The percolator fell silent. I made a dash for it, beating Mike by a hair. No way I wasn’t getting a cupful out of this batch.
“But why?” Marge pressed.
“State secret,” I teased.
“Yeah, I can see that,” my neighbor chuckled. “Is this a hotel?”
“How’d you know?” I asked.
“Well, the monogram and the lack of personal possessions. I don’t know. It looks like a hotel to me.”
“It is indeed,” I answered.
“Anyway, I’m stopping by because I visited Linda again,” she said, dropping the photo on the desktop. “And because I told her a little fib.”
“Which was?” I inquired as I jockeyed for position at the counter. Mike was an animal where caffeine was concerned.
“That I heard a sneak thief was loose in the neighborhood. I said I thought I’d heard someone in my backyard the other night. That part wasn’t a lie. Since we’re waiting around for Hank to make his move, I felt it prudent to put the family on alert. I gotta say, I’m not loving doing this.”
“Neither are we,” Mike averred, “but you know the drill.”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“You know, I just remembered something,” I interjected. “It might be a connection between the Weissmans’ kids and this clown.”
“You’re just now remembering?” Mike taunted.
“Yes, well, these days it takes a while. It has to do with what Janice Armstrong said when I visited that dog park.”
“You took Mooch to the dog park? But everyone knows him!” Marge criticized.
“Yes, but I said he was Skipper.”
“Good thinking,” she replied.
“Janice said that Wallace had a bunch of kids playing in his backyard. I’m wondering—”
“If that’s where this scumball spotted Amy!” Mike finished for me.
“We don’t know it’s Amy he’s after,” Marge reminded for the umpteenth time.
“Yes, but it is an angle,” Mike responded.
“Next time I see Linda, I shall ask,” my neighbor assured. “And that picture is a hoot.” Getting up to leave, she gave Mooches plenty of kisses goodbye. “Now you be strong, my little man. Momma loves you.”
I felt I was eavesdropping on a session of my parents’ romantic interludes, but she wasn’t saying anything that I hadn’t crooned to the little canine. It’s just that I’d never been overheard.
As Marge went home to add more pink to the sea of blush, Michelle finally got done changing her coffee to a lighter shade of pale. Straddling the chair before she sat down, she started pouring in the sugar.
“By the way, you’re out of milk.”
“Really? I wonder how that happened?”
My eyebrow arched; she ignored my sarcasm.
“Forgot to tell you that I emailed the file full of evidence to Mrs. Lamprey. Myrna had a cow.”
“Did you include the stuff on Candy?”
“You think I’m nuts? No way!” Finished pouring, she started stirring. “Besides, there was plenty. Looks like it’s Splitsville for Myrna and Joe.”
“Another show biz marriage bites the dust.”
“Not to mention the Mrs. handing the Mr.’s nuts to him—in a bag.”
“Nice image,” I remarked. “What about the computer search you were doing? Anything turn up?”
“Just some strange IP addresses. Looks like the guy is global.”
“Movies are that. They get their funding from all over.”
“I suppose. But there’s something there.”
“If there is, you’ll find it. You got a nose for this kind of thing.”
“Thanks, Savage,” she said, taking her first sip of the afternoon. “Oh, and that photo?”
“What about it?”
“Don’t be telling anyone that I’m your girlfriend.”
After we got done laughing, we broke into a heated argument over who was the greatest baseball player of all time.
CHAPTER 31
Hank Wallace pretty well dominated our lives from that point on. Even Mike adjusted her workout schedule so she could keep help me keep an eye on him and make sure things didn’t get out of hand. Marge lent moral support by coming by and passing out on the couch. That lady can snore, let me tell you. Didn’t know how Mooch could stand it.
Wolfie kept tabs, but I kept lying about what we Unholy Three were up to. Bound by blood, we’d sworn a solemn promise not to let evildoers go free—or something like that. I suppose it was the coffee and all of us possessing just enough morality to ensure we did our part in keeping Creston free of dirt bags that really united us—although I liked the first version better.
Another visit from Marge and crafty questioning got Linda to admit that her kids had played at Wallace’s. She said her nanny left them there. When Marge asked where the nanny was, Linda said she was gone. When Marge followed up and asked why she was gone, Linda stated that leaving her kids at a stranger’s house was why.
The week ticked by, returning back around to Thursday. At midnight, Mike assumed watch at the patio doors while Marge caught z’s on the sofa. Moochie wormed his way under her arm. They made quite the pair.
With nothing much happening, I relaxed in a comfy chair. Hank arrived about a half-hour later. Stationed in his spot by the bushes, what else was new? With everything under control, I was about to doze off. It was going to be another one of those nights.
“Savage!” Mike said, using a stage whisper. “He’s on the move!”
Snapping to attention, I ran beside her.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure! You think I don’t know he’s sneaking his way across the Weissmans’ lawn!”
“What’s going on?
A sleepyhead emerged from her beauty nap. Her red-tinted hair a little mussed, my neighbor ambled over. Moochie was a little put out about being disturbed, but yawned it off.
“Mike says he’s making his move.”
“No shit!” Mike and I both stared at the woman, who said the most astonishing things. “What are we going to do about it?”
“You are going to take these glasses and keep your eye on him,” Mike said, taking command and playing Patton. “Savage is going to follow him and tackle him if he breaks into the Weissmans’ place.”
“And you?” I queried.
“I’m going to Wallace’s place.”
“What for?”
“This and that,” she said, scooting out the door.
“Okay, Marge. You ready for this?”
“I was born ready,” she responded.
I told you she dabbled in the astonishing.
“Did you bring your phone?” I asked.
“No.”
“Well, go get it. Keep Mooch inside. If I speed dial your number, call the police. No call means I’m doing it myself. Here goes nothing.”
The air was cool, the grass moist. I scampered over the lawn, keeping low. There was the douchebag in the distance. He was scouring the hedges surrounding the Weissmans’ house. With his attention diverted, I made it to a shade tree. He was trying the windows.
What the hell was he doing? He must have realized that most houses had alarms. I didn’t know how the hell he was going to get past that obstacle. To my astonishment, he found one that was unlatched and opened it. I waited for an alarm, but there wasn’t one triggered. I figured he’d crawl in, but he left it alone, opting for the back door. It was unlocked and he went right inside.
As to how he knew the door was open, I had no idea. The Weissmans couldn’t be so stupid as to leave their doors unsecured, or could they? I stopped searching for that answer and took off like I was Sea Biscuit.
I didn’t bother to knock. After all, neither had The Creeper. I did my best to navigate through the unfamiliar household, but ended up banging my knee on a chair. I didn’t dare scream. I held the pain in, as Wallace ascended the stairs.
r /> I took out the phone, hitting speed dial. I hoped Marge knew how to follow simple instructions. I tackled Wallace on the top step. It was a dumb move and I should have waited until he’d reached the landing, but give me brownie points for trying. We tumbled backward, my shoulder taking a hard knock when I fell. From there, it was a piece of cake.
We crashed down the stairs. When we reached the first floor, I pulled off the knitted cap he had covering his head. Now he could shed hair follicles all over the nice floors. Punching him a few times in the groin, the marshmallow caved in. A hard right surprised me. I was ashamed about leaving myself open. The lights sprang on as the Weissmans were awakened by the commotion breaking out on the ground zero. The perfunctory, ear-shattering scream was delivered by Linda. She had quite a career as a Scream Queen if she wanted it. I gave her a nod to indicate I was on her side. She didn’t seem to notice.
Her husband grabbed a phone and started talking to the dispatch operator. Let him. I could already hear the sirens in the background. Marge was as good as gold. I twisted Wallace’s arm behind his back. After all, I only had a few more moments to inflict as much pain as I could, and dadgummit, that’s exactly what I was going to do.
The responding officers placed Henry and me in handcuffs until the story got sorted out. Marge arrived next, Wolfie bringing up the rear.
“So he was after something,” my ex-colleague concluded.
“Evidently,” I quipped.
“But we don’t know what,” he stated, “yet.”
That Wolfie was all right.
CHAPTER 32
After I finished with the police—which, by the way, took forever—I returned home. Marge and Mike were there to greet me. Mooch gave me kisses for being a hero and that felt kinda good.
“Boy, did I get my money’s worth,” Marge exclaimed.
“More than you know,” Mike answered cryptically.
“Which means?” I asked, giving man’s best friend a few belly rubs.
Sitting at the kitchen table, I found that more of my cold cuts had been sacrificed to making sandwiches for people not named Savage. Would it never end? Not about to argue, I grabbed one. It tasted awesome.
“It means I found kiddy porn on his computer.”
“What?” Marge and I blurted.
“Well, links to porno. Remember those dump sites I told you about?” she said, addressing me.
“Dump sites?” Marge repeated.
“Yeah, when someone doesn’t want something found on their computer, they use a third-party site to store it,” I explained. Mike had taught me well.
“Exactly,” Mike continued. “I found some of those. An anonymous call to the Feds, and the big boys’ll look into it.”
“You called the tip line?” I pressed.
“Sure the hell did! You think Creston yokels would find that evidence? He’d skate for breaking and entering. I told you he was filthy.”
“You were right, Mike,” Marge congratulated. “Now Moochie and I can go back to life before Hank Wallace. Can’t we, Mooch?”
The little dog sprang off my lap and onto hers. It was only right.
We talked a couple more hours. At the first break of dawn, and when the sandwiches were a memory, Marge scattered, taking Mooch with her. Mike lingered, mumbling something about calling Candy. She started to rise, but I yanked her back down into a seated position.
“What gives?” she complained.
“You,” I quipped.
“And that means what?”
“It means you making that call to the FBI. What aren’t you telling me?” I pried.
Snickering, she rubbed her nose, getting a glass of juice. Thank God, she didn’t use the stein for that.
“I couldn’t let that bastard get away,” she insisted.
“What makes you think he’d get away?”
She scoffed at that one.
“You think the Creston police would have done a thorough search of his computer? You know they wouldn’t. You worked there, for Christ’s sake!”
“Maybe they would, and maybe they wouldn’t. I don’t know and you don’t know, but I know you like to get your own way. I’m thinking you did something. Did you?”
Taking a few hits of orange juice, the glass banged down.
“Yes, I did something,” she confessed.
“What?” I wasn’t giving up until I knew.
“I put some of that stuff back on his computer. Made the links more apparent, and …”
“And?”
There was such a pregnant pause before she answered—a woman could have delivered quadruplets.
“And I left some CDs.”
“You what?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure they’d find everything!”
“You had no right—” I began. Her banging her fist on the table stopped me from saying more.
“And you have no right to say that to me! You’re on the other side, Savage! One of the boys in blue, but where the hell was the justice system for me? It was non-existent! If you don’t take things into your own hands, everything gets messed up! You just don’t know! You don’t!”
“And you do?”
From fiery, she went to determined.
“Yes. I didn’t tell you the truth about what happened to me, Savage. I was raped. Gang raped by a bunch of crazies. And you know why? They wanted to convert me to playing on the other team. Thought if I got a taste of dick between my legs, I’d somehow magically transform into what they wanted me to be instead of how I was born.”
Her blue eyes filled with tears, and so did mine. All my arguments for following the letter of the law fell by the wayside.
“I’m sorry,” I empathized, putting my hand on her shoulder and offering support. “I had no idea.”
“I know you didn’t. I’ve never, ever told anyone that before, but I told you. You know why?”
“No, why?”
“Because I trust you. I trust you with my darkest secret, the one that almost ripped me apart. And I trust you with what I did with Wallace.”
“You know I won’t tell? How?”
“Because you’d have to say how the stuff got there. And you’d never turn me in.”
I fiddled with my coffee cup. She was right. I did think it was wrong, but there was wrong, and then there was wrong.
“Well, I guess there were links to the stuff, so he is guilty, but, Mike, would you have left it if there hadn’t been links?”
Looking me straight in the eye, she fired with both barrels.
“Yes. My rapists got off by telling the judge that I wanted it. That I wanted to change and by God, the judge and a jury of my peers believed them. You try carrying that around with you for a while and you’d have left something too.”
She rose slowly, zipping up her hoodie.
“Adios, amigo. Until next time.”
With that, she exited, inwardly glad that her kind of justice would be done.
CHAPTER 33
“Good morning, The Abyssinian. Jeffrey speaking. How may we serve you?”
The well-modulated voice on the other end of the line was to be expected. A hotel that charged astronomical prices needed the person contacted for reservations to represent their brand. It was imperative for them to push the luxury they were selling.
“Good morning, Jeffrey. I’m looking to book a room, but a specific one. I have a picture that I could email.”
“Let me see if I understand this, Mr. …?”
“Savage. Curt Savage.”
“Mr. Savage, please let me see if I’ve understood your request. You’ve stayed here before and took a picture while in the room? Perhaps we can look up your records and …”
“No, not me. I haven’t had the pleasure of being your guest, but a friend did. She took the picture. Well, not her, but the friend she was staying with did. No selfies here.”
“I see. Well, yes. You can send the picture to jeffreyG at the
abyssinian dot com.
“On its way, Jeffrey,” I replied as I hit “send.”
“Did you say this was your first time staying with us?”
“Yes.”
“And when did you need the reservations for?”
“ASAP. I’ll take your earliest booking.”
“And how long will you need the room?”
“One or two nights. Whatever is available. Did you get the picture?”
“Yes, I’m looking at it now. It’s kind of difficult to see the space. And we’ve redecorated, so I’ll just pass it to someone that’s been here longer.”
“How long have you been there, Jeffrey?”
“Seven months, sir.”
“Well, you’re doing a fine job. The Abyssinian is lucky to have you.”
“It’s most kind of you to say. If I can just put you on hold for a moment while I see if Sara recognizes the furnishings.”
“That’ll be fine.”
Whistling a popular song, I headed outside. Back to waking up in the mornings and sleeping in the evenings, the Wallace investigation was going just the way Mike had envisioned. Her planting that evidence led it exactly in the direction she wanted, but was it fair?
As to his motive for the break-in, Hank’s hired mouthpiece said it was to steal a painting. Since the painting was a print and less than fifty dollars, it made no sense, but it did in a legalistic way. In agreeing to plea bargain to those charges, Hank would be off the hook for doing hard time. Especially since he claimed he was drunk. It helped enormously that no blood alcohol testing had been done on the night in question.
The pornography contained on those disks that Mike left threw a monkey wrench into the ongoing investigation. While Hank insisted they weren’t his, in this case, they weren’t. It left me in the awkward position of grappling with my conscience. I thought I’d give things a bit more time to work themselves out before doing anything crazy.
“Hello, Mr. Savage?”
“Yes, still here, Jeffrey.”
My hand reached out to pet Moochie. I kept forgetting he wasn’t here.
“Good news. Mr. Jenkins, my manager, did recognize the room. It’s 311. As to its availability, it appears to be booked straight through to next year.”
“Pity. It was recommended to me by Piers Warwick. He’s quite the fan of yours.”
“Mr. Warwick? You know, on second glance, I do see that the person renting the room is leaving a day early. That means you can have it for one night. Next Tuesday, actually.”
“That’s perfect, Jeffrey.”