Sheepdogs: Keeping the Wolves at Bay by Gordon Carroll (tools of titans ebook .TXT) 📗

Sun rays slanted down over the treetops heating up the car. I flipped on the air conditioner.

At eight thirty I called a buddy of mine with Aurora P.D. His name is Jared Darling and he used to be a K9 handler. He’s a sergeant in the Homicide Division now. He’s put on a few pounds since his K9 days. He’s bald, black, five-eleven and tips the scale at about three eighty. The phone picked up on the second ring. “Homicide, Darling.”

“No thank you, sweetheart, is Jared there?”

There was a pause. “That joke just never gets old with you, does it?”

“Nope.”

“Where you been, gyrine? Lori’s got a standing invitation for you to come over for dinner.”

“Chicken Kiev?”

“Of course.”

“Soon as this case is over, I’m there. You tell her.”

He laughed and I could almost see his chins jiggling. “Oh, I’ll tell her.” He laughed again. Jared looks like Eddie Murphy’s character in The Nutty Professor and he’s about the nicest guy in the world. “You said case, which means this isn’t a personal call. What do you need?”

“I’m sitting on a house over on Black Hawk. Could you run a plate for me?”

“Just a minute, let me fire up my computer.” I heard keys tapping and a loud slurp that almost soaked my ear.

I asked, “Are you drinking coffee?”

“Ahhh, vanilla latte.” He smacked his lips.

I shook my head. “Rats, I forgot to get some. Nothing worse than being on an early stakeout without coffee.”

“Yes there is,” he said; I could still hear the tapping, “being on a stakeout with coffee and no place to tinkle.”

“Tinkle?” It was my turn to laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time with the kids.” He and Lori had three; two boys, one girl; from seven to twelve.

“Okay, I’m in. Give me the plate.”

I read off the license plate of the rusted Mercury. I heard him tap the info into CCIC/NCIC.

“So what’s the case?”

I had to be careful here, if I said too much it would clue Jared in that an un-reported kidnapping had taken place. If that happened, he would be duty bound to do something about it. On the other hand, if he knew it was serious he would be more willing to help and come running if I called for backup. “It started as a missing person, but the kid turned up dead. I’m trying to find out who killed him.”

“Murder?”

“Looks like it.”

“In my jurisdiction?’ His voice turned hard.

“No. It’s a Lakewood case. But I think the turd on Black Hawk here might be involved.”

“You need help?”

I thought it over. “Not yet. I’m hoping he’ll lead me to someone bigger.”

“You think there’s more than one involved?”

“Yes, there’s more than one.”

“Care to fill me in?”

“Not just yet.”

“Okay, but if you think you’re going to get involved in something, you give me a call before you get into it. You got me?”

I smiled. He was so cute when he was serious. “I got you.”

“I mean it, Gil, you take too many chances.”

I heard his computer ding.

“Okay,” he said, “comes back on an eighty-one, Merc, to a Kevin Burbank.”

“That’s my boy.”

“How much of this do you want?”

“Wants, warrants, and criminal history.”

“He’s got a misdemeanor warrant out of Gunwood for FTA on traffic, five hundred dollar bond, and his DL is suspended with two active restraints. On the criminal history side he runs a sheet and a half, starting with shoplifting and ending with sexual assault. Pretty nasty for a twenty-two year old punk.”

“Great,” I said, “thanks. And I’m going to take you up on dinner.”

“You better, and don’t get into anything without calling me. I mean it.”

“I know.” I hung up. He’s such a worrier.

A leanly muscular white guy jogged past, wearing red Marine Corps running shorts and a gray short sleeve t-shirt, dark with sweat. Probably a Jarhead stationed at Marine Air Control Squadron-23 on Buckley Air Force Base, which stretched for forever out on the far east end of Colfax. I had a few old Leather Neck buddies that worked out there from the old — old days when I was in the Corps.

I called Sarah Gallagher down at CBI.

“Gil Mason! As I live and breathe.”

“Hi, Sarah.” She’s a sexy version of Roger Rabbit’s wife, the one who says, “I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.”

“I’m still single.”

I grinned. “That’s because there’s no one worthy of your beauty.”

“I can think of one guy that would be worthy.”

“Lucky dog.”

There was a pause. “You could be.”

“Ha, I can’t even win the penny slots in Central City. You know my luck’s never been that good.”

“Things change, if you let them.”

“Not for me,” I said. “Not yet anyway.”

She must have heard something in my voice because she stopped teasing and changed the subject. “You’re calling about the gum.”

“I am, yes.”

“Fred Monique dropped your name. Missing person case?”

“Started out that way. It’s moved into murder.”

“Oh — oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too. Were you able to get anything good from the saliva?”

“Well, yes and no.”

“Sounds interesting.” Sarah is easily one of the top ten in the world at extracting, decoding and matching DNA. She could make a bundle working for a private firm. Why she stuck it out at CBI was beyond me.

“It is, actually. I got a positive match, but when I ran it through CODIS it came back as a restricted file.”

“Restricted? Why?”

“Doesn’t say. In my experience that usually means a current or former governmental worker. Secret Squirrel stuff. CIA, FBI or some other alphabet soup agency.”

Mr. Spock. That was good. If I could place him at the burglary, I’d be a step closer in pinning Shane’s murder on him.

I asked, “Any way you can gain access to the file? Maybe get me a name?”

“I already tried. No go. Too high up. You know anybody in The Department of Defense?”

“As a mater of fact… I do.” I gave her a name and number. “Thanks, Sarah.”

“Is there anyone you don’t know, Gil?”

“No, but you’re the best of the best.”

There was another pause. “I wish that