Cooked Goose Read online

  “No sweat.”

  9:10 A.M.

  “Good morning, ladies. Coulter Limousine Service.” Dirk stood in Savannah’s doorway, wearing a smile that could only have been accomplished by sleeping with a coat hanger in his mouth the evening before. A night owl, like Savannah, Dirk felt basically the same way about morning people as she did: They should be shot at sunrise, when they were at their obnoxious perkiest.

  Savannah ushered him into the living room, where she and Margie were sipping coffee, munching donuts, and watching Bugs Bunny cartoons on television. Although Savannah had slipped into jeans and a sweatshirt, Margie was still wearing her borrowed p.j.’s and robe. They looked like the remnants of a pajama party.

  Margie was only mildly pleased to see Dirk. “So, you’re the one my dad pawned me off on,” she muttered. “Lucky you.”

  “Actually, he didn’t pawn you off on anybody. I volunteered for the job,” he said, sweeping off an imaginary hat and bowing low. “Driving a couple of beautiful women around the town isn’t such a bad way for a guy to make a buck. Are you about ready to go?”

  She sagged as though every bone in her body had just melted. “Let me get dressed.”

  After watching the girl trudge up the stairs, Savannah turned to Dirk. “Boy, you’re sure laying it on thick. What’s up?”

  He grunted, plopped down on one end of the sofa and reached into the bright pink donut box for a cream horn. “The old man wants me to dump her off at Casa Presidio in the marina.”

  “Will he be there?” She sat beside him and finished off her coffee.

  “Are you kidding?” He bit off a third of the pastry in one bite and talked while he chewed, dribbling powdered sugar down his chin. Years ago, Savannah had realized that her attempts to civilize this rough-around-the-edges bachelor were only going to be moderately effective. “If Bloss wouldn’t take the time to drive his own daughter around this morning, do you think he’s going to spend the day baby-sitting her?”

  Savannah couldn’t believe it. This was low, even for a slug like Bloss. “Are you telling me that poor kid has to sit in a hotel room alone all day, after what happened to her last night?”

  “Seems so.” He shoved in another huge bite.

  “Well, that stinks. He stinks. She’s going to be hurt and mad as hell, and I don’t blame her.”

  “Me, either. That’s why I was hoping you’d come along for the ride . . . you know, and get her settled into the room.”

  “Settled, my butt. You want someone else there to defuse the bomb when she blows.”

  “That too. Will you ride along?”

  He crammed the last third of the cream horn into his mouth and chewed noisily while he waited for her answer. He didn’t look particularly worried or anxious; he knew how Savannah felt about neglected kids, having been one herself.

  “Sure,” she said.

  He lowered his voice, leaned closer to her . . . and the donut box . . . and nabbed a lemon-filled one. “And there’s another reason why I want you along. Something’s come up. I want you to run out to Titus Dunn’s place with me.”

  “Titus? Why?”

  Before he could answer, Margie reappeared, wearing the same soiled T-shirt and shorts she had worn last night. She looked vulnerable and forlorn.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready. Where are we going?”

  “Well, I . . .” Dirk half-choked on the jelly donut.

  A look of horror crossed her face, quickly replaced by fury. “My dad didn’t tell you to take me home, did he? I mean, I can’t go back there. Not yet!”

  “No, of course not,” Savannah interjected; Dirk was still gagging. “Your father arranged for you to have a nice room down on the beach at the Casa Presidio.”

  Margie glared at Dirk. If looks could have killed the messenger bearing the bad tidings, he would have been a corpse. “A hotel?” she shouted. “He’s having you dump me off at a lousy hotel?”

  “Ah . . . that’s what he said, yes,” Dirk admitted, looking miserable. “Well, he didn’t say the ‘dump’ part.”

  “Is he or anyone else going to be there?”

  “No-o-o-o . . . not right away.”

  “Then he’s dumping me. Why couldn’t he just let me go to one of my friends’ houses? Then I could at least be with somebody who cares about me.”

  Her eyes flooded with tears and her chin trembled. Savannah wanted to take her in her arms and give her a tight hug, but she didn’t think the girl would welcome an affectionate gesture when she was so angry.

  “He probably thought you’d be the most safe and comfortable in the hotel,” Savannah offered, knowing how lame it sounded.

  “You’re wrong,” Margie said, heading for the door. “I don’t know why he wants me at a rotten hotel, but it doesn’t have anything to do with what’s best for me or what I want. He doesn’t think about me at all.” She stomped to the door and yanked it open. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Savannah reached into the coat closet for her purse and gun as Margie marched down the driveway toward Dirk’s old Buick. “I wish I could argue with her,” she said sadly, “but . . .”

  “Yeah.” Dirk nodded as he followed her out the door. “I hear ya.”

  9:55 A.M.

  “I’ve seen Sadder Sacks in my day, but that kid takes the cake,” Dirk told Savannah as they drove away from the Casa Presidio and headed inland toward the foothills, that were charred from the previous brushfires.

  “Sacks, cakes, you’re mixing your metaphors,” Savannah said absentmindedly as she stared out the passenger window and tried not to see the vision of Margie’s woebegone face when she had told her good-bye only moments before.

  “Mixing my whats?”

  “Never mind. You’re right. She was really bummed.”

  “That was pretty nice of you, Van, offering to go over to her house this afternoon and pick up some of her clothes and makeup stuff.”

  “Hey, a girl can’t live without her ‘stuff,’ especially a teenager. Besides, somebody’s gotta give the kid some attention. I was afraid if I didn’t, she’d split. She may anyway.”

  “You think?”

  “Maybe.” A chill swept over her when she thought of how the night’s events might have concluded. “I hope she stays put, behind locked doors, at least for a while.”

  “You figure he might be looking for her?”

  “Who knows why a sicko like that does anything?”

  They rode along in silence until Savannah noticed that Dirk was heading out of town to a small, neighboring community called Two Trees, named for a pair of enormous oaks that crowned a nearby hill. She recalled when Titus Dunn had moved from the beach to this area years ago.

  “By the way,” she said, “I didn’t want to ask in front of Margie, but what’s this about Titus? Why did you want me to go by his place with you?”

  “He’s missing.”

  “Missing?” The chill she had experienced went even deeper. “What do you mean, ‘missing’?”

  “I mean he didn’t report to work last night. He was supposed to come on duty at 1800 hours, but he didn’t show. In eleven years on the force, he’s never done that before.”

  “Did anybody try calling him at home to see if he’s sick or—?”

  “I did. At least five times. Just got the answering machine.”

  “How about his girlfriend, Christy? Has she heard from him?”

  “Seems she’s gone to Seattle to take care of her mom who’s dying of some terminal illness. We didn’t wanna shake her up if there’s nothing to this. She’s got enough on her plate as it is.”

  “No kidding. That’s too bad. I always liked Christy. She and Titus are a nice couple.”

  “Yeah.”

  Savannah pictured Titus as he had been the last time she had seen him at the pancake house. He had been so pleased to have been the first on the scene of Charlene Yardley’s attack, so happy to have been able to offer the victim some help and comfort.

  “You don�
��t think anything’s actually happened to him, do you?” she said.

  “Do you?”

  Officer Titus Dunn. Punctual. Reliable. A good cop. Not showing up for work or even calling in? Had something happened to him? “Maybe.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Dirk replied, his tone as grim as the expression on his street-worn face. “Maybe.”

  “Do you think it might have anything to do with this case?” Savannah waited, hoping he would say, “No.” Dirk had good instincts; if he thought Titus was okay, perhaps he was.

  “It might have something to do with the rapist,” he said. “It might not. Either way, I think Titus is in trouble.”

  Savannah’s heart sank. Not the answer she had been hoping for. “Me, too.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  10:02 A.M.

  When Dirk and Savannah came to a stop in front of the small, but well-kept cottage, she was surprised to see how many improvements Titus had made to the property. A carport had been added, flower bed planted, a lush lawn nurtured, and the hedges were meticulously trimmed.

  “The place looks great,” Savannah said as they climbed out of the car. “Looks like Christy’s got a green thumb.”

  “No, actually, that’s Titus. He’s quite the gardener. How long has it been since you’ve been here?”

  “Oh, gosh . . . at least five years. I was still on the force. Titus and Christy had just started going together, and they gave a barbecue.”

  They headed up the cobblestone sidewalk which was lined with a royal blue carpet of Crystal Palace lobelia, dotted with clusters of sweetly scented paperwhite narcissus.

  “I remember that barbecue,” Dirk said. “It was in July or August.”

  “Of course you remember, darlin’. Free food, free beer. It was probably the high point of the social season for you.”

  Dirk stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, his hands on his hips. “You know, Reid, I’m getting tired of your ‘cheap’ cracks.”

  She shoved his shoulder as she walked past him. “Don’t be so cheap, and I won’t crack. Buy me dinner sometime, big boy, and see how friendly I get.”

  He followed her, wearing his grouch face. “Ah, you’re just messin’ with my head,” he said. “I took you out to The Bench for your birthday and you didn’t exactly come across afterward. In fact, you’ve never come across . . . not even close.”

  She gave him a withering look. “You don’t exactly woo a girl. All-you-can-eat miniature meatballs and buffalo wings at a sports bar’s happy hour ain’t exactly my idea of a birthday bash.”

  “You chowed down on the pretzels and the peanuts, too,” he offered in rebuttal.

  “You said you were taking me out for a meal. I was starving.” She shook her head, disgusted. “And to think I got all dolled up in my pearls and little black dress for you.”

  He dropped the grumpy facade and winked at her. “You looked pretty damned good in those pearls, too . . . as I remember.”

  She returned the flirtatious grin and added an extra waggle to her walk. “Fortunately, your taste in women is better than your choice of restaurants and cuisine.”

  “What’s my cousin got to do with anything?”

  “Not a thing. I’m just messin’ with your head again.”

  She pointed to the black, late-model Jeep in the driveway. “That’s his Cherokee, huh?”

  “Yes, but I think he drives a 1968 Charger, too,” Dirk said, glancing around the otherwise empty drive.

  “Maybe it’s in the garage. Wanna look?”

  He shook his head and stepped up onto the porch. “Let’s see if he answers the door before we go pokin’ around.”

  Savannah joined him on the steps and watched and waited as he rang the doorbell several times. “Hmmmm,” she said. “Maybe our boy went fishing for the day or into L.A. for a gardening expo.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice. Not likely, but nice.” He jiggled the knob, but the door was locked. “Let’s try the back,” he said.

  Before they reached the rear door, they saw the first signs of trouble. Savannah knelt down and pointed out some dark, red-black drops on the cement walkway leading from the back of the house to the driveway.

  “Not a good sign,” she said, feeling her stomach lurch. The thought of a fellow cop coming to harm still made her sick, even if she wasn’t officially one of the fellows anymore.

  “Not good at all,” Dirk muttered as he hurried to the door. He turned the knob and the door swung open. “You know any cops who leave their doors unlocked?”

  “Not a one.”

  “Me neither.”

  Dirk drew his weapon, and Savannah did the same. Carefully, he took a few steps inside. She followed. They were in a small, tidy kitchen with freshly starched curtains at the window and a bowl of fresh fruit on the table. The answering machine on the counter was beeping and the light flashing. Savannah glanced at the message indicator. Five calls.

  “Titus?” Dirk called, his pistol pointed at the ceiling, every muscle and nerve tense and ready for use. “Hey, Titus,” he yelled louder as he walked slowly toward the door leading to the living room. “Are you home, buddy?”

  “It’s Dirk and Savannah,” she added, close behind him. “Yoo-hoo, Titus?”

  They had taken only a few steps into the living room when they saw the carnage: the sofa overturned onto its back, the glass coffee table shattered, the television knocked off its shelf and lying on the floor with its picture tube broken, a mirror on the wall cracked and books and knickknacks scattered everywhere.

  But those things didn’t bother them nearly so much as the blood. Lots of it. Splashed across the wall, puddled on the beige carpet, smeared on furniture. It was everywhere.

  “Oh, shit,” Savannah muttered, shaking her head.

  “This is bad,” Dirk replied, his voice husky. “Oh, man. This is really bad. I’ll check the bedroom.

  “I’ll get the bath.”

  They met a minute later in the hallway.

  “Nothing?” Savannah asked. She could tell by his face that he hadn’t discovered a corpse. Thankfully, neither had she.

  “Nobody,” he said. “But there’s more blood in there.”

  “In the bath, too. Looks like somebody tried to wash up. You’d better call it in.”

  Dirk holstered his Smith and Wesson and took a cell phone from his inside coat pocket. He punched in some numbers. His face looked so gray that Savannah wondered briefly how long it had been since he’d had a physical. This line of work was tough on anyone, let alone an aging detective who subsisted on donuts, pizza, and beer.

  “Coulter here,” he said into the phone. “I’m at Titus Dunn’s house in Two Trees. He’s not here, but the place is trashed and there’s blood everywhere. Looks like he put up a hell of a fight.”

  As he talked, Savannah continued to search the room that had, until recently, been the cozy living room of a cop who liked to garden and loved his girlfriend and barbecued ribs. Now it was a crime scene.

  Maybe even worse.

  “Hey, Dirk,” she said, interrupting his call.

  “Hold on,” he told his party on the other end. “What is it, Van?”

  “There’s a bullet hole here in the wall behind the front door, and blood spray on the paneling.”

  He hurried over to examine the neat round hole and the not-so-neat pattern of splattered blood, signifying that a human body had sprung a major leak in that immediate vicinity.

  “Shit,” he said. Then, into the phone, “You’d better send Dr. Liu and a couple of techs. I’m afraid we’ve got a homicide scene here.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  2:35 P.M.

  Savannah had left the scene to collect Margie’s “stuff” from her house—using the girl’s key rather than pick a police captain’s lock—and deliver it to the perturbed and bored teenager. By the time she returned to Titus Dunn’s cottage in Two Trees, the property had been converted into a miniature city, inhabited by Dr. Jennifer Liu, the county coroner,
and her crew of crime technicians.

  Savannah stepped over the yellow tape that was cordoning off the area, and walked up to the first technician she recognized, Eileen Brady. Eileen was on her hands and knees, collecting one of the blood drops from the driveway with a cotton swab. “Hi, Eileen,” she said, trying to blend in and not make it too obvious that she was an average citizen, not an authorized person, blithely invading a crime scene. “Is Dirk still around?”

  “He left a few minutes ago to get a bite to eat.” Eileen laughed and shook her head. “Seems nothing ruins that guy’s appetite.”

  “How true. I’ve seen him help fish a two-week-old decomposing corpse out of a lake and, half an hour later, eat a quarter-pounder with cheese. Go figure. I see the meat wagon; where’s Dr. Liu?”

  Eileen pointed with her bloody swab. “Inside the house.”

  “Thanks.”

  Savannah strolled on into the house, keeping an eye peeled for Bloss or any other members of the S.C.P.D. brass who hated her.

  There were several.

  She hated them right back.

  Not seeing anyone on her mental hit list, she ventured inside the house, where she saw a beautiful, petite, and ultra-feminine Asian woman, who looked the exact opposite of the funereal coroner stereotype.

  Dr. Jennifer Liu brushed her long, glossy, black hair away from her face with one gloved hand as she rose from where she had been kneeling on the floor. “Hey, Savannah! How nice to see you. Did you bring me some Godiva chocolates?”

  “Sorry, Dr. Jen, I didn’t know it was that time of month. PMS again?”

  “It’s always that time of the month. You should know that.”

  Long ago, Savannah and Dr. Liu had discovered they were soul sisters, and the common bond between them was a love of chocolate. Usually, when Savannah visited the doctor’s autopsy suite, she was looking for answers, and from the beginning, Dr. Liu had established the price of her bribe—a Snickers bar if it was a mundane inquiry, Godiva if it was something heavy.

  “So,” Savannah said, watching Dr. Liu move from one ruined object in the room to the next, making notes and sketches on a yellow legal pad, “how’s it going?”