“I didn’t know his dog died!” I argue, throwing my hands up in the air in exasperation that this conversation is even happening right now.
The only reason I’m allowing it is because I have a 9-1-1 recording that will bring me great joy for years to come. I might even make it my ringtone. Who’s to know? The possibilities are endless. Dax has earned the right to witness a miniscule amount of my own humiliation after the day he’s had and all that personal shit he’s dealing with. But a miniscule amount is all he’s going to get.
“He made me talk first as soon as he walked in the door,” I continue, wrapping this dumb story up fast so we can get back to business. “It’s his own fault. He should have known better. Good things never come out of my mouth, and he really should have led with the whole dead dog thing.”
“That makes his tears so much less painful.” Dax nods.
“Bite me. I’m just saying, not all of his misery was because of me. Dad, it’s always a pleasure taking a trip down memory lane with you, but Dax and I really need to get to work.”
My dad finally picks up the box from his desk as he makes his way to the steps to the kitchen. “Right, right. Girly man needs to find his babies. Good luck with that. Let me know if you need my help,” he tells me before nodding in Dax’s direction as he pauses at the base of the steps, hefting the box of squirrels up higher in his arms. “It was nice meeting you. Don’t let her make you cry. I gotta be honest; it doesn’t sound good on you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blake,” Dax replies, holding his friendly smile like a trooper until my dad finally heads up the steps and disappears into the kitchen, hopefully never to be seen or heard from again.
“Can we finally get to work now?” I ask, walking over to my desk and grabbing a notebook and pen.
“You sure you don’t want to talk more about these boyfriends you neglect?” Dax asks.
“You sure you don’t want to reenact that 9-1-1 call for me? I’ve got a box of Kleenex in my desk drawer you can use,” I retort.
I hear him mutter a few curses under his breath, and I smile to myself as I turn back to him with the pen and notebook in my hand, knowing I’ve won this round.
“Since we know it was an inside job, give me a list of all the employees who have keys to the otter cages. Wait, it just occurred to me. Don’t they need to be in water at all times?” I scribble on top of a clean page in the notebook to get the pen to start working, ignoring the sigh that comes out of Dax’s mouth.
“No, they don’t have to be in water at all times. These are North American river otters, not sea otters. Sea otters will only really come up on land to nurse, groom, or rest. They spend most, if not all, of their lives in the water. My river otters are equally at home in water or on land. And I could give you the employee list, but it would be a waste of time. None of them took Chris or Lincoln,” Dax informs me.
Looking up from my notebook, I cock my head at him and ask him the questions I already got answers to from Nanci. “Were the locks on the cages tampered with?”
Dax shakes his head.
“Were they open when you got there this morning?”
He shakes his head again, pursing his lips in annoyance.
“Are the otters able to climb up and out of the cages on their own?”
He blows a long, frustrated breath out before shaking his head one last time. “No. They’re connected to the floor and go all the way up to the ceiling, closing them in.”
“And was there an hour of security camera footage from that night that has mysteriously disappeared from the master drive? You know, where one minute you have all eight otters in the cage, and then suddenly the recording skips and there are only six otters in the cage, with no footage in between?”
Dax is completely silent. He just continues staring at me with a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“It was an inside job,” I say again, softer this time. “It might not have been done on purpose. Maybe it was just an accident and someone forgot to lock the cage, but since no one has come forward to admit it, I have to treat everyone like suspects for the time being.”
He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, clutching it back out of his way on top of his head.
“I know this sucks. The people I’ve met so far who work at The Backyard are good and kind, and Nanci told me the rest are all the same. But even good people sometimes do shitty things. Give me the names, and I’ll get started on the employee interviews first thing tomorrow.”
Dax immediately drops his hand from his head, narrowing his eyes at me and looking a little more like the angry Dax back at the animal sanctuary.
“Tomorrow? You’ve got to be fucking with me! They’ve already been missing too long as it is,” he complains.
Now that I know Nanci was right and his bark really is worse than his bite, I stand my ground. “Yes. Tomorrow. This isn’t my first case. Stop being a pain in my ass, and let me do my job and find your otters.”
My comment makes him lose a little bit of his anger. His shoulders visibly relax, and he finally unclenches his hands from the fists he was holding down at his sides.
“I already worked it out with Nanci, and you have thirty volunteers who are going to continue searching the property in shifts through the night,” I tell him. “And I know this is a small town, but it’s a pretty heavily populated area once you leave The Backyard’s land. If Chris and Lincoln did get loose and somehow made it over the property line, someone in town is bound to notice them and call the authorities. You can give me the names I need and a few other pieces of information, and then you can go home, get some rest, and let me do what I can from here for now. I’ve already put out calls to my contacts, just in case anyone tries to illegally sell an otter or two. I’ll know about it before that person even hangs up the phone. If I haven’t heard anything, and if they haven’t been found by morning, I will start the interviews then.”
“You mean we can start the interviews then,” Dax corrects me, closing the distance between us until he’s standing a foot away from me.
“Oh no. That’s not happening. Nope, no way.” I shake my head.
“Yes way. These are my otters. There’s no fucking way I’m not going to help find them.”
I continue shaking my head at him. “Your employees are afraid of you. I think I saw one of them pee a little when you yelled this morning.”
“That’s a little dramatic,” he mutters.
“Is it though? I won’t be able to get straight answers out of these people if you’re standing there shouting and glaring at them.”
After a few seconds of quiet contemplation, he finally shrugs. “Okay then. No shouting or glaring. What better way to get my employees to start liking me than with you by my side, bringing out my sparkling personality?” He finally smiles.
I should say no. I’ve never let a client help me with a case beyond the initial interview and any follow-up questions I might have, because they’re too close to the case and too emotional to be objective. I also work much better alone. It’s one of the main reasons I didn’t like being a cop. People are annoying. Having to work with other people and be a team player just wasn’t my cup of tea. Dax isn’t a normal client, though. And all he’ll do is bother me more if I refuse to let him work with me.