I forced a smile. “I’ll just wait for the doctor here. You can let June know I’m here, if she wants to talk to me. I didn’t see her when I went to Animal Control to talk about the dog yesterday.”
Pink Hair nodded and withdrew. The door closed with a little click behind her. I sat down on the only chair in the small room, and got busy scratching Pearl’s ears and assuring her she’d be all right between signing my life away on the admittance forms.
Twenty-Three
Doctor Anderson walked in just a few minutes later. He was on the tall side, and handsome, in a distinguished sort of way. Prematurely gray, at a guess, since his face didn’t quite match the pallor of his hair. I’d put him in his late thirties; ten years or so older than me. He was dressed in jeans and a blue shirt under the white coat, and sported a friendly smile. At least until Pearl started growling at him, her neck hair standing up.
“Sorry,” I said, while I tried to calm her down. “She’s protective.”
“That’s OK. It’s nice that she has bonded with you so quickly.” He held out a treat. Pearl’s nose twitched, but she didn’t accept it.
“Go ahead,” I told her. “He’s not going to hurt you. He’s just making sure you’re all right.”
It looked like she contemplated that. I don’t think she actually understood a single word, but she could tell I wasn’t afraid, so she backed down.
Doctor Anderson wisely refrained from touching her while she was chomping on the treat. She might have taken his hand off if he’d tried. Instead he talked to me. “Tell me about her.”
“I told you all I know on the phone yesterday. She’s a rescue. I found her two days ago chained outside a trailer up near the Devil’s Backbone. Her owner had been shot. Your girlfriend came and picked her up, and she must have run away, because yesterday afternoon she was back up there, probably looking for Robbie.”
The vet was back at the previous thing I’d said. “My girlfriend?”
“Your receptionist told me that you and June are involved. I saw her truck in the parking lot.”
“Oh.” He flushed.
“Just out of curiosity, where were you the night the Skinners were shot?”
His brows arched. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“Just asking a question,” I said. “See, it occurred to me that someone might have killed the Skinners to rescue the dogs. Most people wouldn’t consider a human life a fair trade for a dog—let alone seven—but someone who sees neglected and abused animals all the time, like you and your girlfriend...”
I trailed off, suggestively.
“If someone killed the Skinners to rescue the animals,” Doctor Anderson said stiffly, “wouldn’t they have taken the dogs with them?”
“I’m not sure. That would make it kind of obvious that the dogs were the target, wouldn’t it? And anyway, you and your girlfriend would have known that Animal Control would be called in, and she’d get her hands on those dogs anyway, a few hours later. Anybody else who killed seven people to rescue dogs might have taken the dogs. You two didn’t have to.”
“That’s crazy,” Doctor Anderson said, but without a whole lot of conviction.
“I’m not accusing you of anything. Just curious. I don’t suppose you’d tell me where you were last night? Between seven and ten, say?”
“What happened yesterday?”
He sounded sincerely concerned, which was a point in his favor. I also didn’t get the sense that he already knew the answer to his question, although I’m not as adept at winkling out lies as Rafe, so I could have been wrong about that.
“Someone shot Sheriff Satterfield. And the TBI agent who’s in town helping him.” The TBI agent who happened to be the love of my life and the light of my existence. Although I didn’t mention that.
“That’s terrible,” Doctor Anderson said. I thought he looked a bit pale, honestly. “June and I were together last night. We had dinner. That was probably around six-thirty or seven. We spent the night at home. My home.”
“Alone? Together?”
“We’re consenting adults,” Doctor Anderson said dryly. “Yes. Alone, together.”
“So neither of you has an alibi.”
He shook his head. “We didn’t realize we’d need one. Is the sheriff serious about suspecting us?”
“The sheriff is in the hospital after having a bullet dug out of his shoulder. He’s mostly concerned about finding who shot him. We think there’s a connection to the Skinner homicides.”
Doctor Anderson looked at me for a second. Then he leaned back and opened the door to the hallway. “June!”
A moment later, rapid footsteps sounded outside. “Eric? Are you OK?”
She stuck her head through the opening, and took in me and Pearl. Her voice changed. “Oh.”
“They think we shot the Skinners. And the sheriff and his deputy.”
“Agent,” I said.
“The sheriff?” June’s confusion looked real, as well.
I told her what had happened. “We think there’s a connection between the shootings yesterday and the Skinners. I think, when we get the bullets back, they’ll be from one—or both—of the guns that were used in the Skinner homicides.”
She looked at me for a second. “Your husband is the TBI agent who came down from Nashville, right?”
I nodded. The love of my life and the light of my existence.
“Is he all right?”
“The bullet mostly missed,” I said. “He bled some. The sheriff took one in the shoulder, and had to spend the night in the hospital.”
She shook her head. “That’s terrible.”
I couldn’t agree more.
“She asked about our alibis,” Doctor Anderson told June. “For the night the Skinners died, and last night.”
June turned back to me. “We were together last night. At Eric’s place. The night the Skinners were shot, I think we were together, as well.”
“At the Skinners’?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, not at the Skinners’. Are you serious? I love animals, but I wouldn’t kill people over them. Not when I could have just called the cops. That’s what we’ve been working on. Getting enough evidence of the dog fighting to call in the sheriff.”
She sounded sincere. And it did make sense. Nonetheless, there were two of them, just like there were—had been—two shooters at the Skinners’. And I didn’t believe for a second that they wouldn’t lie for each other, so their alibis were worth squat.
Of course I didn’t let her know that’s what I thought. “I appreciate it,” I said instead, and changed the subject. “I guess your colleague down at Animal Control told you I want to keep Pearl? She made her way back to Robbie Skinner’s place yesterday afternoon, and she seems to like me.”
“She damn near went for my throat when I came in,” Doctor Anderson added, as corroborative evidence. A bit of an exaggeration, but appreciated, nonetheless.
June hesitated. “I can’t keep you from keeping the dog. You’ve got her. She’s in your possession. You didn’t have to let us know that you planned to keep her.”
“But?”
“You realize she’s been mistreated and neglected and probably abused? She’s going to have issues.”
“I’ve already learned that I have to keep smaller animals away from her,” I said, giving her a scratch behind the ears. “Other than that, she’s been great. I’m not worried.”
Doctor Anderson moved forward. “Let’s get her up on the table. Give me a hand, June?”
June gave him a hand. Pearl didn’t look thrilled, but she allowed herself to be hoisted onto the slick metal table, where her nails scrabbled for purchase. She started shedding like crazy, and shivering like a leaf. I stroked her and cooed at her. “It’s OK. It’ll be over soon. He’s just looking at you. After this is over, we’ll go home where you’ll be safe.”
The examination didn’t take long. Pearl had no broken bones and no lacerations. I already knew that, since her
fur was short and if she’d had open wounds, I would have noticed. She also didn’t have fleas or mange. She got a pill for heartworm, a couple of shots for other things, had her toenails cut, and then I was allowed to walk out with her, a lot poorer, but with a few interesting tidbits of information. Pearl looked beyond happy to be done, her tongue wagging and her stubby tail sticking up jauntily as she made her way toward the Volvo.
I opened the back door for her, and she jumped in. I pulled out my phone and called Rafe.
It took him a few seconds to answer. “Collier.”
I assumed from the greeting he wasn’t alone. Or maybe he just hadn’t taken—or had—the time to look at the display.
“It’s me,” I said. “Everything all right?”
“Fine.”
OK, then. “I wanted to update you on my visit to the vet. Turns out he and June, the Animal Services person, the one who came to pick up the dogs from the Skinner properties the other morning, are involved. They’re each other’s alibis for last night and the night the Skinners were shot.”
He made some sort of noise.
“I don’t know whether they have access to shotguns, but it wouldn’t surprise me. This is the country down here.”
He made another noise.
“Pearl got a pill and some shots, and we’re on our way home. Or somewhere else. I’m not sure yet.” The implication being that I’d be happy to drop everything and meet him somewhere if he suggested it.
He didn’t.
“Where are you?” I asked. “Still at the hospital?”
“We left a few minutes ago.” ‘We’ being him and Lupe Vasquez, I assumed, since he had said earlier he intended to have her meet him there.
“How’s the sheriff this morning?”
“Grumpy,” Rafe said. “The pain’s worse the second day. After the adrenaline and anger wears off.”
Did that mean he was in more pain today, too? “Did you have anyone take a look at you?”
He said he had. “The doc offered to put in a couple stitches, but it’s already healing on its own, so he said it wasn’t necessary. It was just if I wanted to.”
“Let me guess. You didn’t want to.”
“Why’d I want stitches I don’t need?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “I forgot to dig that bullet out of your backseat last night and get it to forensics.”
I glanced into the backseat, beyond Pearl, who had settled into a pretzel-shape, with her nose on her back legs. “I see the hole.” Round and neat in the middle of the leather. We’d have to patch the upholstery, I guess. Or get used to driving around with a bullet hole in the car. Maybe, when the baby came, I could position the car seat in front of it. “I could use a new windshield, too,” I added.
The cracking wasn’t too bad. A sunburst going out from a small hole in roughly the middle of the window. I’d been able to see all right while I was driving, but it would be easier without the cracks.
Rafe swore. “I didn’t remember that. I can’t believe I left you with a broken windshield.”
“Mother didn’t give you much time to think this morning,” I pointed out. “And it isn’t that bad. I can drive with it. Although we’ll have to have it replaced at some point.”
I heard his voice talking, but not to me. After a second, he came back on the line. “There’s a repair shop a couple blocks north of where you are. Drive up there, and we’ll pick you up.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your work. I can make it back to the mansion. I made it here.”
“I want it fixed,” Rafe said, “before we have to drive back to Nashville. There, you’ll be stuck at home. Here, at least your mama’s around, and you have sisters and a brother who can pick you up if you need to go somewhere.”
He had a point. And it was nice of him to think of it. “I’ll see you there, then.”
“Tell’em to leave the bullet in the backseat alone.”
He hung up before I could tell him that I had no intention of letting anyone into the backseat as long as Pearl was there. And Pearl would be there until Rafe showed up with another car to put her in.
* * *
The repair shop was easy to find. As he’d said—as Lupe Vasquez had no doubt told him—it was just a few blocks up the street from the Animal Hospital. I pulled into the lot in front of a garage bay, and parked. “We’ll wait here a minute,” I told Pearl, even as a man in mechanic’s overalls came out of the little office next to the bays, and toward me. “Excuse me a second. It’ll probably be best if I take this outside.”
Definitely best, since Pearl had already seen the guy, and was rumbling low in her throat.
“Just wait a minute,” I told her. “Rafe will be here soon, and then we’ll get you out of there.”
She didn’t look happy, but she settled back down. I stepped out of the car and closed the door. “I’m waiting for my husband to get here to pick me up. Me and the dog.”
The guy—his nametag said his name was Greg—glanced into the car and turned pale. “I need a new windshield,” I told him.
He looked at it. “That looks like a bullet hole.” The accompanying look was accusatory.
“We’ll dig the bullet out of the upholstery before we leave the car with you.”
He had no answer to that. “I should be able to get the windshield done today. Dunno that I can do anything about the seat.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, as a Columbia PD squad car pulled into the lot. “I’ll take care of the seat. You just worry about the window. This is them now.”
The squad car pulled up next to the Volvo, and Rafe opened the passenger side door. It looked like he’d lost the argument over who was driving again today. The mechanic—Greg—took one look at him and swallowed.
“My husband,” I said.
He gave me a look—something like mingled respect and horror—and nodded. “We... um...” His voice cracked, and he tried again, “I just told your wife I think we can get this windshield fixed today.”
Rafe nodded. “Scuse me.” He pulled a knife out of his pocket. Greg turned a shade paler. I couldn’t help but smile, although I tried to hide it. He practically collapsed against the side of the car when Rafe stepped past him and opened the back door. “C’mon, sugar.”
He lifted the dog out of the car. “Get the door.” He nodded to the squad car.
I hustled to open the back door, and he loaded Pearl inside before turning back to the Volvo and crawling into the backseat.
Greg looked like he was thinking about running away, but thought better of it. “I’ll... um...” He gestured to the office.
I nodded. “Someone will be in to talk to you in a minute.”
Greg looked less than thrilled as he slithered along the side of the Volvo before making a break for it across the parking lot.
Rafe backed out of the car and straightened. It hadn’t taken long to dig out the bullet.
“Did you get it?”
He nodded and showed it to me, flat on his palm. “Forensics’ll match it to the one they dug out of the sheriff, and the ones they recovered from the Skinners.”
“Bet?”
He shook his head. “It’s gonna be one or the other of the same guns. Not sure it matters which. The one they took outta the sheriff yesterday matches the gun used on Art and Linda.”
“So this might be from the gun they used on Cilla and her boyfriend.”
“Might could.” He walked around the squad car to Lupe Vasquez’s window. “Take care of this for me.” He dropped the bullet, or slug, or whatever it’s called, into her hand. “I’m gonna go inside and deal with the mechanic.”
Lupe Vasquez nodded. “I’m sorry,” she told me as Rafe headed for the office, “but you’re going to have to sit in the back with the dog. Behind the partition.”
“No worries. I’ve been in police cars before.” I crawled into the back with Pearl. She waited for me to get comfortable—as comfortable is it’s possible to get in the back of a
police car—before she settled down with her head in what was left of my lap. Between the size of Pearl’s head and the size of my stomach, she was hanging off my knee, pretty much.
“So what’s new?” I asked when we were situated. “Rafe didn’t tell me a whole lot earlier.”
“Sheriff Satterfield is fine,” Lupe Vasquez said. “He’ll be released this afternoon.”
“That’s good.” And would make my mother happy. He probably wouldn’t be able to take care of himself very well, with what I assumed would be an arm in a sling. Mine had been in a sling when my shoulder was hit last year. Would Mother move into the sheriff’s house with him for the duration? Or would she invite him to stay with her? That had the potential to be awkward, for all of us, if Rafe and I were still there.
Or maybe she’d do neither. Todd lived with his father. Between the two of them, they’d probably manage.
“Forensics came back on the bullet that hit the sheriff. It matches the bullets from some of the Skinners. We’ll test this one,” she held it up, inside a ziploc baggie now, “but I’m sure it’ll turn out to be the same story.”
I nodded. I was sure, too.
“When we’re done here,” Lupe Vasquez continued, “we’ll take you and the dog home, and walk through the woods where the shooter was hiding when he shot at you, to see if we can find anything he left behind. Footprints or a gum wrapper or a cigarette butt or something like that.”
“Any news about the Beulah Odom investigation?”
“Nolan contacted me,” Lupe Vasquez said, “to say that Jarvis heard back from the M.E. It’ll be a while until the new toxicology results come back, but on the face of it, nothing’s changed from the last time he did the autopsy on Ms. Odom.”
I had a hard time believing that. After two months in the ground, I’m sure quite a lot had changed. Not that I was about to say so. “Did Jarvis say anything about potassium chloride?”
“Nolan told Jarvis about the potassium chloride,” Lupe Vasquez said, “and Jarvis said he’d check with the M.E. Then he called Nolan back a few minutes later and said that the potassium levels had been a little high at the first autopsy, but not so high that they’d raised any flags.”
Bad Debt (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 14) Page 26
