by C. K. Raggio
Nurses stared at them from over their charts. Cassie took a deep breath, willing herself not to match his anger and slap him.
Rick took a step forward, but Hank got to Phil first. He grabbed his shoulders. “Easy, I know you’re upset, but if you don’t control yourself, I’ll throw your ass right off this case.”
“Gary didn’t kill her, Phil,” Rick added. “From what Cassie and I observed yesterday, his temper is too short. Our guy has smarts and control over his emotions. Gary doesn’t. I think he knows who our guy is. I think he helped him, but that’s where it ends. Izzy would still be gone.”
Phil’s body remained tense, but when he looked at Cassie his eyes softened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that, I just… if only we'd known… maybe she’d still be here.” He teared up and turned away.
Cassie’s lip trembled and she bit down to keep it steady. She knew how he felt.
Rick continued, “The killer had a reason for trusting Gary, a connection that we need to figure out.”
“Guess we’re going to Bayhead then,” Cassie said. “If Gary is family or a close friend of our guy maybe we can dig it up in his hometown.”
Rick nodded. “We’ll leave early in the morning. They gave Dave a sedative. He insisted on staying here, maybe we should put an officer by his door, just in case.”
“Okay.” Hank rubbed his temples. “Phil and I will talk to him while you and Cassie head upstate. We’ll find out all the kid knows about his father’s childhood, family, and friends in Bayhead.”
Phil leaned against the wall behind him. “But what do we do now? We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
Rick smiled at him. “We’re not. Right now, all of us are going to Gary’s center. I have a search warrant being signed as we speak.”
They followed Rick to the elevators. For once in what seemed like forever, Cassie had a feeling they were about to find something big. Her chest fluttered. They needed this. She needed this. It’d better be good.
CHAPTER 25
Light spilled out from the windows in Gary’s center, bathing the property in an eerie glow. Cassie slid from the back seat and followed Hank, Phil, and Rick to the door. She rang the bell.
A woman greeted them. Her short brown hair stuck out in all directions like she’d just tumbled out of bed. Cassie introduced them and showed her the warrant, explaining what happened to Gary. “What’s your name, Miss?”
Tears flooded her face. “Sharon. Sharon Fields. You’re not going to take the dogs are you?”
“No,” Hank answered. “We just need to look around and ask you a few questions.”
“Okay, please come in.” She led Cassie and Rick toward the office. They sat around a large mahogany desk.
Hank stood in the doorway. “Miss Fields. I have a team of officers on their way to help with the search.”
Sharon hugged her chest. “What about the dogs?”
Cassie smiled at her. “It’s okay. The dogs will be fine.”
The front door creaked open and officers filed in. Hank nodded at Cassie and turned to go direct the troops.
Sharon tensed and watched the kennel over Cassie’s shoulder. “Are they going to take them out of their runs?”
“We made sure to bring K9 handlers with us to watch over the dogs.” Cassie squeezed the middle-aged woman’s hand. “I used to volunteer here, I promise nothing will happen to them. How long have you worked here, Sharon?”
The woman relaxed a bit into her chair. “A little over a year. She clasped her hands in her lap. “To tell you the truth, I was considering looking for another job. But I didn’t want to leave them.”
Cassie glanced behind her. “The dogs?”
“Yes,” Sharon whispered.
“Why did you want to leave?” Rick asked, his voice gentle.
“Over the last few months… Gary…” She looked away.
“It’s okay, go ahead,” Rick prompted.
Her freckled cheeks twitched. “I don’t really know how to explain it. He’s changed. He used to be friendly and now he – he seems angry and yells a lot. He’s been rough with the animals. I’ve even seen him hit a few.”
Cassie leaned forward. “We were here the other day to speak with Gary and he said you were on vacation. Is that true?”
“No. I haven’t taken a day off since I started.”
Rick caught Cassie’s eye. Gary had lied about that too.
Phil rapped on the open door and stepped into the office. “All the dogs are labs and goldens. There’s a cottage around back, right?”
Cassie nodded. “Sharon do you have the key?”
The woman’s hand shook as she reached into a desk drawer. She pulled out a ring with three keys on it. “It’s this one. Is Gary going to be okay?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Cassie said. “Do you know if Gary has any friends in the area? Anybody that stops by often?”
Sharon’s face paled, her eyes glazed over. She looked about ready to faint. Could this woman know who the killer was? Cassie studied her. She didn’t think so, unless she was a really good actress.
Squeezing her hand again, Cassie said, “We’re going to need to go through the office as well. I’ll need you to go outside with one of our detectives. Phil?”
He gave Sharon an easy grin and hooked his arm through hers, leading her into the center. Cassie watched them go. She hoped his boyish good looks would help put the woman at ease so she could answer more questions.
Armed with flashlights, Cassie led Hank and Rick out the back door. Clouds blocked the moonlight and chased shadows across the walkway. A chill ran along Cassie’s spine. He could be watching them right now. This could be some sort of trap. Why else would he go after Gary? He had to know that they would look into Gary’s life if he did. Maybe Gary even told the killer that they’d come by asking questions.
Branches snapped behind them. Cassie spun around. Four officers walked out the back door and followed them. She gave Hank and Rick a wry smile and released her gun from its holster. They did the same.
They continued down the trail lined with towering pines and leafless oaks to a small structure at the back of the property.
Hank’s flashlight illuminated a shiny Danger Keep Out sign nailed to a tree.
“Why would he need a sign like that?” Cassie’s breath fogged the night air. Could the dogs be kept at this cottage? She should’ve asked Sharon if anybody besides Gary was ever inside of it.
Guns drawn, they unlocked the cottage and stepped inside. Hank flipped the light switch. Cassie let her eyes adjust. No dogs leapt at their throats. It was quiet.
The walls were painted white and the window ledges were filled with houseplants. A love seat, side table, and a television made up the living room. A small kitchen was on the right. Cassie moved to check all the cabinets and drawers. She found teabags, dog supplies, and a few coffee mugs. The garbage pail was empty.
There was no dust on the counters, but it didn’t smell as if it’d been cleaned recently.
Rick walked out of the bedroom a few moments later. “Nothing.”
“Same in the bathroom.” Hank studied the living room’s white paneled walls. “We can’t be wrong about this guy. He’s involved. He didn’t want you guys coming to this cottage for a reason.”
“Maybe there’s a basement,” Cassie said. “Let’s check around back.”
Hank motioned for the officers at the door to come with them. The backyard was covered in shrubs and raspberry bushes. Hank touched one with his glove. He flinched. “Shit. How do we get to the back of the house through all this?”
A trail led around the outskirts of the yard. Cassie strode ahead. “This way.” The last time she had worked at the center had been a while ago. But she could’ve sworn that the reason Gary built the cottage here was because there had already been a house there. The home had been knocked down, but she could’ve sworn he hadn’t filled in the basement.
Something scurried in the bushes next to her. If six men with guns weren’t
behind her she would’ve jumped from her skin. Ever since the killings started, being surrounded by trees scared the crap out of her. Made her claustrophobic.
A hundred feet up, the path opened to the woods. The brambles thickened at the back of the property.
Hank huffed. “There’s nothing here, Cass. It’s a dead end. Maybe we missed something.”
“Shit.” Cassie searched the tree line at the back of the yard. Her light caught something stuck on a bush. She leaned closer. A clump of tan-colored dog hair stuck to a thorn. “Wait.”
She squatted down and spread two bushes apart, their thorns poking and scratching her skin through her coat sleeves. She found a large dog print indented in the dirt. Another path appeared to cut through the middle of the yard and to the back of the cottage. It was overgrown, making it look more like a tunnel than a trail.
“Nice going, Nancy Drew.” Rick smiled, squatting beside her to avoid getting caught on the sticker bushes as they made their way through.
Two metal doors lay on a cement base on the ground at the back of the house.
“Huh,” Hank said. “An old storm cellar.”
Cassie ran a hand over the thick chain and padlock. She reached in her pocket and tried the other two keys on the ring that Sharon had given her. It didn’t budge. She turned to the officers as they crawled free of the bushes. “Can one of you get Detective Phil Larson, and tell him to bring his toolbox?”
Ten minutes later, Phil was staring at the lock. A smile touched his eyes. The glimmer that had been missing since Izzy disappeared made an appearance.
With bolt cutters, he cut through the chains. They rattled as they hit the ground. The doors didn’t make a sound as they opened them. Phil touched one of the hinges, his glove came away greasy.
The dog print they found wasn’t a coincidence. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to keep this place hidden. They made their way down the steep cement steps single file.
Phil’s flashlight lit up a small white box on the wooden door at the bottom. “Hmm, keypad.”
“Think an alarm will go off?” Cassie glanced around. The walls were made of cement. Over their heads, above the door was what looked like a security light.
Phil glanced up. “No. My bet is it connects to his cell phone. It probably sends a message when someone tampers with it. He wouldn’t want to attract attention down here. The light is probably to scare people off.”
Rick shined his beam on Phil’s tools. “Should we call in for some help or are your breaking and entering skills that good?”
“No problem.” Phil smiled again as he twirled a screwdriver around like a pistol in a western movie. “Luckily, the boys in the hood taught me well.”
He put his tools to work and a red light came on over their heads, flashing its ugly face in warning. It took him fifteen minutes. “I am a genius,” he said, swinging the door open.
Four beams searched the darkness of the room. It was much larger than the house it hid under. Six kennels. A glassed-off room in the left corner housed a veterinary surgical table. Shelves of medical supplies lined the back walls, and a treadmill stood off to the right.
They fanned out.
Cassie searched the wall, found a switch and flipped it on. Harsh overhead fluorescents blared to life, blinding her for a moment.
“Damn. You could’ve warned us.” Phil rubbed his eyes as he looked away and turned off his flashlight. “Cass, is that what I think it is?”
“A dog-fighting pit.” She edged closer. The four-foot high plywood walls and cement floor of the pit were splattered with dried blood. “It’s a big one too. Guess it needs to be with the size of the dogs he’s fighting.” She shook her head, disgust welling up inside her as she walked toward the empty dog runs. She slowed, glanced at the labels of bottled steroids and antibiotics stacked on the shelves.
A familiar odor caught her by surprise. She strode to the first fence door and pushed it open. She crouched down. “Check this out.”
Rick stepped beside her.
“The dog was probably here,” she whispered. “When we stopped by to talk to Gary. That’s why he didn’t want us to check out the cottage.” She looked up at Rick. He was staring at the back of the run, frowning.
“What is it?” Hank asked from across the room.
“It’s dog shit,” Phil said, staring through the chain link. “A massive pile of elephant-sized shit. I’m no expert, but that looks pretty fresh.”
“He left here in a rush.” Hank pulled out his phone. “He didn’t take much with him. If he had the time, he’d have cleaned this place out. He may have left prints.” He paused, staring at the screen. “I’ve got no signal down here.”
Cassie went for the stairs. “I’ll get them.” Her boots pounded against the cement as she rushed to the surface. Please, let there be prints. And please let this guy be in our system.
CHAPTER 26
The lights over Timmy’s head flickered. The constant humming gave him a headache. He put his elbows on the desk and rubbed his temples. The basement’s familiar noises usually relaxed him. Not today.
He had known Gary would break, especially when things got complicated. But he’d hoped to be long gone by then. He should’ve come up with a plan on his own to snare Isabella. At the time, Gary’s accident scheme seemed genius. It would’ve been too, if that dumb ass could lie worth a damn.
Gary hadn’t been a good liar when they were kids either. He swore he could keep a secret, but if anyone asked him a direct question, he’d start sweating and stuttering. Then the words would gush from his mouth like blood through a serrated artery.
Between Gary losing one of the boats and not being able to keep his mouth shut, he deserved everything he got. Timmy probably should’ve killed him, but he hadn’t planned for that. Going in without a plan was how people got caught. Though, beating him to a pulp hadn’t been on his agenda either. He’d lost his temper, something he hadn’t done in a long time.
He needed to leave soon anyway, and Gary had no idea where he was headed. He’d made sure to keep that from him. Timmy grinned. Well, he did give him some hints, but only enough to get the cops running into each other like the morons they were.
It sucked he had to leave all the equipment and medical supplies behind, but he had more. It wasn’t catastrophic. He shoved his thoughts aside as he heard the dogs moving around in their kennels. He glanced at his watch. They had to be hungry.
He ambled toward them. When he lifted his hand and they all sat. All except the youngest. Timmy went to him first, opened the kennel door and stared him down. A moment later the dog’s ears went back and he sat on his haunches. Without a sound, Timmy rubbed the animal’s head in reward, then opened the other doors.
A quick trip to the fridge produced their dinner. The raw bones stuffed with Timmy’s special blend. Not one of the dogs so much as twitched as he approached them with the bag full of meaty fragrances. They all waited their turn. Calm and submissive.
Thor was first. The graying muzzle inched forward. A gentle giant, taking the bone ever so carefully from his hand.
“We’ve been through so much. Haven’t we, boy? Almost time for you to retire and one of your offspring to take your place.” Thor sat and listened to his words, the large bone clenched in his teeth. Drool streamed from his jowls, forming a puddle between his paws big enough for a gerbil to drown in.
Timmy pointed at him and Thor sauntered to the back of his run. He lay down with a grunt before beginning to feast.
Timmy worked his way down the line with their dinner. He had words with Athena, then Leviathan, and lastly Zeus, the youngest.
He peered to the other side of the room. Three dogs lay cowering in the corners of their crates. People would be surprised at the dogs that no-kill shelters offered up for adoption to the public. He had these picked up down south. The dogs slinked lower, trying to disappear into the floor as he neared them. Timmy never spoke to them or touched them. He gave them food and water, that was all
.
When he went looking for dogs to help him with training, he didn’t need to do the normal evaluation shelters did. Food aggression tests, checking to see if the animal was dog aggressive. The list went on and on. All a waste of time.
He could tell everything he needed to know just by looking into a dog’s eyes, studying their body language. If an animal was nervous, they’d normally do one of three things: react by growling or biting, shut down completely, or flee. It was how they were programmed, their instinct. He was only interested in the ones that weren’t nervous. The ones that were confident, dominant, and aggressive.
These three dogs arrived last night on a truck, snarling and snapping at everything that moved. That was until the last of Timmy’s prior trainees was used in a session. The staff from the shelter in the Bronx had called the dog Nikki.
He’d been a tall, tan and white Akita mix. Nikki was adopted four different times only to be returned for biting. The last home he was in, he’d ripped a chunk off a seventy-year-old woman’s face. Timmy’s newbies were quiet and quaking by the time his Athena got through with Nikki.
The new dogs shivered now, but it wasn’t Timmy they feared. It was the energy in the room.
Two of them, a lab mix and a golden mix, growled when Timmy opened their crates. He ignored the bared teeth and deposited new food and water in their bowls. The last, a black chow mix, rolled over onto her back with a soft whimper.
“Hmm. You, young lady, may not become a tug toy after all.” He reached his hand forward, touching her side. Her ears pinned to her head, her eyes softened. She averted her gaze.
Her submission told a tale far different from the one he’d been told. He lifted her free of the cage. She wouldn’t walk, so he carried her to his desk in the middle of the room. He laid her down on the bed beneath it and caressed her cheek as he waited for his pack to finish their meal.
The young dog at his feet whimpered and he decided to name her Peggy. The animal reminded him of the deceased owner of the diner. He didn’t necessarily feel bad he had Gary kill her. What pissed him off was that she hadn’t been on his list.
