My phone rang, and I picked up the handset instead of responding to Dennis. Before I could get as much as a hello out, my mother shouted at me, “Allida! Sage is gone! He got out of the yard somehow. Maybe he jumped the fence. I just don’t know. I’m locking Doppler inside the house and heading out now with Pavlov to try to track him down. Come home right away!”
Chapter 19
This was my personal version of hell: driving a long distance through slow traffic to be able to join the useless search for my missing dog. I tried to tell myself that Sage had simply leapt the fence. If so, we would find him. A collie was an unusual and unmistakable sight. We would be able to talk to neighbors and trace his route. To keep my maniacal driving to a minimum, I mollified myself over and over again with the image of Sage leaping the six foot wire-mesh fence surrounding our yard. It was possible. Just extremely unlikely.
I reached the Boulder-Longmont Diagonal, where traffic normally averaged ten miles above the speed limit but now seemed slow. If the killer had Sage, what would his next move be? The answer to that question was painfully obvious. My eyes filled with tears. I swiped them away impatiently and shouted at myself, “Think! Use your brain!”
How long would he keep Sage alive? He’d killed Hannah Jones with her own gun, but since that was ruled a suicide, he couldn’t have possession of the gun now. He’d stabbed Beth Gleason, and as far as I knew, he’d used her weapon—her switchblade. This weapon he’d kept.
The cars ahead of me were braking for the red light at the intersection in front of the IBM plant. I smacked the heel of my hand against the steering wheel in frustration, but stopped the car, my heart pounding.
“He probably doesn’t have a gun,” I told myself aloud. Grisly as the thought was, it would be difficult to kill a collie with a knife. He’d tried to poison Sage yesterday, but Pavlov had foiled him. He might try that again now. If so, we might have some time. Sage would be too distressed to eat for quite a while.
“Oh, God,” I murmured. Here I was, clinging to the hope that Sage was suitably upset not to eat—which would make him bark and call more attention to himself and possibly force the killer’s hand.
I was driving way too fast now. Damn! The one time when I’d welcome getting pulled over so that I could try and enlist the police’s help, and there were no patrol cars to be seen.
Traffic on the streets surrounding Longmont was bumper-to-bumper, and once again I lost precious minutes. My mom was as much of an expert in retrieving lost dogs as anyone could be. She would be out canvassing the neighborhood—talking to the postman, neighbors, people in parks. Pavlov was a good tracker, but I’d only trained her for the basics. She wouldn’t be able to follow Sage’s scent if the killer put Sage in that damned white car and drove off with him.
What about that car? Chet Adler, Dennis Corning, Keith/ Alex, Bill Wayne, Joel Meyer, George Haggerty, John O’Farrell. None of them drove a white sedan. Yet I could not believe that there was somebody behind all of this who’d never come into contact with me. Ever since my spot on Tracy’s radio show, the evil acts had seemed to be choreographed around me. The killer had been keeping a careful watch, to learn what I knew or didn’t know.
The white sedan must be a rental. The police could probably trace all of the white rental cars currently on loan throughout the area, which could take several hours, if not days. There had to be a faster way. At last, I reached the perimeter of Berthoud and slowed down. If Sage were—pray to God—left to his own devices, he would head toward Boulder, probably toward Hannah Jones’s house. Each time I spotted pedestrians, I pulled over and asked if they’d seen a collie within the last hour. No luck.
I reached the house. I pulled up in front, shut off the engine, snatched the keys out of the ignition, and raced up the brick walkway. I unlocked the door and threw it open, yelling, “Mom? Pavlov?” No answer. Doppler rushed up to greet me, his tail wagging madly, but I dashed to the kitchen, slid open the back door and again called, “Mom?”
The yard was empty. Doppler followed my every step, and as I locked the back door again, he lay down on his back, desperate for a show of affection. I knelt and patted him. “Good dog, Doppler. I’ll get Sage back.”
Yet how? I wanted to call in the blasted cavalry.
I headed through the front door to try to find Mom and Pavlov. Apparently having spotted my car, they were coming up the walkway as I locked the door behind me. Pavlov’s ears were pricked up and she moved with noticeable tense energy.
“This is all my fault,” Mom said without preamble. I hadn’t seen her this crestfallen since her beloved golden retriever had died. “Pavlov and Doppler wanted to be inside and Sage wanted to stay out back. I didn’t have Pavlov out there with him.”
I shook my head and met her at the porch steps. “We can assess blame later. But how did this happen, Mom? You had the two dogs inside with you, right? But Sage never barked? And next thing you knew, he was gone?”
“Yes. I heard the sound of the pump going like a faucet had been turned on, full blast. I discovered it was the tap in front of the house. I went to shut it off and saw that someone had run a hose into the basement window well. I assumed it was some kids playing a prank, and I ran down into the basement to check for flooding. Pavlov and Doppler followed me. I got preoccupied cleaning up the water, and I forgot about Sage, alone in the backyard.”
“Jeez,” I murmured. The kidnapping had been carefully orchestrated. There went the slim hope that Sage had merely leapt the fence. I felt I had to say something encouraging. “Maybe Sage managed to run away from the guy.”
Just then, the neighbors across the street gave a little wave as they started to pull into their driveway. We gestured at them to wait and, Pavlov in tow, jogged over to them. They both rolled down their windows. I was too upset to remember their names.
“Have you seen our collie?” Mom asked, leaning to look in the window on the driver’s side. In the meantime, I rounded the car to the passenger side where Mrs. Neighbor sat.
“That man took him,” their daughter piped up from the backseat. She was in kindergarten, I knew, so she must have been about five.
Her parents turned around and looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“I was playing. I saw him. He was a big man. He had the Lassie’s mouth in a cage.”
“You mean the dog was in a muzzle?” I asked her.
“Uh huh.” She nodded at me. “The Lassie didn’t want to go, but the man was dragging him. Then he picked him up and pushed him in the backseat.”
“Did this man see you, Melanie?” her mother asked.
“No. I was playing. With stick boats. In the ditch.”
“Oh, Melanie! How many times do I have to tell you—”
“What did this man look like?” I asked, cutting off the woman and her ill-timed lecture.
“He was big. He had brown hair.”
“What color was his car?”
“It was white.”
I straightened. Mom thanked the neighbors while they chattered away with apologies about not having known anything about this till just now. Mom said that, yes, it would be helpful if they contacted Sheriff Millay on our behalf. Then they pulled into their garage, leaving Mom and me standing there in disbelief.
“What have I done?” Mom said in a frightened whisper. She whirled on a heel and headed back toward the house. She still had a grip on Pavlov’s leash, and the dog obediently trotted off after her. Mom sank down to sit on the top step of the front porch. I caught up to her, wishing I had something encouraging to offer.
“How could I have been so stupid?” she asked, shaking her head in shock. “I never put two and two together. Why didn’t I stop to realize that there was a reason somebody chose now to pull a prank and flood the basement?”
“Maybe he won’t...” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word kill. “...hurt Sage. Maybe he’ll drive him a long way away and let him go, assuming he’ll never get back.”
“But why? Why
take the dog?”
“Sage was the link to the crime. To both murders. The guy felt like he couldn’t take the risk of running into the dog sometime in the future and getting cornered.” I started pacing. The hell with the cavalry! I wanted every person in Boulder to help me look for Sage!
A thought hit me. It was a long shot and probably wouldn’t work. At least it was something I could do toward getting Sage back unharmed.
I snatched Pavlov’s leash from Mom’s loose grip. “Mom, I’m taking Pavlov back to Boulder with me while I talk to somebody who might be able to help us. Stay here and see if Sheriff Millay can do anything on this end. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
With Pavlov in the backseat, I drove, mulling my plan. If I could get radio stations to put out a broadcast for listeners to be on the lookout for a muzzled collie transported in a white sedan, I might at least make things harder on the killer. Halfway to Boulder, I realized that my idea had at least one serious flaw: I needed to enlist Tracy Truett’s help, and I didn’t even know where she lived. I pulled off at a gas station just outside of Boulder and asked to use their phone book. There were no listings under the name “Truett.”
I headed straight to Joel Meyer’s house, hoping he’d be home and could get me in touch with Tracy. To my surprise, her little sports car was in the driveway. I sent up a quick prayer as I rang the doorbell. No one answered at first, so I rang a second time. Joel opened the door, wearing nothing but jeans. Though it was late afternoon, his hair was mussed as if he’d just gotten out of bed. He looked surprised to see me.
“Joel, is Tracy here?” I asked before he could even say hello.
He looked over his shoulder, and Tracy emerged from behind him, wearing nothing but a man’s shirt. Her spiked hair was flat in telltale places, and her makeup was smeared. “Holy crow, is this embarrassing.”
“Never mind that,” I said, letting myself in and closing the door behind me. “You’ve got to help me. Do you have any friends in Boulder radio stations? Deejays who’ll broadcast a lost dog ad?”
“Oh, honey, have you ever come to the right place. I know everybody, and they’d do that for me in a heartbeat. What’s the matter? Lost your cocker?”
“No. Sage. The collie. He’s been stolen. I’m afraid that’s just the beginning.” I looked up at Joel and wished I could discuss this out of his presence. I still hadn’t ruled him off my list of suspects. Unless he had an alibi. “Um, Tracy? Have you been here all afternoon?”
She chuckled slowly and clung on Joel’s bare arm. “Yep. All afternoon.” She cast moon eyes Joel’s way, who also gave me a meaningful grin. As if I cared about his sexual prowess! All I cared about was the fact that this meant he couldn’t have grabbed Sage two hours ago!
“Your former radio station. KBXD. Is there any chance we could air one last show? Tonight?”
“You want to get the entire station up and running after it’s been closed down for half a week? To broadcast a show to get your dog back?”
I nodded.
She put her hands on her ample hips and eyed me at length. “Holy crow, kid. When you ask for favors, you don’t mess around, do you?”
“I’m afraid I’ll never see Sage alive again unless we can force his kidnapper to give him back. If returning Sage is the only way he can prevent having his crime and a description of his car broadcast all across the Denver-metro area, including to the police, he might give in.”
Tracy shook her head. “No can do, kiddo. Sorry. The FCC would have a hissy fit. I’d lose my license. We have no way to—”
Joel interrupted, “All you’d need would be me to switch on the generators and get the broadcast antenna operational again, Greg to work the control boards, and you to do the interview. I’ve still got a set of keys to the place.”
Tracy’s jaw dropped, and she stared at him. “But the station owners will have us arrested for trespassing! I’ll never be allowed to broadcast again!”
“You said you wished you could have gone out with a big splash,” Joel said. “Now’s your chance.”
She sighed but nodded. “Let me see what I can do. If I pull every string I can and call in every card, I might be able to get something going by sometime tonight.” She sat down Indian style and pulled the phone over to her. “I’m assuming, if we can get a broadcast going, you want me to get other stations to advertise to be on the lookout for him, right?”
“That and to listen to the show tonight.”
“Wait. You expect me to get a deejay to do a spiel for you advertising someone else’s radio station?”
“Yes, but it’d just be this one, emergency broadcast.”
“And from this, you hope to gain what? Hasn’t it occurred to you that he might come to the station to stop you?”
“Of course. That’s why I’ll be alerting the police first, so they can catch the guy.”
Tracy stared at me for a long moment, her large jaw agape. Then she picked up the phone. Glancing over her shoulder at Joel, she said, “I’m calling Greg and having him head over to the station. I think he’s still on KBXD’s payroll through the end of the week. He’ll get in the least amount of trouble for unlocking the building.” She punched the numbers, and in a moment, was barking into the phone, “Greg, Tracy. Get down to the station now. We’re airing the show one last time.” She cut off Greg’s response with “Trust me. We’ll see you there as soon as I get everything arranged. And don’t say a word about this to anyone. Got that?”
Greg’s protests, audible even to me from halfway across the room, were cut off as Tracy hung up on him.
“Think of the drama,” Tracy said wistfully. “‘Allida Babcock to reveal the killer’s identity. Tonight at nine P.M. KBXD. The Tracy Truett Show.’” She grinned and shivered slightly. “God. I like the sound of that.”
I might like it too, if only I knew who the killer was. But pointing this out to Tracy would only dim her enthusiasm, which I desperately needed.
She turned her gaze toward me. “The catch will be, though, we can’t notify the police too far in advance, or they’ll stop us. Let’s not forget that we are going to be trespassing at the station. That means the other broadcasts can’t advertise this too far ahead, either.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ll bet they’d be willing to pick up our feed! We might be able to get on every radio show in the city! Maybe even in the country!”
Joel had left the room and came back a minute later fully dressed. “I’d better head down to the station early and start re-familiarizing myself.” He bent over and kissed Tracy passionately. “See you later.”
We managed to pull the whole thing together for a broadcast at eight P.M. A somewhat irritable Greg—wearing the same Boyz II Men T-shirt he’d worn last Friday—let Tracy, Pavlov, and me in at seven-thirty. Tracy, too, had changed into the same light blue pants suit she’d worn the first time we met. “Joel here?” she asked, needing to shout to be heard over music that was blaring from the loud speakers.
Greg nodded. His forehead was damp with perspiration, and he stared through the lobby window as if expecting us to be followed by storm troopers. “He got here almost the same time I did. Trace, this has got to be the stupidest—”
Tracy held up her palms and brushed past him. “Never mind all that. You owe me a favor.”
“I sure as hell do not! If anything, you owe me one!”
“If that’s true, after tonight, I’ll owe you two. ‘Sides, it’s not as though life’s fair, my dear.” She beckoned to me to follow as she marched into the hallway.
I paused long enough to thank Greg and apologize for railroading him. To my annoyance, Tracy and Joel were embracing in the sound booth by the time I arrived. This was hardly the appropriate time. Neither of them could be expected to harbor my same gut-wrenching concern for Sage—but still!
Pavlov was jumpy and didn’t want to follow me into the room, but obeyed my commands with obvious reluctance. I had brought her with me as a last line of defense for Tracy and me in the br
oadcast booth, itself. To my surprise, she growled and barked at Tracy and Joel.
Joel took a step back, watching Pavlov warily. She was clearly picking up on my tension. “Break a leg, girls,” he said, then left the room. Tracy grinned as she watched him leave. I picked up the phone to dial 911. The line was dead.
“The phone doesn’t work!” I cried to Tracy.
“That’s ‘cause it’s completely controlled by the producer.” She gestured at the interior window where Greg had just entered the control room, but his back was turned. Tracy grabbed her earphones and said into the microphone, “Greg? Allida needs to call out.” He turned and nodded, then flipped a switch.
I dialed 911. My mouth went dry and I felt nauseated. I’d never done anything this risky—not to mention illegal— before. I said to the male dispatcher, “My name is Allida Babcock. I’m at KBXD. In twenty minutes, we’re putting on a live broadcast during which I’m going to threaten to air the name of Beth Gleason’s and Hannah Jones’s killer. Unless the killer calls in and agrees to release my collie.”
“Uh, ma’am, I’m not sure I understand what—”
“I need you to notify the police and surround the station, so that we’ll be protected, in case the killer tries to physically stop the broadcast.”
“Just hold on, ma’am. Give me the name of this person you’re going to broadcast and let the police handle this.”
“I don’t know the name, or I’d have done that hours ago!”
“But—”
“Just get the SWAT team out here! Please!” I hung up.
Tracy watched me, her square chin resting on her hand. She rolled her eyes. “This is, like, so nutty I can’t even believe it. The police are just going to storm in here and arrest us. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“Maybe so, but if we don’t at least try, Sage is dead.” If he isn’t already, I thought in despair. My hope was that the killer didn’t have a gun and wasn’t going to be able to easily kill a frightened, fighting collie with a knife.
Joel leaned in the door of the booth with five minutes to airtime. “Listen, babe,” he said to Tracy, “a police car just pulled up outside. I’m going to talk to him and see if I can buy you some time. Good luck.”
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