Pursue

by Vella Munn

  He was asking himself if the same thing had happened to Niko when he spotted what looked like a blanket or pile of clothing on the ground. Was that, like the car, something that hadn’t been here yesterday?

  Ah damn! Damn, damn, damn.

  Darick planted his legs under him to keep from swaying and stared at a body. His hand shook as he punched in Hank’s cell number.

  “What—?” Hank started.

  “I’m behind the trailer. Get here.”

  Chapter Six

  The victim was a woman. She carried maybe fifty extra pounds and had been wearing an oversized T-shirt and baggy shorts. The shorts and one of her tennis shoes had been pulled off. Her T-shirt was under her armpits, revealing a bloodied back. Her arms were up by her head in what struck Darick as a pathetic attempt to protect herself there. Chunks of hair had been pulled out, taking some scalp with it. Both hands were so badly mutilated, they were barely recognizable. Blood painted the backs of her legs from thighs to ankles. Prompted by memories of what had been done to Kendall Taft, Darick checked to see if her feet were still intact. They were. Judging from the bloody matted weeds, whoever had attacked her had yanked her about.

  Hank had already called the police, and Darick had told Jeff what he’d found. Jeff had asked if he thought the grays might have killed the woman. He didn’t know, or maybe the truth was, he couldn’t say the words.

  In the past, the grays had limited their violence to those who deserved it. If that standard still held, it meant the woman had been responsible for nearly garroting the hound Niko had rescued. Or they thought she’d been.

  Was this horrific death justified?

  He couldn’t say, didn’t want to touch the question.

  “The press is going to learn about this,” Hank said. “Once they do, all hell’s going to break loose.”

  He rested his hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Might be the right time for you to resign.”

  “I wish. If there was another job I could walk into that would support my family, I’d be there.”

  Hank needed him. In contrast, the woman was beyond needing anyone. As for her dog—maybe it would have to stay where it was until the crime scene investigation was over.

  Crime scene? Yes.

  The worst thing Darick had seen in his life.

  * * * *

  Niko was heading for her Jeep at the end of the school day when she spotted Darick leaning against it. She transferred the tote holding the essays she needed to grade from her left hand to her right and slowed her pace. Darick’s expression left her with no doubt that she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. If the mare or colt had died—

  “What is it?” she asked when she was close enough to be heard over the sound of buses and private vehicles. Her plan had been to swing by the vet’s office on her way home. She hadn’t expected to hear from Darick and had told herself she didn’t want to. Seeing him awakened more emotions than she needed after a day of dealing with youthful hormones.

  “We need to talk.”

  “It’s something I don’t want to hear, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  As lightheadedness pulsed, she stepped around him and deposited the tote on the passenger’s seat.

  “The mare? The colt?”

  “It isn’t them.”

  Relieved, she positioned herself so she was leaning against her vehicle and looked at him. He was in her world this afternoon, didn’t quite fit.

  “What then? The hound—?”

  “I’ve been on Tamel Road. Hank and I went out together.”

  “Oh.” She both wanted to shake him for making her pull every word out of him and wished she could put off learning why he was here for the rest of her life.

  “Not here,” he said. “Too many exhaust fumes, noise, eyes.”

  She pointed at the baseball complex beyond the parking lot. This time of year, no one was around. At his nod, she led the way to the gate in the cyclone fencing and from there to the home team’s dugout. She sat on the weathered wooden seat and watched as he slipped his fingers through the fencing and stared out at the diamond.

  “I used to play,” he said. “Mostly shortstop, sometimes second. Coaches wanted me to pitch but I couldn’t control my fastball. I miss those days, spitting sunflower seeds, even running laps when we pissed off the coach.”

  She imagined him crouched in the infield, his glove ready for a line drive and his attention riveted on the opposing team’s batter. He’d be single-minded, an athletic teenager taking his body and future for granted.

  “I ran track,” she said. “I was pretty fast for someone with short legs. I wanted to play basketball but I’m vertically challenged.”

  “They’re dead.”

  Her heart beat several times before she caught up with his abrupt change of topic. “The chickens? All of them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No,” she moaned and buried her face in her hands. She needed to rock but was afraid that would reveal too much weakness. Too much guilt. “Oh no. How…?”

  When the wood she was sitting on sagged, she knew he’d joined her. She but couldn’t make herself face him.

  “Listen,” he muttered. “I’ll try—you need to know everything.”

  “All right.”

  It wasn’t right! She’d felt so noble letting the chickens free, followed by making sure Hank knew what she’d done. The chickens would have loved running around chasing bugs, pecking seeds, doing whatever chickens did when they weren’t confined. How had it all blown up? And how could she deal with what she’d done?

  “I watched the police conduct their investigation. They told me some things—”

  “The police?”

  He stared at her until she was forced to do the same. “Yeah. Niko, Hank and I found a body. A woman.”

  Her hand went to her mouth and stayed there as he described how Hank and he had found the slaughtered chickens, his decision to go behind the mobile, seeing a strange car with a dog trapped in it, spotting a dead woman near where the hound had been tethered. She was sure he wasn’t sparing her as he detailed the woman’s injuries. His voice was dull, and he seldom blinked, but he dug his fingers into his thighs and his nostrils remained flared.

  “The grays,” she said when she believed he was done. “That’s their work.”

  “That’s what Hank and I concluded.”

  He explained that, between the police, Hank, and him, they’d determined, judging by the number of paw prints in the dirt and bites on the victim, that the unnamed woman had been attacked by at least three dogs, one of them considerably larger than the others.

  “Three.” Her stomach was knotted. It might stay like that for hours. Should she tell him about the male gray showing up at her place? “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you? I have no doubt the smaller prints belong to Smoke’s puppies.”

  “The puppies—you believe they killed…?”

  “Not just the woman. Their prints were all around the chickens.”

  She moaned.

  “Niko, there was no sign that either of the grays participated in killing the chickens, but the puppies weren’t the only attackers.”

  She started shaking her head.

  “Lobo,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Not one hundred percent, but Lobo’s prints are on file. It won’t take much to verify what I believe.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “The way I see it, the wolf-dog did what he’s hardwired to do. The puppies are learning from him. Imitating him. I have pictures.”

  Seeing them was the last thing she wanted to do, but she wouldn’t be able to face herself, or him, if she didn’t make herself walk in his shoes as much as possible.

  “Show me,” she whispered.

  Twice she had to close her eyes and concentrate on breathing. She wondered if he’d thrown up, wouldn’t have been surprised if he had. The woman’s body had been so badly mutilated she couldn’t be
sure of everything that had been done to her. Most of the shots were of the woman’s torso but the last two which showed her staring up at nothing were the worst. She looked so helpless, done in, surrendered. There wasn’t pain so much as disbelief and, strangely, acceptance.

  “She was the hound’s owner?”

  “The police aren’t sure. Until she’s been identified—don’t say anything to anyone.”

  “I won’t.” She handed the phone back to him, careful not to touch his fingers.

  “The police aren’t going to have a press conference at least until they’ve contacted the next of kin.”

  She started to nod but stopped because the gesture made her head spin. “If she was responsible for the dog I rescued, she must have also owned the chickens.”

  “Maybe.”

  Maybe? He was thinking like a cop, reserving judgment until he had all possible facts—either that or he’d clamped down on his emotions so they wouldn’t overwhelm him.

  “There’s something else you need to know,” he said. “I told the police that you were out there earlier.”

  “Why did—?”

  “What did you want me to do, lie to protect your identity?”

  “No, of course. I’m sorry I said what I did.”

  “You’ve had a lot thrown at you.”

  “So have you. I’m sorry you had to be there.”

  “It happened.” He brushed the back of her hand. “One last thing. If the police identify you by name, the media is going to come looking for you. You’re going to need to explain what prompted you to set the chickens up to be slaughtered.”

  * * * *

  He really had been a bastard, Darick acknowledged as he waited for a bus to lumber past. He figured he knew enough about Niko to assume she’d blame herself for the chickens’ demise. He hadn’t had to rub it in, wouldn’t have if he wasn’t so raw.

  She hadn’t needed to see the damn pictures or to have him hit her with images of the media camped out on her doorstep, but for some reason he’d needed her to experience and think the same as him.

  A beer. Maybe two. Once the alcohol was in his system, hopefully things would start to smooth out inside him. He’d no longer see what was left of that woman or the countless feathers every time he closed his eyes. He wouldn’t wonder what Niko was going through.

  As he joined the line of traffic still exiting the school, he tried to remember if he had any beer in the refrigerator. He wasn’t sure, but stopping and buying some would take more concentration than he was capable of. Also, all the crouching, kneeling and leaning he’d done today had put more stress on his back than it needed, so he decided to go straight home and take his chances on what he’d find in the refrigerator.

  Hank had told him that his first priority was to complete the report on the chickens’ killing. He’d also get an update from Doc Beck about the two horses and hound. Finally, he’d go home and help his youngest daughter work on a science project. Hank wouldn’t say anything to his children about what his day had been like, but later he and his wife would talk about it. She always knew when he had a rough case.

  If he was going by the books, Darick would be heading for his office and spending a couple of hours with his email. However, he’d already told Jeff he was done for the day and why. Just before seeing Niko, he’d called Doc Beck, who’d told him the colt’s condition was unchanged. The mare’s fever still hadn’t broken. In contrast, the hound was fully awake and chewing on his blanket. The wound was better. Darick contemplated calling Jeff and telling him about his conversation with Niko, but he didn’t.

  It took less than ten minutes for him to reach the complex that had been built some twenty years ago. From a distance, the complex looked pretty good, with a composite product masquerading as wood siding and a pale blue metal roof designed to mirror the ocean. However, as he’d learned within about a week of moving in, appearances and quality weren’t the same. The plumbing materials they’d used were a half-step above worthless, he’d stopped counting how many times he’d had to hit the reset button for the kitchen’s electricity and the carpet held on to stains. When he’d complained to Jeff, Jeff had told him to shut up and move, but relocating from Montana to Oregon had cured him of any interest he had in packing his belongings. Besides, he hadn’t seen any other apartments he liked better.

  Maybe if he spent more time within the walls or wanted to turn where he lived into a home or had someone to share it with, it would have been different. But it wasn’t, so he changed faucets, bought surge protectors, put an area rug over the walkway between the kitchen and living room and tried not to think about that part of his life.

  Pity pot. And today, sick at heart.

  What did he expect? he asked himself as he unlocked the front door and rammed his shoulder against it to get it to open. Right now he’d give a great deal to be helping Hank’s daughter with her science project.

  Or playing baseball.

  He kicked off his boots, then stared at them. They were caked with dust and a few feathers clung to the laces. He wondered if he’d stepped on blood Probably. Before he acknowledged what he was doing, he’d stripped off all his clothes. He put them in the washing machine and went into the bathroom. Because the washing machine was filling, little more than a trickle came from the shower, but he stepped into the small space and soaped and re-soaped himself until the water turned cold. He patted himself dry, all except for his hair, which continued to drip as he put on a T-shirt and jeans.

  Feeling more human, he walked barefoot into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. A single beer was on the top shelf. He’d popped the top and had taken a swallow when his cell phone started buzzing. The call was from Detective Anders, who’d been in charge of things earlier today.

  “Darick,” the detective said, “I thought I’d give you a heads-up. I tried calling the woman you said was out there prior to the attack, but she didn’t answer.”

  Damn. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “All right. Also, we know who the dead woman is. I’m meeting with the press in five minutes.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Cheryl Moyan. Her brother came looking for her not long after the coroner left with the body.”

  “That had to be rough on the brother.”

  “Hard to tell. At first he kept insisting Cheryl’s estranged husband must have killed her. I finally got him calmed down. When I told him how she died—I gave him just the barest details—he didn’t have much reaction. Anyway, according to the brother, Cheryl hasn’t lived at the mobile for a couple of months. James—that’s her husband—is working out of town. He’d asked her to go over and feed the dog and chickens.”

  “In other words”—Darick tightened his hold on the beer—“wrong place, wrong time for her.”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  * * * *

  Chinook exploded from the house the moment Niko opened the door. The Doberman immediately squatted, glaring at Niko as she relieved herself. Niko didn’t blame her dog, since she usually left Chinook outside when she was at work. Not only had she built a large doghouse so Chinook would have a place to go when it rained, her grandfather was usually home and only too willing to let the dog hang out with him. However, Grandpa had had errands to run today and, concerned that the gray might be still around, she’d left Chinook inside. She’d tried to explain her reasoning to the regal creature but obviously hadn’t been successful.

  Hoping to make up for her shortcomings, she let Chinook stay outside while she unloaded her tote and put the essays on the dining room table. A Detective Anders had left a message on her cell phone, asking her to call him, but that would have to wait until her thinking was clearer, and that might take a while.

  Grandpa was due back anytime, it was too early to start dinner, and besides, she didn’t have an appetite. She couldn’t think of anyone other than Mia she wanted to talk to and wasn’t sure she was ready to share what Darick had told her.

  Darick ha
ted her or, if not hate, close to it. If she hadn’t impulsively opened a door, all those chickens might still be alive. Maybe the chickens and not wanting to bring justice for the hound were what had drawn the grays to the mobile.

  Now a woman was dead.

  “I found the mare, colt and hound,” she said, even though Darick wasn’t around to hear. “You think I wanted to be part of that?”

  It wasn’t the same thing. So far the animals were alive, the woman not so much.

  Restlessness crept over her. She’d lose her mind if she had to stay inside. After opening the door, she searched for Chinook. There were any number of places the dog’s nose might have taken her, many invisible from where she was.

  Maybe Chinook’s nose wasn’t what was in charge, she acknowledged as she put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. If the conclusion Darick and the others had come to was correct, and she had no reason to think otherwise, only one of the grays had attacked the woman. The other gray could be anywhere, including just out of sight.

  “Chinook! Chinook. You want an early dinner? Come on, girl. Something good, really good.”

  She listened but heard nothing except for the familiar breeze. This land had always represented tranquility, but today there was something else, a dark undercurrent. Things were falling apart. In some respects, they had been ever since earlier in the year, when Mia had found that gravely injured cow elk then watched a big gray beast break a calf’s neck.

  The grays were still here, killing because they could. Stalking. Watching. Deciding. Judging. Dangerous.

  Fascinating.

  She whistled again. She couldn’t say she was shocked when she heard a deep-throated bark coming from the evergreens to the west. As she’d done the other time, she went in for her rifle then started toward the trees. She needed to locate Chinook, but keeping her attention on her destination was more important. She wished she knew whether what she was feeling was fear, but her emotions were too complex for a simple explanation. One thing she was certain of, she was alive. Alive. All the way to her bone marrow alive.