♫I try to sleep, they're wide awake, they wont leave me alone♫
♫They don't get paid to take vacations, or let me alone♫
♫They spy on me, I try to hide, they won't let me alone♫
♫They persecute me, they're the judge and jury all in one♫

♫'cause they're waiting for me♫
♫They're looking for me♫
♫Ev'ry single night they're driving me insane♫
♫Those dogs inside my brain♫

♫The dream police, they live inside of my head♫
♫The dream police, they come to me in my bed♫
♫The dream police, they're coming to arrest me♫

High Stakes
Chapter 12

    I learned everything else she had to offer by the time we reached the precinct. There wasn’t much, but a few leads piqued my interest and I mentally filed them for further investigation.

    As I entered the building, I immediately spied the officer I had hoped to find. “Hey, Lucky!” I called. He lifted his head from a desk piled high with paperwork and smiled. His smile broadened further when he spotted Samantha on my arm.

    “Lyle, you old dog. Who’s the lovely lady?” he asked as he took her paw and kissed it in an exaggeratedly chivalrous fashion. I noticed Samantha blushing a bit as I made introductions. I explained her situation and he arranged for an interrogation room where she could provide her statement.

    “She’s had a tough morning,” I reminded him. “Stick to the ‘good cop’ part of the routine.”

    “No worries there, mate,” Lucky replied as he took her gently by the paw. He glanced over his shoulder and winked at me. Several minutes later, he returned. “Looks like I found my new favorite restaurant,” he stated with a sly grin. “So, Lyle, to what do I owe the honor? It’s not every day you hand deliver a lovely witness.”

    I clucked my tongue in mock disapproval and said, “You’ll never change, Luck.” He was a shepherd, not a bird dog, but you’d never know it by his actions. He and I had developed a friendly working relationship over the last few years, trading information for mutual benefit. It started when I got caught up in an investment scam, way back when I was still young and naive. I had sunk my very last Greenie into what I was led to believe was a new dot-com designed to connect dogs across the world. What I ended up getting was a case of empty tin cans, a spool of string, and a book of stamps. Fortunately, the clever officer assigned to the case managed to trace the stamps to a couple of shysters in California and I recovered a few of my Greenies. The officer was Lucky, and he and I kept touch over the years. After I started my detective business, I was in a position to return the favor with helpful tidbits I learned during my investigations. This time, however, I was the one looking for a lead.

    “What have you heard about the assault at Miss Steak?” I asked him as I peeled open a new pack of rawhides. I offered him one and he shook his head to decline but took one anyway.

    “You know you can’t chew these in here anymore,” he stated, tucking the stick in his pocket.

    “Don’t get me started on that ordinance,” I replied, and put away the pack, annoyed.

    “Don’t I know it,” he said. “Anyway, you asked about the assault. We don’t have much yet, but I can tell you it looks like an inside job. No signs of forced entry, not much of a struggle. I think the victim knew her assailants.”

    I latched on to his use of the plural and raised an eyebrow. “Assailants? More than one attacker?”

    “It looks that way. And I’ll tell you something else, just between you and me and the fireplug. I think the attackers were female.”

    “Really? How do you know?” I asked, lowering my voice to match his, which had become low and conspiratorial.

    “I don’t. It’s a hunch. Take it with a grain of salt. Now, Lyle, your turn. Do you have any information for me?”

    I told him about the beagle and Labrador that had been spotted in the restaurant, hoping that he would recognize the descriptions if they had a criminal record. Unfortunately they didn’t match any of his regulars, so I was going to have to learn about them some other way.

    I knew just the girl for the job.