"What's the number of the school, Stan?" asked
Meredyth. "I want to get this Professor Counselor Belkvin on the line."
Stan read the number off as Meredyth called from Stan's desk. The others listened to her side of the conversation. "I see…yes…agreed…absolutely. We can do that, uh-huh, yes, sir, Dr. Price. You have my word. We will look in on him. Can I get the address, phone number? That'd be good too, yes." She abruptly hung up, leaving Lucas and Stan to stare at her satisfied smile.
"What?" asked Lucas.
"Seems our Dr. Arthur Belkvin has been AWOL… classes canceled without notice twice over the past two mornings, and this A.M. he's again a no-show, but this time not even a notice given. The department chairman, Dr. Charles Price, said they've been unable to reach Dr. Belkvin at his home or his practice. Said it was becoming a concern for them."
"Belkvin," muttered Stan Kelton. "I tell you, that sounds familiar. Hold on a minute."
Stan returned to his desk, having to tell a growing number of people, both police officers and civilians, to hold their respective pants and requests while he conferred with his junior officer. Between the two men, they rifled though hundreds of phone-line tips as yet to be placed on the computer cross-referencing program. "Here's one of them, Sarge," said the junior officer.
"Here's the other," announced Kelton. He then handed the two reports to Lucas and Meredyth to review while he helped clear away the growing numbers confronting him.
'Two calls, both saying their vet fits the description of Mr. X in the Chronicle," said Lucas. "You'd think we'd have some similar tips from the guy's students at this King vet school."
"Students don't read anything but what's on the curriculum these days, and as for picking up a newspaper or watching CNN, they're too busy with role-playing video games and going to the movies to concern themselves with current events. I've taught, I know. When the D.C. Sniper shootings were going on, none of my students had an inkling until I put them onto it, and you know how saturated our lives had become with it."
"Scary."
"I got Dr. Arthur Belkvin's full name, SS number, street address for home and practice from Dr. Price," Meredyth told him. "And maybe now Jorganson can ram through search warrants for us?"
"If the bastards won't give us a go-ahead, we'll call in the ITRT again, but for the sake of building a case against this guy and Lauralie, who I suspect we will find living with him, let's go the warrant route first."
"So long as we put this investigation in motion."
Lucas grabbed the desk phone and called the D.A.'s office, telling Harry Jorganson what they'd uncovered. "Sounds like plenty of probable cause, and since the courthouse incident, I don't think I'm going to have trouble finding a sympathetic judge, Lucas. Meet you at the man's practice. The home warrant will come by way of my legal aide, Phil Merrick."
"We'll make the raids simultaneously. I think the noose is around the right neck, Harry."
No sooner had he hung up Stan's desk phone than his cell phone rang into life. He picked up to find Jana North speaking in an excited manner. "We got a an interesting development over here in Missing Persons, a report filed on a doctor of veterinary medicine gone missing for forty- eight hours, Lucas. The report was filed by his receptionist, a MariLouise Jones."
"Go on."
"Says her boss has missed appointments, surgeries, and such. Also says he looks a little like the artist sketch on our killer. This doggy doc's name is-"
"Arthur Belkvin," Lucas finished for her.
"Right, but how the hell'd you know?"
"We've got a warrant for his practice and home in the works. We have reason to believe he's the male half of the Post-it Ripper duo."
"I want in, Lucas."
"You've got it. Take a team of your best to this address."
He gave her the home address. "Phd Merrick from the D.A.'s would meet you there with a warrant. We'll cover the man's practice. Careful, these people are armed and dangerous."
"Imagine it, Lucas, our big bad boogeyman who cuts people into cubes turns out to be an animal lover…a doggy doctor."
Lucas hung up. "Let's get over to the clinic. Detective North's people're going to coordinate the raid on the house."
"I'll be damned," said Meredyth.
"What's that?" asked Lucas.
"Lauralie's little game takes on a new twist. She selects a man named Arthur at a vet school named King to do her bidding. King Arthur…Morte de Arthur's, the funeral home? Is it only coincidence?"
"A king with a set of surgical tools and hairy mole on his cheek."
"She's using him just as she's used people all her life."
Lucas said, "Says here his office is on JFK Drive, South, the seedier side of the Sixth Ward."
"Let's go."
"I want in," Kelton said.
"For sure, Stan. Get us a tactical team for backup, and put Chang on notice we may call for him or Dr. Nielsen at either or both scenes. Ahhh, tell him we'd prefer Frank Pat-terson be kept out of it. Will you do that, Stan?"
"Consider it done. And I'll bring Lincoln up to par as well."
"See you at the kennel and surgery then, Stan."
"Count on it."
Lucas and Meredyth located his car, a sense of hope, of impending closure wanting to rush into their hearts, but they warned one another against it, keeping it at bay, dammed up by a cop's normal caution in the face of optimism, a reining-in emotion called prudence, which spoke the language of care and vigilance. They had been wrong before; eyewitnesses had been proved wrong in case after case. The professor and veterinarian could well be missing for a thousand and one reasons, none having the remotest to do with Lauralie Blodgett or a murder spree. They could be entirely wrong about Belkvin.
Nevertheless, Lucas intended serving two warrants to open up his entire life to their scrutiny.
CHAPTER 16
Detective Jana North had the door knocked in by SWAT team operatives, and instantly Dr. Arthur Belkvin's private little world became public.
The men who stormed in and locked down each area, room by room, shouted out their findings. "Clear!"
"Clear in the kitchen!"
"Bedroom's secure."
"No one here!"
"Basement, all clear."
"Garage, all clear."
Jana began combing the rooms for any sign of Mira Lourdes ever having been here. She found instead a tidy, well-kept little apartment home with a garage out back, neighbors at each elbow, their windows close enough to spit into. She found plaques, certificates, licenses, awards, blue ribbons for first prize in area and state championship dog shows, and proud postings of the champions, a pair of greyhounds. In fact, animal photos adorned every wall and passageway. Whoever Arthur was, he proved a fanatical dog lover and a competitive one.
Evidence of several missing dogs, she mentally noted from food dishes with flies in them to photos of Belkvin with a large Dalmatian and two greyhounds, all caught in play, each photo pinned to the fridge by tiny dog-bone magnets. Turning the most prominent Dalmatian photo in her hand, she saw the block printing on the back read, Pongo and me, 1997. "Wonder where ol' Pongo must be now," she said, handing the photo over to Merrick.
Merrick's thin face pinched as he studied the photo. "Likely pounded someplace nearby. Maybe at Belkvin's practice. Looks like he loves the mutt, don't it. Guy looks as harmless as my brother-in-law."
She lifted another photo with Belkvin crouched between two greyhounds. The inscription on the back read, Petie and Fritz, Fall 2001.
Search as she might, she could find not a single item in the house that could be of the least importance to their case.
"All right, take this place apart!" she ordered her detectives. "I don't want a single unturned matchbook."