Upholding the Paw by Diane Kelly

deal with confrontations involving the threat of lethal force.
    Jackson reached into her pocket and pulled out a brand-new thumb drive. “Can you download the video files to this? I’d like to have a copy for my records.”
    â€œOf course.” The guard took the drive from her. “It’ll just take a minute or two.”
    While the guard copied the video files, the detective and I questioned the remaining bank employees. The one who’d been hysterical earlier was still in tears and sobbed throughout our entire interview. The manager let her go on home afterward.
    None had anything new to add. No one had seen anyone who looked suspicious, no one recognized either of the men who’d come into the bank, and no one had noticed the third man waiting outside.
    After the last witness left the room, I turned to the detective. “Where do we go from here?”
    Jackson pulled out her laptop and booted it up. “Let’s run a little search on Dawson and his fan club.”
    She typed each of their names into the criminal records database. According to the system, none had any convictions, though Arthur Scheck had been arrested a year ago on fraud charges related to refunds of merchandise at a local department store. The store manager suspected the returned items had been stolen. Scheck had been unable to provide receipts and claimed that there were no bank or credit card records of the purchases because he’d paid cash for the items. The charges were later dropped due to lack of evidence. Unless a thief was caught in the act, such cases were hard to prove.
    Next, Jackson checked the driver’s license records. Curiously, while Grant Dawson, Chris Vogel, and Yolanda Wilkes held only the standard operator’s license, Arthur Scheck held a current Class B commercial driver’s license that would allow him to conduct vehicles capable of transporting twenty-four or more passengers. His height and weight—5' 11" and 170 pounds—nearly mirrored those of Chris Vogel who, according to his driver’s license, was 5' 10" and 165.
    â€œYou think Scheck might have been the one standing inside the doors?” I asked. “The one who drove the bus after it was hijacked?”
    â€œI think we should pay him a visit,” Jackson said, making note of his address, “and find out.”
    As she slid her computer into her bag, her cell phone rang. She checked the screen. “It’s Melinda.” She thumbed the screen to accept the call and put the phone to her ear. “Whatcha got for me?” She paused a moment. “They got a lock on the cell? Great. Have dispatch send three cars to the scene. We’re on our way, too.”
    I rousted the sleeping dog at my feet, and the detective, Brigit, and I rushed back through the bank lobby. . We burst out the front doors and ran to my cruiser. While Jackson climbed into the passenger seat, I loaded Brigit into her pen in the back. My butt had barely hit the seat before I was speeding out of the bank’s parking lot, lights flashing and siren blaring. Woo-woo-woo!
    We sped down Rosedale, took the I-35 frontage road north to Lancaster, and hooked a right, entering an old industrial area with some buildings dating back more than a hundred years. I braked to a quick stop at an ancient warehouse across the street from the former meat-packing plant that now served as the Cutting Edge Haunted House, a seasonal venue open each Halloween. The enormous, club-wielding demon who lorded over the site every October ready to bludgeon passersby now rested on his back atop the building, in some type of off-season, unholy hibernation.
    Officers Spalding and Hinojosa had already responded, positioning their cars at either end of the block and waiting for backup. As I pulled to a stop behind Spalding, Mackey pulled up behind Hinojosa at the other end of the street. Following my lead, the officers exited their vehicles, guns drawn. Spalding