3. Lace
Lace
ANDY
The apartment was on the twelfth floor of a glass tower downtown. The door was closed when we arrived. No damage to the frame, no marks on the lock. Inside, the place was tossed. Drawers pulled open, closets emptied, cushions lifted off the couch and left leaning against the wall.
The tenant Gino Stasio was a man in his mid-thirties, well-dressed, and very agitated. He walked us through every room, pointing at the mess and talking very fast. I wrote down what he told me and catalogued what I could see on my own.
"Is anything missing?" I asked.
He looked around the apartment again. Checked the bedroom. Opened the safe in the closet. Still locked, contents untouched.
"No," he said. "I don't think so."
"Nothing at all?"
"No. Everything's here. It's just been moved."
No forced entry, apartment tossed, nothing taken.
I looked up from my notes. "Mr. Stasio, has anyone threatened you recently? Any disputes? Business, personal?"
"No. Nothing."
"Anyone you can think of who might have a reason to target you?"
"No." He said it fast. Too fast, or maybe he was just rattled. I couldn't tell which. "I have no idea why someone would do this."
I tapped my pen against the notebook. "Does the building use a cleaning service?"
"Yeah, a company. They come twice a week. Different people every time."
I wrote it down. No damage to the door meant the lock was picked or someone had a key. The building had lobby security and cameras, but a contracted cleaning crew meant unfamiliar faces moving through the building on a regular basis. Someone in a uniform with a cart wouldn't raise an alarm.
Doug called it in for a detective. We waited with Stasio until one arrived. A property crimes detective I'd seen around the precinct but never worked with. I walked him through the scene, handed over my notes, and let him take it from there.
"Diana and the kids want to get a cat." Doug pressed the button for the elevator.
"What's wrong with a cat?"
"Do you think a cat is going to defend the house from intruders?" He nodded back toward Stasio's apartment. "Like that?"
I laughed. "Maybe if it was a very big and very mean cat."
We stepped into the elevator.
"There's a program that rehomes retired K-9s." Doug hit the button for the lobby. "I've been looking into it. They're trained, disciplined, loyal."
The doors slid closed.
"Doug, your daughters want a kitten and you want a retired police dog."
"It's for their safety."
"I'm sure you're still going to get a cat. You can't say no to Diana."
Doug sighed. "Yeah."
I tried to remember the last time Elliot and I had talked about anything that wasn't work. Three days since his last message. There was a gap between us that seemed to be getting wider, and I didn't know which one of us had opened it.
"Can I ask you something?"
Doug looked over. "Shoot."
"How does Diana handle it?"
"Handle what?"
"The hours. The late nights. When you're stuck at the precinct and she's home with the kids and you're supposed to be there but you're not."
He leaned against the back wall. "I call her.
Every time. Even if it's just thirty seconds.
She picks up, I tell her I'm sorry, she tells me to stop apologizing and come home safe.
Then I stop at that bakery on Decatur and bring her an almond croissant.
She acts surprised every time even though we both know she's expecting it. "
"That works?"
He shifted his weight. "It's not about the gesture. It's that she knows I'm thinking about her even when I'm here. That's what matters to Diana. She doesn't need me to show up at some specific time. She needs to know I wish I was there."
I absorbed this bit of Doug and Diana wisdom. Maybe that was all it took. Maybe I just needed to reach for Elliot instead of waiting for him to reach for me. Show up at his place with dinner. Close the distance myself.
Somewhere between the fourth floor and the third, the car stopped.
The lights stayed on. The panel went dark. I pressed the lobby button again. Nothing.
I hit the emergency call button. "Building security, this is Officer Walsh, LVMPD. We're stuck in the east elevator between four and three. Can you send maintenance?"
The speaker crackled. "Copy, Officer. Maintenance is on the way."
Doug's breathing changed. I could hear it. The deliberate inhale through his nose, the slow exhale through his mouth. His hands were flat against his thighs. The man who'd just been arguing for a retired police dog looked like he was trying to hold himself together by force of will.
"Doug?"
He didn't answer.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He wasn't. "I'm just not great with the idea of being in a tight space for a long time."
Claustrophobia. Doug filled most of the elevator just standing in it. The ceiling was a few inches above his head, the walls close enough to touch on both sides. To me, it was an elevator. To him, it was a box.
"Okay. Look at me. Maintenance is coming. The car is stable. We're between floors, not falling. You're going to keep looking at me and we're going to talk about something else."
"Like what?"
"Like this K-9. Have you already picked one?"
"I have a shortlist."
"Of how many?"
"Five."
"Tell me about each of them."
He shifted against the wall. "Okay. There's a German Shepherd. Rocky. Seven years old. Patrol and narcotics, clean service record."
"Rocky," I said. "That's a good name."
"Right? And then there's a Malinois. Jax. Explosives detection. Incredible dog, but the coordinator said he needs about two hours of hard exercise a day and gets reactive without it."
"Who's going to run the dog when you're at work?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out. But you should see this dog, Andy. I'm not ready to rule him out yet."
He went through all five. A Bloodhound named Dolly who was the best tracking dog in the state but slept all day off-duty.
A Lab that worked airports. A Dutch Shepherd the coordinator called the safest pick for young kids.
Each one had a name and a service record, and Doug had an opinion about every single one.
His breathing evened out somewhere around dog four.
By dog five he was using his hands, describing the Dutch Shepherd's temperament like he was pitching a case to a jury.
The intercom buzzed. "Officers, maintenance can't get the car restarted. We've called the fire department."
I closed my eyes. I knew which station covered this zone. I knew which crew was on shift.
"Thank you," I said into the intercom.
Of all the ways today could have gone. Stuck in an elevator, calling dispatch for a rescue, and the crew they were sending was the one crew in Las Vegas I did not want to owe a favor to.
I looked at Doug. He was holding it together, but we were still in the box. I shoved the annoyance down.
"Fire department's coming. They'll get us out of here soon."
The voice came through the doors about ten minutes later.
"Officer Walsh, is that you in there?"
Of course it was him.
"Elevator's stuck between four and three. I've got an officer in here with claustrophobia. How fast can you get the doors open?"
"Working on it now."
I could hear the scrape of the elevator key sliding into the lock on the other side, then a pause. The key didn't work. The mechanism was jammed.
"We're going to use the spreader," Wyatt called through the doors. "Sit tight. It's going to be loud."
The hydraulic spreader hit the seam of the doors. The sound of metal grinding against metal filled the shaft. Doug pressed himself against the back wall. I put my hand on his arm and kept it there.
The doors opened inch by inch. Through the gap, I could see that the elevator had stopped a few feet below the fourth-floor landing. Wyatt Brooks crouched down at the edge with Knox Sullivan standing behind him.
"Ladies first." Wyatt stretched his hand out. I waved it off, gripped the edge of the floor above, and pulled myself through the opening.
I got to my feet and straightened my uniform.
Wyatt was watching me with that insufferable grin.
"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"
"Not a chance."
"Delightful." I gave him the most sarcastic smile.
Behind him, Doug climbed out with Knox's help, shaky but upright.
He put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath.
"I'm never taking an elevator again." He looked up at Knox.
"Thanks, guys. God, rescued by the fire department.
That's going to be an embarrassing story to tell the guys at the precinct. "
"Don't worry about it." Knox clapped him on the shoulder. "We look out for each other."
My radio crackled. "Officers, are you out?"
"Copy, dispatch. We're out."
"10-4. Got a noise complaint for you at Sahara and Maryland Parkway when you're clear."
I looked at Doug. "You good to go?"
He straightened up. "Yeah. Let's go."
I turned to Wyatt. "Thank you, Brooks. Sullivan."
"It was great to see you today, Officer Walsh!"
I rolled my eyes and kept walking.
It's not about the gesture. She needs to know I wish I was there.
I'd been thinking about what Doug said all afternoon. Maybe that was all Elliot needed too. Maybe I just hadn't been reaching for him the way I should have been.
I texted him the next morning.
ANDY
You've been working so hard lately. Let me come over this weekend and cook for you.
ELLIOT
You don't have to do that.
But I'd love it. You're the best, Andy.
I stopped at the store and picked up what I needed for dinner. I wanted to make the potato gratin Diana served the night they invited me over for Doug's birthday. I'd asked her for the recipe after dinner and thought Elliot might like it too.
On the way back to my car, I passed a boutique. On a mannequin near the front window was a simple, fitted black dress that I'd normally walk right past. But something about it made me stop.