RCC02 - Heroes Often Fail Read online

  She dialed Kopriva’s number. He answered on the third ring.

  “Hey, girl,” he said.

  “Hey, boy,” she said back. “What are you doing?”

  “Watching TV,” Kopriva said. “Doing sit-ups during the commercials.”

  “How many?”

  “Just twenty-five.”

  “Per commercial?”

  He laughed. “Per break. And I’m starting to hate advertisers,” he said.

  Katie laughed back. “Well, keep it up. I like those tummy muscles.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What are you watching?”

  “Clint Eastwood.”

  “Which?”

  “The Outlaw Josey Wales,” Kopriva answered.

  “Is that the one where he’s in Mexico?”

  “No. It’s the one where he’s the outlaw after the Civil War.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

  “Yeah, you have. We rented it back before Christmas. It’s the one where he shoots the rope on the ferry.”

  “Oh, yeah. With the carpetbagger guy.”

  “Exactly. What are you doing?”

  “I am on routine patrol,” she said, quoting an inside joke they shared.

  “How is it?”

  She thought she could hear a tinge of envy in his voice.

  “It’s slow,” she told him, even though it hadn’t been. “But it’s my Friday.”

  “That’s great. You want to do something after I get off work tomorrow?”

  Katie smiled coyly. “Yes.”

  He seemed to sense her smile in the tone of her voice. “You’re a naughty girl, MacLeod.”

  “Shhhhh. This is a cell phone. People will hear. The secret will get out.”

  “It’s safe with me,” Kopriva said. “You want me to come over after I finish with another one hundred boring and pointless phone calls?”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Either it’s a crap lead or it’s someone trying to cash in on a reward.”

  “Is there a reward?”

  “Not that I know of. But that doesn’t stop them from trying to cash in.”

  Katie shook her head in disgust. “Nothing like a little personal tragedy to bring out the vultures.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. Anyway, I can come by around five-thirty, if you want,” Kopriva said.

  “I’ve got a subpoena to court for tomorrow,” Katie told him. “I’m supposed to testify around nine. So I’ll probably go home and sleep after that. Why don’t I just meet you at your place?”

  “I’ll have to clean,” he joked.

  “You have all night,” she teased back.

  There was an eruption of gunfire in the background on Kopriva’s end.

  “What was that?”

  “A couple of trappers just tried to kill Josey Wales.”

  “Oh. I assume they failed.”

  “To hell with them fellers,” Kopriva quoted in a barely passable Clint Eastwood imitation. “Buzzards gotta eat, same as worms.”

  “Baker-126, Baker-124, for an alarm,” Katie’s radio chirped.

  She reached for the mike and answered up.

  “I gotta go, Stef,” she said into the cell phone. “They’re sending me on a call.”

  “Be safe.”

  “See you, babe.” She hung up as the dispatcher chattered out the details of the call.

  2311 hours

  When she heard the door creak open, Amy Dugger tried to pretend she was asleep. She hoped that it was the woman who called herself “Grammy” coming into the attic. But when she smelt the stale beer and harsh cologne, she knew it was Grandpa Fred, the man with the scary eyes. She squeezed her eyes tightly.

  His weight settled onto the small futon.

  “Amy-Girl?” he whispered, stroking her hair.

  Amy shuddered. There was an unpleasant tickle high in her chest. She knew that it was like a button or a light switch and that if she gave in to that tickle, she would start crying again. She kept her eyes squeezed shut.

  The stroking of her hair continued. He adjusted his position next to her. She felt something hard poking at the small of her back. She imagined it as his finger or maybe a knee, but after a few moments he began to rub against her and she knew what it was.

  He was touching her with his privates again.

  Something hitched her chest and a sob slipped out. Once the first sob had escaped, the dam burst and tears flowed from behind her closed eyes.

  The rubbing stopped.

  “Ah, not as sleepy as I thought,” he said. “Good, good.”

  He took her by the shoulder and rolled her over to face him.

  “Open your eyes,” he said.

  Amy opened them wide.

  “Are you glad to see me, Amy?” he asked in a whisper.

  Amy’s mind raced. She wasn’t glad to see him. She never wanted to see him again. But what should she say? Would he hurt her mommy if she gave the wrong answer? For a moment, she let herself continue to cry, avoiding the question. She was afraid of saying no, but she was also afraid of what would happen if she said yes.

  He wasn’t going to let the question slide. “Stop crying,” he said, his voice turning gruff. “You’ve got nothing to cry about. Didn’t I bring you McDonald’s for dinner tonight? Didn’t I make you special pancakes before?”

  “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 Čert,” 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. Čert 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.

  “Who’s going in with me?” he finally asked.

  “I will,” Katie said.

  “A building this size, I’ll need two officers.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Sully offered.

  “Might as well keep the Irish together,” Battaglia said. “I’ll hold the door.”

  Gomez nodded his approval and moved up to the open door. He swung it completely open and propped it with his foot.

  “Attention in the building!” he shouted in a deep, booming voice. “River City Police Department.”

  Čert barked raucously, lunging toward the open doorway.

  “Sadni!” Gomez told him.

  Čert reluctantly sat back on his haunches, but continued to bark.

  Gomez turned back to the open door. “This building is going to be searched by a police dog! If he finds you, he will bite you!”

  As if to reinforce the last point, Čert’s bark dissolved into a vicious growl.

  “We shouldn’t warn ‘em,” Battaglia said. “Just send the dog in and let it be a big surprise. Giving them a chance to give up after doing a burglary is a bunch of crap.”

  “It’s the law,” Gomez said, but he was smiling. “Besides, they never give up.”

  “I wonder why,” Battaglia said.

  “Same reason they consent to a search of their person when they’re holding a gun or dope. Because they don’t think we’ll find it.”

  Battaglia had to agree. “Thank God criminals aren’t smart.”

  “The smart ones are the ones you’ve never heard of,” Sully said.

  Gomez repeated his warning, his deep voice carrying in the still of the warehouse. Čert punctuated the warning with his eager yelps and barks.

  There was no answer from inside.

  Gomez glanced over at Katie. “What’s the word?”

  She shook her head. “It’s a false alarm.”

  A smile spread over Gomez’s face. He turned to his dog and released the leash. “Fuss ‘em up, boy! Go get him! Get the bad guy!”

  Čert needed no encouragement. The Shepherd bolted into the dark of the warehouse, whining with anticipation. Gomez listened carefully for him. The sounds of his whines and the clacking of his toenails on the concrete floor echoed back to the open doorway.

  “Come on, Diablo,” Gomez whispered. “Find him.”

  A rash of excited barking broke out and Gomez’s eyes lit up. “He’s found something.” He strained his ears, listening. The ba
rking remained at the same intensity for about thirty seconds.

  “I don’t hear any screams,” Battaglia said.

  “He must be at a door,” Gomez said and yelled into the open doorway. “Revere!”

  The barking broke off immediately and the officers could hear the huffing of the police dog as he returned to the door. He bowled into Gomez, clearly agitated.

  “What’s his problem?” Sully asked.

  “He’s mad because I called him off.” Gomez slipped the leash back on Čert’s collar and drew his pistol. “There’s somebody in there.”

  All three officers drew their weapons.

  “Check interior doors as we go,” Gomez told Katie and Sully. Then without waiting for a response, he plunged into the warehouse.

  Katie followed, even managing to beat Sully through the doorway. She used her flashlight, careful not to backlight Gomez. The K-9 officer was moving swiftly down a hallway and into an open bay. She heard Sully check a door on her left and kept moving.

  Once they reached the open bay at the end of the hallway, they shined their lights all around. A small office was built into the corner and the door was closed. Another door led into the next bay.

  “Check the bay door,” Gomez said.

  Katie walked quickly over and tried the knob. It was locked. She shook her head at Gomez.

  “Where is he, boy?” Gomez asked.

  Čert pulled against his leash and tried to physically drag the muscular handler toward the small office built in the corner of the room. Once they reached the door, the dog barked excitedly and scratched at the door.

  Gomez directed Katie and Sully into position, then ordered Čert to sit. The black Sheperd reluctantly obeyed, letting a whining growl escape his throat.

  “Light up the door,” Gomez said and both Katie and Sully shined their flashlights on the flimsy interior door to the office. Gomez checked the knob and it was also locked. He gave it a firm rap. “Attention in the office. This is the River City Police Department. Make yourself known, or I will send in the police dog!”

  Čert yipped in agreement.

  “If he finds you, he will bite you!” Gomez yelled.

  Čert yipped and growled in delight.

  “Last chance!” Gomez said.

  There was no reply.

  Gomez waited a full fifteen seconds, then punted the door right below the doorknob. The door flew inward and Gomez released Čert from his leash. The dog sailed through the open door like a missile.