The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission by Raymond Klein (good books to read for women TXT) 📗

down, unzipped it and reached inside. Genghis sniffed the ground then turned his head upward and sniffed the air. He could clearly smell the acidic remnants of burned material within the debris, remnants that Jeff Trent could not smell, but still hung in the air.

Trent turned on the D30 detection unit and made adjustments to accommodate the search. He held the D30 straight out in front of him like a marksman taking aim at a target. Then slowly he started to turn his body in a 360 degree circle. Listening to the distinctive tone the detection unit emitted, he continued to scan the building. The pitch of the tone changed when he pointed it toward the far left corner of the building. He bent his elbow to get a better view of the small computer screen on the top of the D30, then said, “That’s where the fire originated.”

They made their way through the premade path in the debris to the far left corner. “Yeah, it started here alright,” Genghis said. “Look at the burn pattern and how the concrete slab cracked under the high temperature of the accelerant.”

“Yes,” Trent said. “Now let's find out what exactly this unknown accelerant is.” He made another adjustment on the D30 and pointed it down toward the scorch mark. It made three sharp beeps then went silent. Trent read the computer screen. “Calbenite!”

That was all they needed.

They both walked back to the center of the building. Trent picked up the duffle bag and placed the detection unit back into it. Neither one said anything as they exited the Griffon building and walked back to the cruiser.

The workers one block down were on break. Two sat in the doorway talking and laughing with three others sitting on the tailgate of the truck. A couple of them glanced over and watched as the fire investigator and his scent dog climbed into a vintage car and drove away.

Chapter Nineteen

It was a little before eleven in the morning. As they drove South on Eighth Street they watched the shoppers go back and forth, in and out of little antique and consignment shops.

“You know,” Genghis said, while rubbing his belly with his front paw, “I’m getting a little hungry. You want to go back to Dave’s or maybe that guy with the cart attached to his vehicle?”

Trent slowed the Thunderbird and pulled into a parking spot. “Why not try this place?” He put the cruiser into park and turned off the engine. Trent had parked in front of a French restaurant. Le Pot Au Feu was in a building that took up almost the entire block and was shaped in an ‘L.’ The front double mahogany doors faced Eighth Street, while the outdoor seating with white wrought iron tables and chairs faced Third Avenue. The restaurant had just opened for the day and was not crowded, as business on a Saturday didn’t start hopping until around 1 pm.

“Are you sure I’m allowed in there?” Genghis asked.

“Well of course! Why wouldn’t you be?”

Jeff and Genghis entered the establishment and stepped into a small foyer. It had elegant period wallpaper with rich mahogany crown molding and wainscoting. There were framed photographs dating back to the early 1900s, showing rows of workers sitting at long wooden tables. They walked forward and into the main dining area. The dining area had low lighting and was as elegant as the foyer. Smells from the kitchen permeated the room. There was a small maitre d’ station also of mahogany and elaborately carved.

The host and hostess standing behind it looked up as Jeff and Genghis entered. All the servers were dressed similarly. They wore black sneakers, black trousers, and a white dress shirt with a tie of their choosing. The hostess said, “Hi, welcome to Le Pot Au Feu.” She glanced down at Genghis. “Ah, may we help you?”

“Yes,” Trent happily said, while looking around with a big grin on his face. “We would like to dine in your fine establishment.”

The hostess shared a glance with the host standing next to her, “I’m sorry sir, but dogs aren’t allowed in the dining area.”

Just then Genghis sneezed loudly, which sounded a little like, “Told yah!”

The hostess, a little puzzled, looked down at the dog.

“What do you mean?” Trent asked. “He’s tame. Don’t be alarmed at his size, he’s very gentle.”

“Well, yes,” she replied, “that might be, but we don’t allow dogs. Unless, of course he’s a service dog.” She paused looking at Genghis then back to Trent, “Is he?”

“Is he, what?”

“A service dog?”

“Ah! . . . a service dog?”

“Yes! . . . is he? . . . A service dog?”

“Ah,” Jeff looked down at his partner, who was scowling back up at him. “Ah, no. I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m sorry sir,” she politely said. “But you’re more than welcome to sit in our outdoor dining area.” She motioned to the large glass window overlooking the al fresco seating area. “We get a lot of people out there who like to bring their dogs.”

Jeff grinned and said, “That'll be hip!”

The host slightly rolled his eyes, picked up a leather bound menu, walked Jeff and Genghis to the glass door that was framed in mahogany, and led them outside. The floor of the patio area was a red brick, laid in a herringbone pattern. The outside walls of the building were covered in a lush ivy that was slowly creeping up toward the second story windows. The perimeter of the patio was surrounded with a red brick wall four feet in height, topped with elegant rod iron black fencing. There were several large ornate pots with sprawling plants with large green palms stretching out in all directions.

The host seated Trent at one of the ten small bistro sets, then opened and handed him the menu saying, “Our special today is Poulet Marie Therese, chicken breast in a peppercorn and garlic sauce served with mixed vegetables. Jerry, your server, will be with you shortly. May I