Right Motive Page 2

  “Yes, sir. I hear you, sir.”

  “I know that you do.”

  Together, they exited the car.

  Ms. Shockley waited for them to come to her.

  Her straight black hair had been styled short at the top and long on the sides, and her jewelry was minimal. She held a flashlight in one hand and her phone in the other.

  He recognized that type of flashlight; used in high beam, the light could blind an attacker, and the sharp, jagged edge around the bulb could be used to jab and slice. Laila Shockley had come to the warehouse district prepared to defend herself.

  His respect for her edged higher. “Ms. Shockley? I’m Police Chief Rodolphe Dumas of the Rockin Police Department. This is Officer Gabriella Donatti. We understand you want to make a report of…?” He let the question dangle like a hook at the end of the line.

  “Bigfoot. Yeti. Whatever you want to call it.” She was snappish and defensive.

  He pulled out his notebook—with a certain generation, he still used a notebook and pencils, as he found it set them at ease—and asked, “Do you mind if I record this conversation?”

  “Actually, I do.” She took a breath. “But I’ve already made a fool of myself by calling this in, I’m going to get trouble all over town, so what difference does it make? Go ahead and record.”

  He tapped the app on his watch and ran through the formalities: her full name, her address and telephone number, everything they would need to fill in all the forms. He kept notes, too, in case the recording wasn’t clear. Then he asked, “What can you tell me?”

  “First, I want to say I’ve lived in this town my entire life. I own a real-estate firm and multiple properties, and I don’t drink or do drugs.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded.

  She studied him, looking for sarcasm. Detecting none, she continued, “I today concluded a deal on this warehouse.”

  “You bought it?” Donatti asked.

  Ms. Shockley handled Donatti’s incredulous question with admirable calm. “Yes. I closed on it a few hours ago.”

  “May I ask for what purpose?” Donatti asked.

  “Is that a law enforcement question?” Ms. Shockley asked.

  “No, ma’am. I’m genuinely confused. I don’t know why anyone would buy in this part of town.” Donatti glanced around. “It’s old and it’s dirty. The windows are broken out. Last week, the fire department was called to douse a fire in a warehouse two buildings over, set by a bunch of underage drinkers who thought it would be funny to burn the place down while they were in it. Last winter, a body was found frozen under an old piece of machinery.” She lifted one foot. “There are rats.” Clearly, the last was for Donatti the ultimate horror.

  Ms. Shockley listened patiently to Donatti’s recital, then told her, “With the recent upturn in Rockin’s fortunes, there will be a market for upscale condominiums. I came to do a tentative layout. There’ll be shops on the main floor and loft-style condos above.”

  Donatti was scandalized. “Who would open a shop in this area? The shops will be vandalized every night—and every day. Or buy a condo? The owners will be mugged in broad daylight!”

  “The reclamation of the town has to start somewhere. Think about it. It’s within walking distance of downtown. Foot traffic will go both ways. Once the revival has started, nothing will stop Rockin.” Ms. Shockley smiled at her own pun.

  Dumas cleared his throat. “Ladies, I am fascinated, too, but we’re here for a purpose. Ms. Shockley, can you tell us what you saw today?”

  Ms. Shockley got serious in a hurry. “I was up there.” She pointed up at the open third-story window. “I was looking out at the alley thinking about how this was going to be so great.”

  Donatti looked from the window then down to the alley, at the dumpster and the grime. She clearly didn’t possess Ms. Shockley’s imagination and vision, and saw only what was here. But in a law officer, that could be an advantage.

  “I heard a noise in the dumpster, this frantic scratching. At the end of the alley, I heard a moaning and a mama bear rushed over and clawed at the dumpster. Because her baby had somehow climbed in after all that great-smelling trash and he couldn’t get out. Mama had her other cub with her.” Ms. Shockley hesitated as if this part was tough. “I was thinking I had to call a wildlife officer. You know—Alaska State Troopers who know what to do with bears.”

  “Thanks for not considering us,” Dumas said.

  Ms. Shockley was amused but at the same time—she was scared. And horrified. And thrilled. She didn’t know what to think. But she was reporting what had happened as she saw it. “The mama bear was roaring, the baby inside the dumpster was crying, the baby at her side was crying. I got out my phone to dial 911. Then this pickup drove up. This guy got out.”

  “What was the make of the pickup?” Dumas kept his pencil poised over the page.

  “Green.”

  “Can you tell me more?”

  “Faded green.”

  He grinned at her. “Noted. You don’t know makes and models.”

  She nodded. If she had a sense of humor, she had lost it in the events of the day.

  “How about this?” He pointed the pencil toward the end of the alley. “Full-size? Four-door? Any damages to the body or bumpers?”

  She squinted as if trying to see into the past. “Full-size. Two-door. Older model, probably more than twenty years old. He parked so the pickup blocked the end of the alley.”

  Donatti wandered that direction, her gaze on the debris that littered the ground. On the street, she examined the pavement, looking for, Dumas knew, tire tracks.

  Ms. Shockley continued, “I was watching the driver’s side. No dings that I recall, but as I said, the paint was faded. Dull.”

  Dumas wrote that down. “Go on. Tell me about the guy.” He deliberately used the same term she had.

  Ms. Shockley had it figured out now. “He was tall.”

  “Approximate height?”

  Ms. Shockley shook her head. “Not going to guess. Not from that angle.”

  Dumas grunted. Exactly the right answer. If she was making it up, she would have given him a solid answer.

  “He was wearing jeans and a khaki-green button-up shirt, ironed, and he was in the kind of shape that makes women turn to look. The clothing looked heavy-duty, like a logger would wear. Hiking boots.”

  “Race? Eye color? Hair color?”

  She opened her mouth, and there she stuck, unable to say what she wanted.

  He lowered his notebook. “Ms. Shockley, we were told we were investigating a Bigfoot sighting. Just…say it.”

  “He was blond. All over, from what I could see.” With one hand, she gestured in a small circle. “He looked young. And human. Humanoid.” She faltered again. “I feel like I’m in a Star Trek episode.”

  “You’re sure you saw this man.”

  Ms. Shockley coolly focused on Dumas. “I’m reporting exactly what I observed.”

  “You were viewing him from three stories up, and in dim light. Could it have been a costume?”

  “Sure, except for the part about the bear.”

  “Ah. The bear.” Interestinger and interestinger. “I almost forgot about that.”

  “The man… Bigfoot slammed the driver’s side door. At the sound, the mama bear turned and roared at him. She was so upset, I thought—she’s going to charge, and he’s blocked himself in with her.” Ms. Shockley’s voice rose. “But he roared back at her.”

  “He roared back at her,” Dumas repeated.

  “This full-throated roar, like a beast.”

  Dumas glanced at Officer Donatti. She had returned. She was sort of smiling and watching him as if waiting for his reaction to have one of her own.

  “That was when I really paid attention to the…the man.”

  “You weren’t pa
ying attention to him before?” Donatti asked.

  “Yes, but my attention was torn between him and the three bears.” Ms. Shockley halted. “Bigfoot and the three bears. My God, it’s a children’s story!”

  Donatti snorted.

  Dumas frowned at her. “So the young man roared?”

  Donatti took one step back.

  “It was a full-bodied, convincing roar,” Ms. Shockley said.

  “What did the bear do?” Dumas asked.

  “She acted like she was glad they understood each other, and went back to clawing at the dumpster. The guy got a ladder out of the back of his pickup, walked up to the dumpster, leaned the ladder against it, climbed up a step and looked in. Then he climbed down, lifted the ladder and lowered the end inside.”

  With her gaze, Donatti measured the height of the dumpster. “I’d say that was seven feet. If this guy could take one step up and look in, he was over six feet.”

  “I said he was tall.”

  “I’m five-eleven. If we measure me against the dumpster—” Donatti walked toward it.

  “Don’t step on that puddle!” Ms. Shockley commanded.

  Donatti froze.

  “That’s the blood,” Ms. Shockley explained.

  CHAPTER THREE

  RIGHT. “WHOSE BLOOD?” Dumas asked.

  “Bigfoot’s.” Ms. Shockley managed to shock both officers. “If you’ll let me finish…”

  Dumas gestured. “Please do. He placed the ladder inside the dumpster and…?”

  “Baby Bear came right up. Those little guys can really climb.” She sounded affectionate and amused. “But then he was clinging to the top rung, afraid to jump down. Mama Bear was roaring at him, then roaring at Bigfoot, and I didn’t know what was going to happen. Bigfoot grabbed that garbage can—” Ms. Shockley gestured at a battered aluminum can “—carried it over and flipped it upside down. He climbed up there to get the baby. The baby came into his arms. It was so sweet.” She had that coo in her voice some women got when it came to men and babies.

  “Was the cub hurt?” Donatti hadn’t budged from her place in the alley.

  “Baby Bear was fine, but the garbage can was old and rusty.”

  They all looked at the can.

  “All of a sudden, the side bent, Bigfoot’s foot went through the rusty bottom, and he was falling with Baby. Somehow he landed on his feet, but Baby panicked and grabbed him, and slashed his shoulder and chest. Those sharp baby claws opened up his shirt, and blood started rolling. It stained the material and dripped on the ground.” Ms. Shockley indicated the puddle.

  “Officer Donatti, would you be so kind as to collect a sample of the blood?” Dumas was telling Gabriella something she should have known immediately to do.

  Now she jumped and looked at him as if feeling a little green around the gills. “Sure!” She hustled over to the patrol car.

  Did the sight of blood make her sick? Not a good thing in a police officer. He’d have to keep an eye on that. He walked to the sticky, rapidly congealing puddle, pulled out his clean handkerchief and dabbed it around the edges. When he had a decent sample, he pulled a plastic bag out of his shirt pocket, put the handkerchief inside and turned back to Ms. Shockley. “When the cub slashed him, what did Bigfoot do?”

  “He dropped the f-bomb.”

  “You heard him?”

  “Oh, yeah. He was good and loud.”

  “He can speak?”

  “English and bear.”

  They watched Donatti return with a lab kit and kneel by the puddle. “It’s blood all right,” she told them.

  Ms. Shockley said, “With all that blood, I was afraid Mama Bear would be tempted to take a bite out of him, but he didn’t seem worried. He put the cub down by Mama Bear and while she was making much of her baby, Bigfoot walked to the truck. He got in and started the engine. I thought he was leaving. He pulled forward, backed up at an angle, got out—he had retrieved a towel from the cab and he was holding it to his chest—lowered the tailgate and called the bears.”

  “He called them?” Dumas was starting to think Alaska was as wildly eccentric as Louisiana.

  “Rumbled something. Mama Bear seemed to understand. She ran toward the truck bed and jumped in. The bigger cub made the jump. Baby Bear, the one who was stuck in the dumpster, needed help, so Bigfoot picked her up and put her in. She was fine with that.”

  “Then they drove off?”

  “Yes, but… Yes, but first he looked up at the window where I was standing and he waved.”

  Donatti said “Damn!” and stood up fast.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DUMAS THOUGHT DONATTI was responding to the report of the wave, but she was cupping one hand in the other and squinting at it.

  She had blood, fresh blood, welling up in her palm.

  He and Ms. Shockley hurried over.

  “I put my hand down on a piece of glass.” Now Donatti really did look green. “So stupid!”

  The splinter glistened dully in the pad below her left index finger.

  “Not stupid.” Ms. Shockley pulled a tissue out of her purse and leaned over Donatti’s hand. “Glass is everywhere.” She eased the shard out of the skin and tossed it aside. She pressed the tissue over the cut. “But you can sure see the blood welling up.”

  “Does she need stitches?” Dumas asked, because Ms. Shockley seemed remarkably at ease with the situation.

  “No. An antiseptic wipe and a butterfly bandage should do the trick.” Ms. Shockley pulled both from her purse. She saw Dumas and Donatti looking at her, wondering why she was so prepared. “I’ve got two teenagers,” she explained. “My daughter plays soccer and my son’s in karate. If you want to break a bone, I can splint that before we transport you to the hospital.”

  “No, thank you, ma’am,” Donatti said. “This is enough.”

  Ms. Shockley finished cleaning and bandaging the wound.

  Dumas put his hand under Donatti’s arm to give her support. “Why don’t you go lean against the wall? I’ll get the blood sample.”

  “It’s okay. I got it already.”

  “Before or after you cut yourself?”

  “I think I got enough before.” But her eyes shifted away from his.

  So she wasn’t sure.

  She straightened. “Thanks, Chief. I’m okay now. I can do what needs to be done. While you finish the interview, I’ll put the blood sample in the camera bag and take pictures of the evidence.”

  “You do that.” He watched her walk to the dumpster and start photographing the scratches on the brick wall and metal sides, damages caused by Baby Bear as she climbed inside. He kept a close eye on Donatti as he continued speaking to Ms. Shockley. “So Bigfoot waved at you? He knew you were there all the time?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t make any noise. Maybe he smelled my cologne?” she suggested uncertainly.

  “What did you do when he waved?”

  “I jumped so hard, I lost my grip on my phone.”

  Dumas transferred his attention to an increasingly distressed Ms. Shockley. “You dropped it?”

  “I was filming the whole thing. I had a good grip on the phone, holding it out there, then that thing waved at me, and I jumped and I dropped it…”

  “Ma’am, did you drop the phone three stories?”

  “Yes!” She pulled it out of her purse. “It has a good, sturdy case on it, but three stories and a puddle of water, and it’s done for.” She showed him the phone. The screen was shattered; it looked as if the case was the only thing holding it together. “Do you know what that man did?”

  “Bigfoot?”

  “Yes, Bigfoot. When my phone hit the ground, he grinned.”

  “Are you saying there’s no video record of the morning’s happenings?” Dumas had either been played by an expert actress, or she was telling the tru
th exactly as it had happened. “How did you call in the, uh, sighting?”

  Donatti finished up and put the camera into the case.

  “When you push this button five times—” she showed him the side of her phone “—it calls 911. I took a chance. It worked. Then it made a frying noise…” She stared at the phone as if she’d lost her best friend. “I’ve got replacement insurance, but I don’t have time for this. Not now. This afternoon, I’ve got three construction firms coming to look over the project and start their bids.”

  Dumas shut his notebook and tucked it into his pocket. “We’ll leave you to do what you need to do.”

  That got her attention. She looked him right in the eye. “You’re not going to do anything about this, are you?”

  “Officer Donatti has taken photos of the bear scratchings on the wall and in the dumpster. We have the blood. We’ll have it tested.” He was kind but firm.

  “But nobody committed a crime,” Ms. Shockley concluded.

  “That’s right, ma’am. You’re not even the first person to call in a Bigfoot sighting today.”

  She put her hand to her forehead. “I don’t know what else to call him, but calling him Bigfoot seems politically incorrect somehow.”

  Dumas nodded. “Probably is. But I don’t know what else to call him, either.”

  Donatti said something under her breath.

  “What did you say?” Ms. Shockley asked.

  “I said yeti.” Donatti was definite in her opinion.

  “Isn’t yeti what the creature is called in the Himalayas?” Ms. Shockley asked.

  “Yes, but if you figure humans crossed the land bridge from Asia to America in successive migrations, then the yeti could have, too.” Donatti made a good case.

  “Maybe Sasquatch would be more polite?” Ms. Shockley mused. “Or I could use the creature’s name if I knew it.”

  Donatti laughed. “Yes, that would probably be the most politically correct.”

  Dumas wasn’t feigning confusion. “I believe no scientific evidence of Bigfoot exists?”