Case of the Unlucky Emperor, page 16
“Copy that, Zack. Perhaps I should take the lead?”
“Does Islander have any side streets?”
“No. It runs through Harris Island. People have their own private launches there, so you’ll find tons of boats.”
“Private launches,” I repeated. “What about planes? Could someone park a plane there?”
“They’re not supposed to,” Ron informed us. “There are regulations which prevent a floater from taking off near residential properties.”
There were a few houses on either side of the street, with the south side being closest to the water. We slowed to a crawl and kept a close eye on the corgis. Sherlock and Watson were both on their feet, staring up at us. What did it mean? We had to go straight ahead?
“Keep an eye on them,” I said, as I continued to allow the van to roll forward. “We’ve got a few houses coming up on the right. Maybe one of those?”
“Anything?” I heard Ron ask. Apparently, I’d left the call connected.
“Not yet. I will mention that we could be stopping at a moment’s notice. Since you’re here, and if we just so happen to find something, be prepared to act. The last thing our suspect is going to want to see is a cop car pull up to their house.”
“I read you,” Ron said. “I’ll be ready.”
We followed the street for another couple of minutes when we finally encountered some signs of life. A person was walking on the right-hand sidewalk, headed in the same direction as we were. Since it was below freezing outside, the individual was wearing a thick gray coat, with the hood pulled up, and a black set of earmuffs.
“Woof.”
Jillian immediately turned to look at the dogs. Sherlock and Watson only had eyes for the walker on the side of the street.
“I heard that,” Ron reported. “What are they looking at? The woman?”
To best describe what happened next, we’d have to slow time to a crawl.
I answered, stating I didn’t see anyone else, so it had to be the same person. The dogs lost their freaking minds, which made Ron ask me to repeat what I said, and the dude walking in front of us finally turned around. Ron’s guess to the gender was right.
“There’s only one person out here,” I said.
Both corgis began barking, which naturally drowned me out.
“I didn’t copy,” Ron said.
The person with the gray coat turned. We all caught sight of the blonde hair. She locked eyes on me and froze, like a deer in a set of headlights. Then, she saw the police car directly behind me. She let out a blood-curdling shriek of dismay and immediately sprinted down someone’s side yard and disappeared.
“That was Shannon!” Jillian exclaimed. “Ron, do you copy? That was Shannon Silverman. She was the first person to vanish from CCCP!”
“I just radioed it in,” Ron said, growing excited. “Those dogs are amazing. Can you tell where she went?”
“Through the side yard between the white Victorian and the light blue ranch home,” I reported. “Looks like she’s headed for the water. Unless she has a boat, I have no idea where she’s going.”
“Wait here,” Ron ordered. “Islander is only a few hundred feet long. There’s no outlet. We’re to wait for backup.”
“Got it. We’re pulling off to the side.”
Sitka’s finest were there in less than two minutes. It didn’t take long to track down the unfortunate Ms. Silverman. When she appeared, handcuffed, with a cop on either arm, her face was the complete opposite of the last time I saw her. Her eyes were wild and defiant, and her face was a mask of pure anger and hate. She looked my way, shot daggers from her eyes, and lifted her chin, as though I was no longer worthy to breathe the same air.
A uniformed policeman approached our van and knocked on the window. I bumped the heater up to full and rolled the window down.
“Detective Kevin Taneidí, Sitka Police. You must be Mr. Zachary Anderson. And Mrs. Anderson, I presume?”
I shook the proffered hand. “We are. It’s good to meet you, Detective. Has Shannon said anything to you?”
“Nothing I’m willing to repeat in the presence of a lady,” the detective returned. We all heard Sherlock snort with irritation. The corgis hadn’t been included with the introductions, and Sherlock was moments away from voicing his displeasure. Thankfully, Detective Taneidí leaned forward just a bit and saw Sherlock and Watson returning his frank stare. “And these must be the famous corgis I’ve heard so much about. Well, you pups found one of the three we’re searching for. Care to find the other two?”
“WOOF!” Sherlock was bouncing up and down on his two front paws.
I had only seen him do that when I was playing with a toy he really wanted.
“You have got his attention,” I chuckled.
“We’re going to pull back,” Taneidí explained. “In case they find something else, we don’t want to alert them to our presence, not that they probably haven’t already figured something is up.”
I pointed at the two houses I could see. Both were on a small ridge, which then sloped down to the water. Those two houses must be worth a fortune to have such spectacular views.
“Do we know who lives there?”
Ron shrugged. “I don’t, no. Should I find out?”
“It couldn’t hurt,” I said. “Shannon was fleeing somewhere. It’d make sense she’d choose a familiar house. It’d be nice to know if one of those houses belonged to a Silverman.”
“Gotcha. Let me call it in.”
We had our answer in less than thirty seconds. For the second time, we were asked to fall back. Why? The large ranch-style house we could see in the distance belonged to a familiar name, and that was only because he happened to own a bright yellow airplane. It belonged to none other than Bruce Smith. What, then, was Shannon doing running to that house? Did they know each other?
We didn’t get a chance to discuss the ramifications. The garage door exploded outward and we all heard the roar of a super-charged engine, screaming in rage. The dark green Mustang raced down the driveway, almost striking two police officers, who were slowly approaching the house. The sports car turned left onto Islander Street, and from the sounds of the engine, whoever was driving must’ve stomped on the accelerator. The only problem was, it was headed straight for us, and I had yet to clear out of its way.
“It’s coming for us!” Jillian shrieked, throwing up her hands, as if to find some way to brace herself for the impending collision.
Thankfully, the car rocketed by us and disappeared up the road. It might have been traveling close to a hundred miles an hour, but it was still enough time for me to identify the driver: Chris. CCCP’s former computer tech had a look of sheer terror on his face as he went by. From the direction the car was headed, he appeared to be heading back to town, which was probably the stupidest thing he could have done. He wasn’t going to make it far. In less time than it takes to come up with a few choice swear words, four Sitka police cars were on his tail. And, let’s face it, there was nowhere for him to go.
Before we knew it, we were alone on Islander Court, with Bruce Smith’s house visible before us. Everything happened so fast that I didn’t even have time to put the van in park. Once it was, Jillian and I shared a look before we burst out laughing.
“First Shannon, and now Chris,” I said, shaking my head.
“And they were found at Bruce Smith’s house,” Jillian added. “They must know each other. I just wish we knew how. What now? Should we follow?”
I shrugged, put the van into gear, and was in the process of looking for a safe place to turn around when I noticed the dogs. Sherlock and Watson were staring, transfixed, at Bruce Smith’s house. If Chris was gone, and Shannon had been arrested, did that mean Bruce was somewhere inside?
“Is Ron still out there?” I quietly asked.
Jillian turned in her seat to check the area.
“I think so. I see an SUV off to the side of the road. He called you, so his number should be in your cell. Can you call him?”
“I suppose.”
“Zachary, why aren’t you calling?”
I unhooked my seat belt.
“It couldn’t hurt to look, could it?”
In a move so smooth, so fluid, that it made my mind spin, my darling wife caught the seat belt’s fastener as it was released and quickly snapped it back into place.
“Oh, no you don’t. You’re staying put. He could be armed. He could’ve laid a trap. You’re not going to risk yourself.”
“Fine. And holy cow, by the way. Nice catch! When did you become a ninja?” Ron’s number was located, and then dialed. “Ron, is that your car, still on Islander?”
“Yeah, it is. By the way, I just received word: the driver of the Mustang was apprehended. Our two suspects will now be sharing a cell. I’d love to be a fly on that wall. What’s up?”
“Sherlock and Watson are staring at that house and haven’t blinked once. I think there still might be someone in there.”
“Your dogs have earned their reputations,” Ron said, his voice becoming firm. “If they want a second look at that house, then what could it hurt?”
The SUV’s door opened and Ron emerged, holding the phone to his ear.
“But, don’t we need a warrant to be able to see inside the house?” I protested.
“A suspect fled from that residence,” Officer Sanderson explained, “and one was apprehended nearby. It’s now a crime scene. That’s why I’m still here. I get to make sure no one messes with the house until the C.S.I. techs arrive. What’s the matter? Do you guys want to check it out? If so, you can, only this is the part where I say not to touch anything, but something tells me you already knew that.”
“Yeppers. All right, we’re headed your way.”
Once the dogs and I were standing outside the van, and Jillian was now seated behind the wheel—just in case—we followed Officer Ronald Sanderson to the front door. He was about to reach for the door knob when I saw him lean forward and listen intently for a few moments. He tried the handle, only it was locked.
I pointed at the garage. “We’ve got a pretty big hole over there to walk through. Chris left it nice and open for us.”
Ron nodded and together we walked through the shattered remains of the house’s double-wide garage. There was a third garage, on the right. There weren’t any vehicles parked there, but it was full. Of junk. Two engines, swinging on hoists, racks and racks of tools, and various parts were everywhere. I recognized an impressive collection of distributor caps, three or four car batteries, a stack of snow tires, and a half-built carburetor.
The first thing we saw that indicated we were in the right place was a set of airplane propellers hanging from the wall on a set of hooks, just like you would with a set of screwdrivers. A yellow pontoon was standing on end in the corner, and a small, padded seat—with the upholstery peeling off in stages—was propped up next to it.
Ron turned to me, forked a couple of fingers at his eyes, and then pointed at a small set of stairs, leading up to a solid brown door. His palm opened and he patted the air, indicating I should wait. The officer reached for the door knob when we all heard a distinctive crash come from somewhere within the house. Then, a loud curse and running footsteps.
Ron grunted irritably, drew his weapon, and yanked the door open. The dogs and I shared a look and waited for permission to enter. I may be a paid police consultant back home, but here in Alaska we were still tourists. Plus, the last thing I wanted to do was put myself, or the dogs, in any type of danger. I’d never do that to Jillian.
Ron called out twice, identifying himself. Naturally, there was no answer. Then, I heard several shouts, and then Ron’s rang out loud and clear.
“Halt! You’re under arrest! Get on the ground, now! There’s no point running, Smith! We’ve got … dammit!”
That prompted me to duck inside. Wow. It looked as though a cyclone had touched down. Furniture was upended. Pictures lay inside their broken frames on the floor. Cabinets had been yanked open, and the fridge door was still ajar.
I noticed bits of broken glass on the floor and gently steered the dogs around the mess. A glass sliding door was open, and through it I could see a clear path all the way down to a private pier. Unfortunately, I could also see a very distinctive yellow pontoon plane pulling away from the shore. The single-prop floater revved its engine and, moments later, lifted off the water, only to disappear into the cloudy sky.
“Damn,” Ron swore. “I had him. I didn’t think he’d abandon his house. He seemed reluctant to leave, but only did so once he saw me.”
Together, we looked back at the house. Sherlock and Watson pulled on their leashes, eager to head inside. Because it was cold or was it because they picked up on something they wanted us to find?
“Go ahead, guys. You’ve earned it. What do you want to look at?”
While Ron radioed in the events that had happened, I gave the corgis some extra slack in their leashes and let them lead. We returned to the living room and while I was contemplating what to do, heard Sherlock whine.
“I’m surprised, boy. You typically howl at me when you want me to do something. What is it? What do you want me to see?”
The dogs guided me to a hallway on the left. Glancing inside each open doorway as we passed, verifying nothing was going to jump out at us, we saw several bedrooms, a study, and the master suite. All of which, I might add, had been tossed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say ol’ Bruce had misplaced something, and he was hoping he could find it before he was forced to leave town.
“Do you smell that?” Ron asked, alarmed.
I sniffed the air. Uh, oh. Rotten eggs assailed my nostrils. Gas! Natural gas, to be precise. Had he left a burner on?
“We need to clear out of here,” Ron snapped. “If there’s the slightest spark, then this whole place will be turned into a raging inferno. For all we know, that could be Smith’s plan. Get your dogs and make for the door. Hurry!”
I wasn’t going to wait for a second opinion. I wrapped Sherlock and Watson’s leashes tightly around my hand and hurriedly retraced our steps, back to the garage, when my arm was violently yanked backwards. It felt as though I had just tied my arm to a telephone pole and tried to yank it out with brute force.
“Ow! Come on, guys! This isn’t the time to do this. We need to clear out before …”
“Awwwoooowoooowoooo!” Sherlock howled.
Both dogs turned completely around and headed the opposite direction, namely inside the house. Once they made it to the end of their leash, since I hadn’t budged, they both looked at me and whined piteously.
“Guys? We don’t have time for this! We’ve got to go!”
Sherlock and Watson refused. Ron gave me an exasperated look but finally nodded.
“Make it quick, Zack. Hurry! What do we need to see?”
We were taken past the kitchen and toward the hallway with doors on either side. Two were open, revealing the bedrooms I had noticed before. That left two doors, both of which turned out to be closets. I was closing the second when Sherlock leapt forward, wedging his body in the doorway.
“What are you doing? Come on, pal. We’ve got to clear out!”
“Awwoooo!” Sherlock argued.
“Ooooo!” Watson added, in her own version of a howl.
Sighing loudly, I pulled Sherlock out of the closet and took stock of what was in there. For the record, not much. There were a couple of old green coats, the kind that look like they could’ve been purchased at a military supply store. A dilapidated vacuum cleaner was leaning against the closet wall. However, what got my attention were the footprints. Muddy prints on the floor, to be precise. The closet was small, and ordinarily wouldn’t have bothered me, but what jumped out were the footprints. They extended to the back wall of the closet, and damned if it didn’t look like one of the footprints was cut off in mid-step!
“Check it out,” I said, nudging Ron. “Look at the prints. They go right up to the wall, and then it looks like they keep going.”
Officer Sanderson reached in and knocked on the wall a few times. A hollow thump sounded, telling us exactly what we wanted to hear. There was something behind it!
“What do we have here?” Ron asked. He then coughed. “The fumes are getting worse. We need to speed this up. How do we get in?”
I looked down at the corgis.
“Sherlock? Watson? What do we do? How do we get in?”
Both dogs craned their heads to look up at me, and then looked left. Left? I ran my hands along the wall. Nothing. I then slid my hands under the only shelf in the closet, situated above eye-level. Still nothing. I looked back at the corgis, but both were still staring at the shelf. Hmm. The shelf was higher than I could see. Could there be something on the top side?
I placed my fingers on the top of the shelf and then repeated the motions. Sure enough, I felt a small, plastic cube with a recessed button. Once pressed, we heard a latch unclick and the entire closet wall swung away from me. It was a door! There was a hidden room back there!
I noticed the smell right away. Poo. Something was living back here, and whatever it was, it had been making a mess. I told myself this is what a chicken coop must smell like. And then, we heard it. A soft, high-pitched peep. Then another. It didn’t take a degree in nuclear physics to identify the source of the sound. Suddenly, the peeps were coming so fast that I just knew the baby penguin had heard us, and was calling for help.
“Zack, we’ve got to get outta here!” Ron yelled. “Get in there, grab that thing, and let’s go!”
I tossed the leashes to the officer and ducked into the tiny room. A small table, a pint-sized fridge, and a three-foot by two-foot wire folding dog kennel were instantly recognizable. There, in the kennel, was probably the cutest thing on two feet that I had ever seen. A fuzzy gray and white chick was peeping like crazy and rushing at the kennel, hoping to get out. Unsure what the protocol was for handling the chick, I smelled the first waft of gas coming inside the hidden room and gasped as I realized what Bruce was planning on doing.
