
Consuelo retreated back to her kitchen, where she was no doubt preparing way more food than she’d need and it would all be delectable. Consuelo has a sense of proportion that is approximately equal to my cunning ability to see through sob stories.
Diego chewed over what I’d said. “I’m guessing you could have at least held on to him until it was determined if this woman held him legally,” he said. Maybe law school was the thing for him after all.
“Detective Rodriguez said she’d be working on that,” Mom said, pleased to have some information to impart. I was getting the impression that my mother was finding this whole situation oddly enjoyable, as if she were finally getting a chance to be on the inside of something big that wasn’t a three-nighter in the second-best room at a second-rate resort hotel. Mom loved Dad and Dad loved showbiz, so Mom loved showbiz. She didn’t so much thrill to the spotlight as she adored watching Dad shine under it from as close to him as she could get. “She said if Bruno was actually not Louise’s dog legally, that would open up avenues in the investigation, but she didn’t have any evidence of that yet.”
In fact, Rodriguez had said, “You don’t have anything I can use, so I’ll have to find it myself,” and moved on to the next question, which had been about the reason everybody seemed desperate to get their hands on Bruno, and whether that had played some role in Trent’s murder, which she was quick to remind me was, “the case that I’m actually working here.” As if my exploding bagel bakery and the possible abduction of a big hairy mutt weren’t enough.
“Why do you think everybody’s after Bruno?” I’d said, stating the obvious in the form of a question that would make Alex Trebek proud. “Do they think he’s a witness to the murder?”
Rodriguez rolled her eyes. “I told you. Bruno is not going to point out the killer and explain how it was all done. He’s a dog. I think there’s some kind of odd custody battle going on over him between Louise and somebody else, and whoever gets the dog has the advantage here. Maybe it’s money, maybe it’s sex. Maybe it’s about just having the upper hand in a relationship or who gets to walk him more often. But the interest in the dog is not about him having seen Trent Barclay get a knife in his back.”
“Don’t you think it’s weird that Louise went through all that cloak and dagger to get her own dog back?” I asked. “If she were the rightful owner, I’d have had to hand over the leash anytime she asked. And she had no reason to think I suspected otherwise.”
Rodriguez shrugged. “I have work to do. If I find out something, I’ll be sure not to call you. If you find out something, you call me in the next nanosecond. We’re clear?”
Mom and I had been on the street in less than a minute.
“It doesn’t make sense any other way,” Diego was saying now as loud clanking sounds that must have been cooking came from the kitchen. “If she’d had the right to demand Bruno from you, she wouldn’t have had to go about creating this big drama. Do you think she really kidnapped the lady from the theater?”
Consuelo burst through the kitchen door carrying a dish I knew from past dinners was her famous chili con carne with rice. And my salivary glands shifted into overdrive. I am a fool for spicy food. Consuelo is a master of preparing spicy food. It was kismet that our paths crossed in the animal-agenting business.
“Stop trying to make Kay feel bad,” she said to her son as she placed the large bowl on the table. “And everybody take some, now. This is dinner, not business, Dee.”
I didn’t mind the question, and told her so. “I don’t know whether Akra is part of the plan or whether she really was taken from the theater,” I told Diego. “She seemed pretty shook up, for Akra.” She hadn’t even mentioned the possibility of finding Les to let him know she was safe; I’d made sure to call him and tell him myself. I wasn’t sure he’d been crying, but his voice did catch a couple of times. Les was born to be in the theater.
We all dug in and began eating, so aside from compliments to the chef there was little conversation for a while. Consuelo had outdone herself, so my tongue was sending out arson alerts in just a few moments. You’re not supposed to drink cold water under such circumstances, so luckily Consuelo had beer.
Once I came up for air, I asked Dee what he thought about the story I’d told him. Diego has an analytical mind and catches things others sometimes miss. He’s one of those kids who just knows everything about everything, but he’s not arrogant about it and doesn’t see it as a big deal. But ask him about astrophysics or the Bolshoi Ballet, and he’ll know without consulting Google on his phone. He just absorbs everything.
I trust his judgment and make use of his careful eye. Or in this case, ear.
“I wasn’t there,” he said after noting his mother’s glance and making sure he had fully chewed and swallowed before speaking. “But it sounds to me like they were in on it together. This Akra woman had to know the story about the arrests in the bathroom was a lie and she didn’t say that to you. So I’m guessing she didn’t get kidnapped at all.”
As usual, Dee managed to say something that could make me feel stupid without accomplishing that task. I should have realized that sooner. But then, so should Rodriguez, who was getting paid for this stuff.
“What about Bruno?” I said to the gathered group. “What’s so special about Bruno that people are willing to threaten, explode, maybe kidnap, and almost certainly kill to get him?”
“He is a nice dog,” Mom said.
Nobody answered that, as it didn’t seem all that helpful, but Dad did bail his wife out of the moment by asking, “Is it possible Bruno is like a drug-smuggling dog or something? I read about this. They make the dog swallow drugs in plastic and then take him on a flight or something.”
Consuelo frowned. “The cartels do a lot of awful things,” she said. “And that is probably one of them. But the only way that dog is that valuable is if he still has the drugs in his body, and he’s been around you and Kay for days. I don’t think it’s possible.”
“Well, someone is awfully anxious to get their hands on Bruno—unless they have him now—and I really don’t have a clue as to why,” I said. “I hate to think of what could be going on.” It seemed a little hollow as I reached for another quesadilla. But I was worried about Bruno. It just frustrated me to think about it because I didn’t have a clear idea.
“I don’t think they’d do anything bad to Bruno,” Mom said. She has a way of seeing everything in the best possible light. “They wouldn’t harm something they feel is so valuable. It’s bad for whatever business they’re in.” Of course, sometimes she has a point too.
“What kind of a dog is Bruno?” Diego asked.
“He’s sweet,” I said. “He’s fluffy and big but not menacing, and he pretty much goes along with what you want to do most of the time. He didn’t like this one dog at the theater, this Horatio, but aside from that he’s a real little dear.”
There was this pause, which happens when someone in the room isn’t getting it, and it’s usually me.
“I meant, what breed is he?” Diego said.
“Oh. Well, he’s a mix of things, I guess, because I’ve never seen a dog who looked like him before. He’s a big hairy mutt, mostly. Looks like a shag rug that was somehow invested with a brain and the ability to move around.”
The young man looked at his mother because he knew she would have better information than I would. “Do you have a picture of Bruno?” he asked.
Of course she did; Consuelo had taken the photograph of Bruno and me at the office on her phone. “Sí,” she said. “Hang on a second.” She produced the phone from a pocket somewhere and started pushing buttons. “Here.”
Consuelo held out the phone for Diego to see. She had enlarged it to the point that I was no longer in the shot, which was fine with me. Mom and Dad, who had actually lived with Bruno for a couple of days, leaned in to get a better look as if they’d never seen him before. Dogs have a funny effect on people, including me. I was gazing fondly at the screen myself.
But Diego’s expression was not one of awe or infatuation. He looked extremely serious. “I think I know why everyone is after Bruno,” he said.
From a picture? “He’s cute, but he’s not that cute,” I said.
Diego was already pushing buttons on his phone, which I couldn’t see from this angle. “No,” he said as he tapped away. “I think Bruno is … yes! Here it is. Take a look at this picture.”
He turned his phone toward us. There was a very nice photograph of …
“That’s Bruno,” I said. “But his fur’s been all puffed up and blow-dried. Where’d you get that?”
“It’s not Bruno,” Diego answered. “It’s another dog the same breed as Bruno.”
“There’s more than one like that?” Dad shook his head. “I never would have believed it.”
“Well, you’re really going to be blown away in a second,” Diego told him. “This dog is a Tibetan mastiff, just like Bruno. And they’re very rare.”
Consuelo, noting a tone in her son’s voice, narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice half an octave. “How rare?” she asked.
“Very rare. The one in this picture sold a few months ago to a breeder in China. And he sold for one point five million dollars.”
Nobody said anything for a long moment. Then Dad let out his breath.
“Yup,” he said. “That’s why.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Louise Barclay isn’t in her apartment,” Detective Rodriguez said. “Taylor Cassidy isn’t in her apartment. Guess where Akra Levy isn’t? That’s right; her apartment. And you’re telling me one of those ladies has a dog worth a million and a half?”
“Probably,” I said.
Having had enough of the Sixth Precinct house this afternoon, I’d made sure that we’d finished dinner at Consuelo’s (including a lovely flan she’d made from scratch with a real acetylene torch) and then called Rodriguez, insisting that we meet at the fountain in front of Lincoln Center because I didn’t want to take the whole subway ride and it was a nice night.
“Probably?” Rodriguez parroted.
“Probably,” I repeated. “I can’t say for sure that Louise or Akra or Taylor has Bruno with her. Louise had him, but she could have passed him off to anybody by now. You don’t know where she is; she could have put him on a plane for Zambia by this time.”
“These women are suspects in a murder,” Rodriguez reminded me. “We’ve made sure to alert the airports and the train stations.”
“It’s a big city,” my father said. “They could be anywhere without having to leave town.” Yes, Dad had come with me, leaving Mom at Consuelo’s apartment because she insisted on helping to clean up over Consuelo’s protests. I had tried to get my parents to go home, but Dad, who had been telling me about an amazing stand-up comedian he’d “discovered” during his auditions this afternoon, still had a thing about letting me travel around the city by myself at night. It’ll only be worse when I’m forty.
Rodriguez didn’t answer Dad but she did scowl nicely, so that was something. “If I’d known Louise wasn’t just taking her dog home, that the dog was the point, I could have had some officers follow her from Grand Central,” she mused. I think to herself.
