Another Three Dogs in a Row Page 16

  “That’s a cheap lock,” Tiffany said. “Alex showed me once how you could get it open by sliding a credit card alongside it. He’s been after the landlord to replace it for me.”

  “Could it have been Alex?” I asked as I followed her inside. “Looking for something you have?”

  “Why wouldn’t he just ask me? It isn’t like we got any big secrets from each other.”

  Not like the one she was keeping from him, that she was dating Eduardo de la Fe on the side. “You know about his drug arrest?”

  Rochester walked beside me and began sniffing around.

  “That was a frame job,” Tiffany said. “He told me all about it.”

  “He still hanging out with those people? Maybe he’s holding something out on them, and they think you have it.”

  Tiffany didn’t have an answer for that. She closed the door behind me and pressed the button on the knob to lock it.

  “Anybody else have a key to that lock?” I asked. “Old boyfriends, somebody to water your plants or take care of your cat?”

  “I don’t have any plants and I don’t have a cat. And even Alex doesn’t have a key to my place.” She rubbed her upper arms. “I’m scared. What if I’d gotten home early and he was still here? What if someone wants to hurt me?”

  She started to cry, and I put my arm around her shoulders. Ordinarily when someone was upset, Rochester would try to comfort them, but he seemed to recognize she wasn’t a dog person, and he found a place to lie down on the floor.

  “It’s okay,” I said. Her perfume was strong and reminded me of bug spray, though I was sure it was something well-advertised and expensive. “We’ll figure things out.” I looked around the mess. “Can you tell what was stolen?”

  “My jewelry is all here, and the only stuff I have worth any money is my TV and my laptop. The TV’s still here, and I had the laptop with me.”

  Interesting. So the intruder hadn’t been after something to sell. What else did Tiffany have?

  She sniffled, and wiped her eyes with the back of her arm. “What am I going to do?”

  I thought the best thing would be to get Tiffany working, take her mind off what had happened until she could think more calmly. I looked around the room and realized that once again, I couldn’t help snooping. I was curious not only to see what the intruder had done, but how Tiffany had lived.

  A couch sat in front of two double-hung windows that looked out at the street, with a scarred wooden coffee table in front of it. The cushions had been tossed aside, and all the knickknacks from a wire stand had been thrown to the floor.

  No books, I thought.

  A galley kitchen was along one wall, with a Formica-topped table and two chairs, which had been knocked over. The intruder had sliced open a bag of flour and spilled it on the table along with a plastic container of rice. A couple of jars of jam and hot sauce had been smashed in the sink and I could already see tiny ants climbing around.

  “Let’s clean up,” I said. “You have a broom and a dustpan? Some big garbage bags?”

  I put the cushions back on her couch, picked up the chairs and set them by the table. I hung up a couple of pictures the burglar had taken down from the wall, including the same photo of her and Rick at the Grand Canyon that I’d seen at his place.

  Rochester kept getting underfoot as I swept the floor and filled a garbage bag. As I worked, my brain kept ticking. Why open all those jars and boxes? That implied the guy was looking for something small. What could it be?”

  While Tiffany was rinsing the plastic containers, I asked, “This guy, whoever he was, he was looking for something. Something small enough to hide in a box of rice or under a sofa cushion. What do you think it could be?”

  “No idea.” Her hands were full of dish soap and she used the back of her arm to wipe her forehead.

  When the dishes were done she joined me in the living room. “Ricky gave me this,” she said, picking up a miniature cuckoo clock that had been smashed in half. “He said it reminded me of him.”

  She tossed it into a half-full trash bag. “He probably tells you he can’t get rid of me,” she said. “Like today. I did call Alex, you know. First. It’s just that he couldn’t leave work.”

  “Yeah. A car wash manager’s job is more important than a cop’s.”

  “It’s not like that,” she protested. “Rick doesn’t have to clock in or out like Alex does. And all my girlfriends have to work, too. But you know something? I don’t need him, or anybody else.”

  She glared at me, then her whole body sagged. “I appreciate your help, though. I mean, look at me? My life gets wrecked and I’m stuck depending on some guy I hardly know. What’s wrong with this picture?”

  “I know what it’s like to start from nothing,” I said. “I had exactly one friend who stood by me when I was in prison. My wife divorced me and threw out most of my stuff. By the time I got out my dad had died and I had no family left besides some cousins. I was lucky he left me his townhouse or I’d have been living in a homeless shelter.”

  “But you picked yourself up.”

  “I did. I was lucky that people helped me but I had to do the work myself.”

  “I can see why Ricky likes you,” she said. “He’s got this thing, he wants to fix the world. All the time we were married, he kept trying to get me to take college classes, to be like the other cops’ wives. But I didn’t fit in there and eventually we both knew it.”

  That was a different story than the one I’d heard from Rick. He had said Tiffany was an adrenaline junkie, that she got off on the idea that he might get shot on patrol. When he moved up to detective, she’d left him for a fireman. Now, she was dating a felon and cheating on him with a guy under investigation by the FBI.

  Which was the real story?

  Tiffany dusted her hands off. “I’d better get into the bedroom. I don’t need any more strangers looking through my undies today.”

  I took a quick look from the doorway and saw the same kind of turmoil there. The mattress on the queen-sized bed had been turned on its side, and her clothes were strewn across the box spring. A couple of handbags had been turned out as well, leaving a detritus of lipsticks, makeup and tissues.

  I left her to clean up and returned to the living room. I called a locksmith to replace the cheap lock, and while I waited for him to show up I ran the vacuum and finished tidying up. By the time Tiffany joined me there, Rochester was sitting on her couch, sniffing for something between the cushions.

  “Hey, make him get down. I don’t need dog hair everywhere on top of everything else.”

  “Rochester! Down, boy.”

  He wouldn’t obey, and I had to walk over to him and tug on his collar. When he lifted his head I saw that he had Tiffany’s keychain in his mouth. He let me take it from him, and then he scrambled back down to the floor.

  “Is there anything on this jump drive?” I asked her. “It’s small enough to hide in a box of rice. Where did you say you got it anyway?”

  “I found it at work. I wanted to put some of my pictures on it but it’s full of junk and I don’t know how to clean it up.”

  What Tiffany thought was junk might have been worth breaking into her apartment for. “Can I use your laptop? I’ll see what’s on it and free up some space for you.”

  I pulled the llama off her key chain as she turned on her laptop. She didn’t have any virus protection software on it, so I quickly downloaded a free version and ran a scan before I did anything else. Nothing harmful on the laptop, or on the jump drive either.

  When I was able to look at the contents of the drive, I saw that a huge zipped file took up most of the available space. Fortunately I had the little jump drive I’d taken to Philly with me with the information I’d passed on to the FBI, and I was able to move everything on her llama drive to mine.

  “The drive is empty now,” I said. “So you can put whatever you want onto it.”

  “Can you help me download some pictures from Facebook onto it?�
� she asked. “I always seem to screw that kind of thing up.”

  We still had a while before the locksmith was due, so I showed her what to do. She had made a Facebook post the day before about the little llama, how she’d found it at work but hadn’t realized until then that it was a drive for her computer. She clearly had a lot of time on her hands.

  Along the left side of the screen, I saw her list of friends. Had whoever broke into her place also tried to get into the homes of her co-workers? “Any of these the people you worked with?” I asked.

  “Yeah. That’s Maria Jose there, she’s my boss.”

  “Can you call and ask her if anyone broke into her place?”

  She picked up her cell phone and dialed. I leaned down and scratched Rochester’s belly.

  After a moment Tiffany said, “Voice mail.”

  “Can you message her through Facebook?” I asked.

  “I guess.” She clicked on the head shot of a pretty Latina, and Maria Jose Rodriguez’s page popped up.

  “That’s weird,” she said, leaning forward to the screen. She pointed at Maria Jose’s latest message, from almost a week before.

  Mama huevos, America. Voy a volver a Colombia.

  My command of Spanish was pretty basic, limited to ordering food and beer. “Mother eggs?” I asked Tiffany.

  “It doesn’t make sense.” She pointed. “See this? Mama huevos? That’s Cuban slang for suck my balls. Maria Jose is a real lady. She would never talk that way.”

  “Not even if she was mad?”

  Tiffany shook her head. “She would say something in Colombian Spanish if she was. And it wouldn’t be crude, like this.”

  The locksmith arrived, and I had a good, strong lock put on the door and paid the bill myself. I knew Rick would reimburse me, if only for the peace of mind it would bring him.

  “You think you’ll be okay now?” I asked Tiffany as he was finishing.

  “Yeah, I’m going to stay over at Alex’s for a few days. Who knows, maybe I’ll move in there for good.”

  Didn’t sound like the greatest idea to me, but it wasn’t my business what she did.

  Rochester and I walked back to my car, stopping every few feet so he could sniff and pee. I called Rick and got his voice mail. I figured he was still at that deposition in Doylestown so I left him a message that Tiffany was fixed up and he could call me for more details.

  As I drove home, I thought back to something Tiffany had said – that Rick liked to fix people. Sure, I’d seen that he was a caretaker, the way he looked after Tiffany, the way he was so good with Tamsen and her son. But me? Was that why he was my friend, because he thought he could fix me?

  I’d never thought of our friendship that way. We had initially bonded over our divorces. Then after he got Rascal, we were both dog guys. Sure, he had scolded me about my hacking tendencies, encouraged me to get help, to stay within the lines of the law. But I’d just thought that was the cop in him.

  Did I still need to be repaired in some way? Would Rick stop being my friend if I didn’t?

  27 – Child Minder

  By the time I got home, I had to fix dinner, eat and feed Rochester, and then walk him, so it wasn’t until early evening that I had the chance to see what was in the zipped file on the llama jump drive that Tiffany had found. Probably somebody else’s pictures, just as there had been on the one Rochester found by the canal.

  Fortunately this file hadn’t been encrypted, and it was easy to unzip it. What was harder to figure out, though, was what it all meant.

  Hundreds of PDF files of what looked like patient records from the Center for Infusion Therapy. And then a .pst file, which took me a minute to remember was the backup format used for Microsoft Outlook. The file was dated on the Friday that Doug’s financial program began at Friar Lake, and I was excited. What would Tiffany have been doing with a copy of Doug’s email folders?

  The only way to view the contents of that file, though, was to use Outlook’s restore function. I set up a dummy account on my laptop, then went through the steps to import all the contacts and emails.

  When the import was complete, I discovered it had restored an account connected to the address cubamerica1964@gmail.com. I doubted Doug would have used such an address. But whose was it?

  I couldn’t find any indication of who owned the address, so I started opening messages. It took four of them to discover the name Eduardo de la Fe as a signature.

  What was Tiffany doing with a copy of Eduardo’s email folders? I didn’t think she had the tech savvy to have copied it herself. Then I remembered she’d said she found the llama drive behind her desk at the office when she was looking for her shoe.

  I called Rick, but once again went straight to voice mail. “I need to talk to you about Tiffany,” I said. “Call me ASAP.”

  I kept looking through the PDF files, but there was so much there it was hard to make sense of it all. Most were medical records for Center patients, but some were copies of bank statements for the Center.

  Tiffany had made a post that indicated she’d found the llama drive at her office, so it was quite possible Eduardo would have seen the post. That gave him a great reason to break into her apartment and look for it. Plus, she said he’d set up the interview for her, so he’d known she would be out of the apartment that morning. Unfortunately he had no idea that she had the drive on her keychain, that she had it with her the whole time he was looking for it.

  It was almost bedtime before I got a text message from Rick. Long, long day. Going to crash. Talk to you tomorrow.

  Not what I wanted to hear, but I could imagine that after a bad day the last thing he wanted was more of Tiffany’s drama. I hoped that she was with Alex, and that he was able to take care of her.

  The next morning I tried Rick again but my call went to voice mail. I figured he was probably out walking Rascal, so I left him another message. I still hadn’t heard back from him by the time Lili, Rochester and I left for Catherine’s house.

  I wanted to try him again after the women left house for the beauty salon, but I had to deal with the kids first. I sat on the sofa and asked them what they wanted to do.

  Madison was absorbed in her cell phone, while Nathaniel and Justin sat on the floor and stared at me. Rochester was no help; he was off in the corner rolling around on the floor with Pixie.

  “Why don’t we take the dogs outside and play with them?” I asked. That had worked with Madison a few days before.

  In front of her cousins, though, she was too cool for school. “Bo-ring,” she said.

  “How about cartoons on TV?” I asked. “I used to spend whole Saturday mornings watching cartoons when I was a kid.”

  “Cartoons are for babies,” Madison said. She listed a bunch of TV shows she liked, and I was surprised her mother let her watch shows with so much sex, violence and drug use, even if the main characters were teenagers.

  “I’m hungry,” Nathaniel said. “Can you make me a snack?”

  I used the flashlight on my key chain as a wand and said, “Zap! You’re a snack! You’re a … granola bar!”

  He looked at me like I was the stupidest adult in the entire world. Too bad I didn’t know where anything was in Catherine’s kitchen, or if Hannah would want her son eating in the middle of the morning.

  Rochester abandoned Pixie and began roughhousing with Justin, the big dog jumping up and trying to knock him down like a bowling pin. They ended up on the floor wriggling and laughing. I was trying to keep my eye on them, telling Nathaniel he wouldn’t starve, and trying to get Madison to put down the cell phone and pay attention when Justin raced around the living room with Rochester and knocked a lamp off the table.

  I picked up my phone and called Rick. At last, he answered.

  “Is this 911? I have an emergency and I need police backup ASAP.”

  In the background, Pixie began growling, probably because she was being ignored. That made Rochester start barking.

  “How long have you been
there? Ten minutes, and the kids are already trampling all over you?”

  “More like a half hour. I never should have let Lili talk me into this.”

  “Ow! Your dog stepped on me!” Nathaniel yelped.

  “I can be there in a half an hour,” Rick said. “You can fill me in on Tiffany’s problems when I get there.”

  “Use the siren and the lights,” I said, before I hung up.

  I was tempted to hide in the bathroom until Rick arrived. “Madison, you think you’re an adult?” I asked.

  “Sort of,” she said, barely looking up from her phone.

  “Then act like one. This is your house and your cousins are your guests. What does your mother have in the kitchen that you can bring out?”

  She groaned theatrically and stood up, still texting. “Come on, dweebs,” she said.

  “She’s talking to you,” Justin said, elbowing Nathaniel.

  “Anybody’s a dweeb it’s you,” Nathaniel said, pushing on his cousin’s shoulder. “Karate kid.”

  “Computer nerd.”

  Rochester jumped up and romped between the boys as we trooped into the kitchen. Madison found some packs of crackers and peanut butter and poured each of her cousins a glass of lemonade.

  “Aren’t I a guest here too?” I asked.

  “You’re an adult,” Madison said with disdain. “You can take care of yourself.”

  She flounced back into the living room with her phone. The boys began arguing over which snack pack was bigger, even though they were clearly the same size. Rochester nosed them, hoping for crumbs, and I moved between the kitchen and the living room, where I picked up the lamp, which fortunately hadn’t broken.

  I asked Madison what she was reading in school and she looked at me like I was from Mars. “We don’t read,” she said. “We just study for stupid tests.” She went back to her phone.

  I turned to the boys, who had trailed back into the living room. “What’s your favorite class?” I asked Justin.

  “Recess.”

  This was not going well. “How’s Little League going?” I asked. Rick had originally met Tamsen when he coached Justin’s team.