Chapter 9
“What’s your take?”
Slidell was asking about the thing he’d plucked from the tangle of tree roots.
“Hold it out,” I said.
He did.
Activating my phone’s magnifier app, I brought the screen close and slid the yellow button to the right. The image exploded and detail emerged.
I could see that the outer margins were ragged, suggesting the object had once been larger in size. Though mud-speckled and discolored, it had also been lighter in color. One side was edged with blue rubber.
“Lemme look.”
“Did I hear please?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I handed Skinny the phone.
“Looks like part of it’s rawhide, the rest rubber. There’s indentations along one edge. A round hole at the top.”
Slidell offered the phone back as he extended his palm.
“The indentations are tooth marks,” I said, staring at the magnified object as he had done.
“Human?”
“No.”
A moment of silence, then he snapped and pointed a finger at me.
“It’s a dog toy.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. That’s why I said it.”
“How do you know? You don’t have a dog.”
“I’ve had more dogs than you’ve had girlie cramps.”
I let that go.
“Maybe the guy used this to lure Bear,” I suggested, pointing at Slidell’s palm. “Manufacturers infuse them with a smell that appeals to the canine brain.”
Slidell said nothing.
“How common are these things?” I asked.
“Hell if I know.”
We stood a full minute, swatting at flies and considering options.
“Maybe we could ID the perp by finding where he bought the toy?” I suggested.
“Maybe.”
Slidell’s plan was simple.
Visit every pet store on the planet until we hit pay dirt.
Three hours later we’d been to a Pet Palace, a Pet Wants, two PetSmarts, and a canine café. I’d seen enough geckoes, guinea pigs, goldens, and guppies to last a lifetime. And heard enough grousing about a lunch date in peril to set every one of my nerves on edge.
The early-morning cloud cover had burned off, and the sun was blazing with white-hot intensity in a clear-blue sky. I had no doubt the mercury had clawed its way into the low nineties.
Slidell’s mood hadn’t improved with the rise in temperature. Nor had his appearance. His cheeks were flushed and the capillaries flanking his nose looked ready to burst.
“This is horseshit. After this, I’m done.”
I shared his sentiment but said nothing.
“What’s the name of this next joint?” Slidell asked as he turned from North Tryon Street onto a patch of concrete fronting a one-story strip mall.
“All Creatures on Earth.”
“Pure poetry.” With a snort that would have made Katy envious.
The mall’s exterior had been painted yellow sometime in the Eocene and never touched up. It housed three stores in all, each with bars on the windows and doors.
All Creatures took up a big chunk of the square footage on the building’s south end. To its right was a beauty shop called Belezza Salon Sylvia. Beyond the salon, a currency exchange boasted Ready Cash in blue-and-red neon.
Popping his seat belt and swinging his body left, Slidell heaved himself from the Trailblazer feetfirst. I followed him to the pet shop’s front door. Which failed to budge when Skinny pulled on the handle.
“You have to ring.” I pointed to a button to the right of the barricaded glass.
“What the hell’s wrong with this country when a citizen can’t enter a freakin’ store without a shakedown?”
“It’s hardly a shakedown.”
“Eeeyuh.”
“I’m guessing they’ve been robbed more than once.”
Slidell’s anger wasn’t directed at the shop’s owner. He knew the crime stats for that part of town. He was hot and sweaty and frustrated by the morning’s lack of results. And anxious to move on to lunch with Lyric.
A beat, then a buzzer sounded, and the lock clicked. Slidell yanked the door wide. A bell jangled us into the store.
Shelving filled the center of the room, holding items organized according to animal. Cat. Dog. Reptile. Feeder. I was unsure the makeup of the latter category. Worms? Crickets? Rodents? Whatever. I felt sympathy for the members of that group.
Fish tanks lined the left-hand wall, casting an eerie glow over that half of the room. Birds twittered in cages somewhere out of sight. A counter projected from the right-hand wall at the rear, its front painted red, its top shiny black.
Hanging beside the counter was a cork bulletin board. Tacked to it were dozens of homemade flyers. Pictures of lost pets. Ads for adoptable kittens. A poster offering a parrot named Buster for re-homing.
Standing behind the counter was a skinny man with bulging eyes that tracked our progress with interest. A lack of wrinkles and firm jawline suggested an age under thirty. Challenging that youthful estimate was one of the worst comb-overs I’d ever seen.
“May I help you?” Comb-over beamed a welcome. “We have some adorable wee kitties needing forever homes.”
Slidell badged him.
“Oh, my.” The smile underwent a significant decrease in wattage. “Has there been another break-in?”
“How ’bout we start with your name.”
“Jeremy Dahmer.” Two slender hands came up, palms pointed at us. “I know what you’re thinking. The dreadful monster who cannibalized people in Wisconsin. I get sooo much ribbing about having the same name.”
Dahmer referred to a serial killer and sex offender who’d murdered and dismembered seventeen men between 1978 and 1991.
I flashed back to my conversation with Adina about the nature of evil. Dahmer truly qualified. But I wasn’t thinking of him at all.
“But I’m Jeremy,” Dahmer continued his unsolicited explanation. “Not Jeffrey. So—”
“I don’t care if you’re Vlad the Impaler,” Slidell said. “I need information.”
Dahmer swallowed. An Adam’s apple the size of a plum rose and fell in his skinny throat.
“Show him,” Slidell demanded, half turning to me.
I drew a Ziploc from the side pocket of my shoulder purse and laid it on the shiny black wood.
Dahmer glanced down but made no move to touch the baggie.
“Pick it up,” Slidell ordered. “Take a look.”
“I’m not going to, I don’t know, contaminate evidence or something?”
“Who said it’s evidence?”
“You’re a police officer.” Dahmer blinked, one hand now pressed to his sternum.
“Pick. It. Up.” Slidell demanded in a low and very even voice.
Using a thumb and forefinger, Dahmer lifted the bag gingerly by one corner. His expression suggested anticipation of a dead spider or a stool sample.
“So?” Slidell prodded.
“So what?” Dahmer sounded genuinely confused.
“So, what can you tell me about it?”
Dahmer peered at Slidell’s find through the clear plastic. Turned the baggie this way and that.
“It’s a chew toy,” he said without hesitation. “For dogs.”
“We know that. What else can you say?”
Stiffening at Slidell’s brusqueness, Dahmer bent and withdrew a handheld magnifier from below the counter. Raised and lowered the glass over the baggie.
“It’s part of a Doggieflex chew toy,” he said when several seconds had passed. “The Dragon model.”
“Are they common?” Slidell asked.
“No.”
“Do you carry them here?”
“Not anymore.”
“But you did.”
“Yes.”
“When did you stop?”
“About six months ago. We received notice that dogs were choking on bits of rubber that became detached, so we discontinued the product. We would never sell anything that could harm—”
“Did you keep records on who bought the things?”
“It’s a six-dollar item, officer.”
“So that’s a no.”
“It is.”
Slidell began rolling his shoulders. I knew his body language well. He was frustrated and considering his next move.
“But I remember the customer who purchased this one,” Dahmer said.
Slidell froze in mid-roll.
“How’s that?”
“He asked me to punch a hole so he could hang the toy on his belt. Or on a lanyard. Or on something.” Dahmer waggled the baggie. “This one has that hole.”
“He?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No one else ever asked you to do that?”
“No, sir.”
“Describe the guy.”
Dahmer shrugged. “He was just a guy.”
Slidell’s cheek muscles bunched just south of his temples. Before he could snap, causing Dahmer to pee his jockeys or to shut down completely, I jumped in.
“Was the gentleman old, young? Tall, short? Heavy, slight? White, Black, Hispanic?”
The Adam’s apple made another round trip as Dahmer gave thought to my question.
“He wasn’t all that tall. And he might have been blond, though I’m not sure—he was wearing a hat. But there was something weird about the way he looked at me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
The bulbous eyes shifted from me to Slidell and back.
“I don’t know. Forget it. The guy was like anyone you’d see walking down the street.”
Katy texted as Slidell and I were en route back to the Annex. She and Ruthie were taking the Southern Charm Haunted/True Crime golf cart excursion around Charlotte that night. She invited me to join them.
I’d never heard of the tour. Had to admit, it sounded fun.
Nevertheless, I declined. First the outing to Park Road Park. Then the zillion pet store canvassing romp. The day’s agenda, accompanied by Slidell’s constant sarcasm, had left me exhausted.
After parting from Skinny, though, I did find enough energy to run a series of pesky errands—purchased printer cartridges, returned an unfortunate impulse-buy sun hat to Nieman’s, filled a prescription, picked up a bag of wild bird seed for my feeder—and arrived home to an extremely petulant cat.
It was well past Birdie’s evening mealtime and he showed his annoyance by ignoring me.
“Sorry, Bird. My bad.”
An accusatory stare came my way from atop the fridge.
“No kibble tonight, big guy. How about we crack out one of your faves?”
The cat watched me open and empty a can of seafood paté into his bowl. Made no move to descend from his lofty perch.
Pushing through the swinging door into the dining room, I heard the soft thup thup of paws hitting the granite countertop, then the hardwood floor. Couldn’t help but smile.
A quick change to cutoffs and a tee, then I returned to the kitchen. For my dinner I zapped a Stouffer’s chicken and mashed potatoes combo.
Yeah, I know. Sodium, sugar, saturated fats, preservatives. But frozen dinners are uber quick and easy. Haute cuisine when paired with fresh-squeezed supermarket lemonade.
I hate to cook. That’s a given. More important, I wanted time to relax—maybe take a bubble bath—before Ryan’s call.
By nine my skin was flushed, my fingertips puckered from a very long immersion in very hot water. Odd choice, given the heat still gripping the city. Don’t care. A soaky bath tops my list of methods to chill.
I was propped against a mountainous heap of bed pillows, watching CNN, when my mobile sounded.
“Bonjour, ma chère.” Ryan’s eyes looked even more intensely blue on my phone’s little screen than in real life.
“Bonjour.”
“Comment ca va?”
“?a va bien.”
Once we’d greeted each other and given assurances that all was well, Ryan asked his usual question.
“Where are you?”
“In bed.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Panties and an old PETA T-shirt.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Sounds hot.”
“It’s so sexy, if you saw me in person, I’d have to sedate you.”
“No need for drugs, ma chère. Your charm and beauty knock me out every day.”
My eyes rolled with no input from me.
“I can’t wait to see you,” I said.
“My flight is booked, and I should wrap up my investigation shortly.”
“What’s the issue, again?” He’d mentioned his most recent case briefly, but I’d forgotten.
“A guy got canned for skimming at a car wash where he works. Says he didn’t do it. Wants me to find the bastard who did. What’s up with you?”
“It’s been relatively quiet on the forensic front.”
I updated Ryan on Bear and the other animal remains. Balodis. Joye. Kumar. My happy time with Slidell trying to track the dog toy.
“Skinny’s probably pissed at being demoted to paw patrol.”
“Actually, I’m surprised at how committed he seems to be.”
“The guy’s a marshmallow center when it comes to animals.”
“How do you know that?”
“Not important. Look, Slidell can be a boor and a loudmouth, but he means well.”
“He does. But—”
“But what?”
Good question. What was it that had been bothering me?
“Kumar made a comment about the animal displays possibly having a sexual component. Slidell called and grilled her on the theory. I think he’s become a bit channeled on that.”
“Who cares his motivation? If Skinny’s fired up to put the bust on this whacko, just go with the flow.”
“You’re right.”
“As always.”
“What about those Kelly-green seersucker pants you bought?”
“A momentary lapse in judgment.”
“You wore them.”
“Only once.”
“Ciao,” I said.
“Ciao,” Ryan said.
“And don’t worry,” I added. “Paw patrol will be sorted by the time you arrive.”
If only that had proven true.