“Ye-ess,” Amy sobbed.
“Who rented that Disney video for you?”
Her mind flashed back to that afternoon. She’d been allowed down into the living room to sit on the floor and watch the movie. Even though it was midday, the entire house had been as dark as night. The woman who called herself Grammy sat directly behind her and brushed her hair and talked about how wonderful their life was going to be now that they were all together. Amy had tried to focus on the movie, but the woman’s constant rambling made it impossible.
Her tears slowed. “Grammy?”
Grandpa Fred snorted. “It was me. And who made the popcorn?”
Amy pointed her finger toward his chest.
He smiled and wrapped his fingers around her finger. “Yes. Me. I’m the one who takes care of you. Your Grammy loves you, but not like I do. She doesn’t know how.”
Amy realized she was shivering again. She knew he liked that, so she struggled to stop. Once the shivers had begun, however, it was nearly impossible to stop them.
A slow, leering smile spread across his face. Just a couple of day ago, she had no frame of reference to know what a smile like that meant. Now, unfortunately, she was wiser.
“Did you like our game, Amy-Girl?”
The tears spilled out again, tumbling down her cheeks. She shook her head without thinking about it. When she caught the scowl on his face, she turned her side-to-side shakes into up-and-down nods.
“Well, which is it?” he asked sharply.
She redoubled her nodding and hoped he believed her, despite her tears. She had to keep her mommy safe. Grammy had told her repeatedly that her mommy didn’t want her anymore, but she didn’t believe that. Grammy was lying and she knew it. But when Grandpa Fred told her that he would hurt her mommy, Amy knew he wasn’t lying. He would do it and she had to stop him, no matter what.
“Say it,” he said, his voice a husky whisper again.
Say what? Her mind raced back to the last time they played the game. Then she remembered.
“I’m…excited,” she said through her sobs.
His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. Somehow, that was worse than the leering smile from just a few moments before.
When he opened them again, the leer was back.
“You’ll like this new game, Amy-Girl,” he told her. She saw that he was shivering now, too. “It’s even better than before.”
Amy swallowed hard and thought about her mommy.
Wednesday, March 15, 1995
Graveyard Shift
0101 hours
Despite the immense size of the building, the tire warehouse reeked of rubber. Katie MacLeod made a face at O’Sullivan. “The stink of this place is going to stick to my uniform forever.”
Sully shrugged. “It’s your Friday, whiner. It’s not like you were going to wear the same uniform next week.”
“True. I’m not Battaglia.”
Sully chuckled.
“I heard that,” Anthony Battaglia said, approaching them from the west. “Put a couple of bog-trotters together and all they can do is think of ways to rip on the Italians. Big surprise.”
Katie thought about telling him that MacLeod was a Scottish surname, but didn’t want to re-visit that particular argument again. “Secure?”
Battaglia nodded. “Except for the large roll-up delivery doors, this is the only entrance. There’s no open or broken windows all the way around.”
“Then we’ll wait for the K-9.”
The officers stood easily to the left and right of the main-door entrance. Katie had discovered it slightly ajar almost as soon as she arrived on scene. In all likelihood, she figured, the last employee just hadn’t latched it firmly and it sprang open, setting off the alarm. But they had to check.
“What we need is a false alarm ordinance,” Battaglia said, “like the County has. You get more than one false alarm in six months and you get a ticket.”
Katie ignored his comment. Instead, she sniffed the air again and made a disgusted face. “Ugh. It’s going to reek in there.”
“Imagine what the poor dog smells when he’s searching the place,” Sully said.
“When the police dog has to worry about making a rent payment, I’ll start feeling sorry for him,” Katie said.
“Hey, dogs have problems, too,” Battaglia said. “I had a black lab once that was depressed for almost a year.”
“He was depressed because he was living with you,” Sully said. “I remember that dog. Trader, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So,” Sully said, “you never spent any time with the dog. Rebecca was working then, too and there weren’t any kids around. Obviously, the dog was neglected and that’s why he turned out to be depressed all the time.”
“Like I said, even dogs have problems. But what you said about Trader is a load of crap.”
“It’s true.”
Battaglia turned to Katie. “What do you think? You think Trader was depressed because he was neglected?”
“I didn’t know your dog,” Katie said, not quite believing she was actually hearing this argument from two grown men wearing police uniforms.
“Well, do you think it’s possible?”
Katie shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“Aha!” Sully said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Battaglia.
“Of course,” Katie continued, “he could have just been depressed over the fact that you gave him such a stupid name.”
Sully snickered. Battaglia gave her a dark look. “Micks always stick together, eh, MacLeod?”
“You asked.”
Battaglia grunted and flashed his light in her face.
A darked out police car rolled up on the call. The sound of a barking German shepherd drifted from the back seat, followed by a loud “Phooey!” from the driver.
“It’s Cert,” Sully said, pronouncing it “Chairt.”
“Now, there’s a name to be depressed about,” Battaglia said.
“It means ‘devil’ in Czech,” Katie told him.
“Gomez is Czech?” Battaglia asked.
Katie’s gave him a dark look. “No. The dog is.”
Battaglia raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Oh…I get it.”
Katie rolled her eyes in exasperation. “There’s nothing to get,” she said. “It’s just a name.”
A slow smile spread over Battaglia’s face. He gave her a knowing look.
Katie sighed. She wondered why she let herself get drawn into their little games.
The K-9 handler, Shane Gomez, exited his vehicle and popped the back door. A jet-black shadow leapt out of the seat and he put it on a leash. “Here!” he said to the dog, jerking the leash. The dog sidled up to the officer’s leg and fell into step beside him.
“The devil dog cometh,” Sully whispered in mock terror, though with a touch of respect.
As Gomez approached out of the darkness, Katie was struck by how similar the two creatures were. Cert was jet black, except for his white eyes and huge, pink tongue that lolled out of his mouth, hanging off his white teeth that he bared when he was running down a suspect. Gomez had the same dark hair and his skin was a deep brown. He wore the black jumpsuit of the K-9 unit, blending into the darkness. Only the rattle of the leash and the creak of his belt leather betrayed their location.
“Open door?” Gomez asked Katie. His muscular frame dwarfed all three of the other officers.
“Yeah.”
“Any other points of entry?”
“All secure,” Battaglia said.
“Why didn’t you hold at the corners of the building?” Gomez asked, the irritation plain in his voice. He was referring to a common tactic for securing the perimeter of a building. Two officers set up on opposing corners, allowing both of them to maintain a line of sight along two sides of the building.
“It’s all windows that are ten feet up in the air or big bay doors for vehicles, Gomer,” Sully said. “This is the only way in or out for mere mortals.”
Gomez didn’t answer, but he seemed to sigh at the three of them. The message was clear. There was a procedure in place for a reason. They should have adhered to it.