Killing Trail: A Timber Creek K-9 Mystery
Page 4
“Is that the shepherd in the back of your car?”
“Yes.”
“Can you bring his records with you when you come in the morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
Cole wished she wouldn’t call him sir. Made him feel like an old man. Besides, he couldn’t be much older than she was. He was only thirty-seven, for Pete’s sake. Not ancient by anyone’s standards.
“I’ll give her something for pain and start her on antibiotics.”
That done, they lifted Belle down off the table, and she sat on the floor, stoic and quiet. Cole removed the muzzle, leaned over, and patted her on the side. “I’ll take her to the kennel room. Come on, Belle. Let’s get you comfortable.”
The deputy followed him into the kennel area and watched while he put Belle in one of the large, chain-link dog runs. He put in a cushion-type dog bed for her to use.
Belle stood inside the run, head and tail drooping. She gazed out at the deputy, her eyes pleading not to be left behind. Deputy Cobb’s face took on a tortured look. Cole tried to reassure her. “She’s always been strong and healthy. She’ll be fine. I’ll call Garrett and tell him about her condition.”
She frowned slightly. “I’m sure that Sheriff McCoy will tell him that Belle’s safe here with you. I imagine right now they’re trying to figure out how this thing happened.”
“All right. Garrett will call me when he has time. If not, I’ll give him a ring in the morning. My daughters just got home from Denver, and I need to join them now for dinner anyway.”
“Sounds like a good plan.” Deputy Cobb reached into her pocket and extracted a business card. “I’ll leave you my cell phone number on the back of my card.”
“You know how to reach me, right? After hours, the office forwards to my cell phone.”
She nodded, reached through the wire mesh to trace a finger along Belle’s cheek. Belle licked her hand. The deputy squared her shoulders and straightened.
As Cole followed her to the door, he noticed she still favored her right leg. “Would you like an ice pack?”
She turned with a frown. “What?”
“For your knee. I can see that you hurt it.”
She glanced down at her knee as if she hadn’t noticed it before and shook her head. “No, thanks. It’s nothing.”
Cole watched her go out to the patrol car, saw the joyous greeting the shepherd gave her as she opened the door and settled behind the wheel. She turned to grasp the big dog by the scruff of the neck, giving it a playful shake. Cole wondered if there wasn’t some softness beneath that tough girl exterior.
Chapter 5
After Mattie left the vet’s office, she drove to the station, her mind going back to the scene at the shallow gravesite. Dark hair worn in a ponytail, little ski-jump nose with a sprinkling of freckles—matched the girl’s description. She’d also worn rings on most of her fingers; only the ring finger on her left hand had been bare.
She’d called Sheriff McCoy as soon as she learned who owned Belle, and he would take care of having the parents identify the girl’s body. Then someone would have to notify Dr. Walker of her death, and that was going to be hard. He’d mentioned that his daughter and the victim were friends, and he appeared to know her well. Mattie sighed, thinking about the pain this would bring to the family. But it couldn’t be helped, and she planned to set up an interview with the vet’s daughter as soon as possible.
When she and Robo entered the station, Brody stepped out of the chief deputy’s office. Neither of them wasted time on pleasantries.
“You’re running on overtime, Cobb. You need to get your paperwork done ASAP and get out of here.”
“Affirmative. Have you heard from the sheriff? Has he identified the body yet?”
“Haven’t heard, but I ran the plate. It’s registered to Mike Chadron.”
“I know Mike,” Mattie said. “He has a Bernese mountain dog kennel, breeds and trains show dogs.”
“Yeah. Do you know him well?”
“No. He went to high school here, but several years behind me. Has anyone talked to him yet?”
“I drove out to his place,” he said. “He’s not there. Truck’s gone. Looks like all his dogs are gone. I poked around a little bit out back by the kennels. No barking. Maybe he went somewhere to a dog show.”
“Yeah, but why would he have been up there in the mountains this morning with his dogs? That doesn’t connect.”
“Maybe not, but we’re not gonna solve it by standing around here talking. I’ll check back early tomorrow morning to see if he’s come home.”
“Okay.”
Mattie went to the staff office and cleared her paperwork as quickly as possible.
The office wasn’t air-conditioned and it had been a warm day. Robo had gone to his dog bed by the wall and was now lying on his back, belly exposed, snoring.
She smiled. “Hey, Robo, you ready to go home?”
At the sound of his name, he rolled off his back and got up on his feet in one smooth motion. Haunches raised, he lowered his shoulders, stretched, and yawned. He followed her out to the patrol car.
Nothing left to do except pick up a knucklebone at Crane’s Market for Robo. Once there, she decided to pick up a few staples for the woman who’d been her foster-mother. Though Mama T was aging, she still had a houseful of foster kids, and bringing food was one way that Mattie could help.
Mama T’s house had been her last foster home in a long string of placements that had started when she was six. While Mattie loaded packages of hamburger and cheese, gallons of milk, and a variety of vegetables into her cart, she remembered how Mama T introduced herself to new foster kids.
“My name is Teresa, but you can call me Mama T.” She would add with a wink, “The name Mother Teresa has already been taken.”
Mama T dished up love with her cooking: green chili, homemade tortillas, fry bread. While Mattie had learned to love the intense flavors of the Mexican food Mama prepared in her kitchen, she’d never picked up the knack of cooking it herself.
It was only a few blocks to Mama T’s place, and the streets were quiet this time of day, when families were inside preparing for dinner. She parked in front of the house, a single-story clapboard painted smoke blue with a white trim. Mama T’s yard was pristine, her grass clipped, small plaster chipmunks scattered about frozen in midscamper, pansies with their happy faces blooming in the flower beds. It was the only place Mattie had ever lived that she could think of as home.
Mattie told Robo to wait in the car before gathering up the bags of groceries and skirting around the side of the house to enter through the kitchen door. The aromas that filled the warm room were as wonderful as she’d imagined. To Mattie, chili powder, cumin, and chili peppers spelled comfort with a capital C.
Mama T stood at the stove stirring something that smelled delightful on the old-fashioned, wood-burning stove that she still used. Short and plump, Mama T wore her long black hair, shot with gray, pulled back in a tight bun at her nape. Wearing an old sleeveless housedress that had once been red but was now a faded pink, she turned to greet Mattie. Her smile was warm in her brown, weathered face, though it showed a couple gaps where front teeth were missing. She put down her long-handled spoon and opened her arms.
Mattie set the groceries on the table, and stooping slightly, she allowed herself to be taken in by Mama T’s embrace. Yes, she thought, this is home.
“Mijita, you are too good to bring us food,” Mama said, releasing Mattie and turning back to the stove.
The endearment, “my little daughter,” made Mattie’s heart swell. She smiled and started to put away the groceries. “It’s nothing.”
“You say that, but if you saw the way these kids eat. Only horses eat more!”
“Oh, I’ve seen them. I used to be one of them, remember?”
The smile Mama T gave her brought back memories of many times shared in this kitchen.
“Will you stay with us tonight for dinner?”
“I’ll send some green chili pork home with you, then.”
The aroma coming from the pot made Mattie’s mouth water. She realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “I’d love some.”
Mama T ladled up some of the thick soup, sealed it into a plastic container, and then packed several homemade corn tortillas in aluminum foil. She placed the food in a paper bag, gave Mattie a kiss on the cheek, and sent her on her way.
Once home, Mattie showered and changed into denim shorts and a black tee. The shower refreshed her, but her knee still throbbed. A bright-red strawberry with purple bruising colored her kneecap.
She grabbed a beer out of the ancient refrigerator that sat hunched in her kitchen like a little old person with rounded shoulders. She twisted off the bottle cap and put the beer to her lips, welcoming the tang. The first swallow tasted so good that she had to keep herself from chugging it. She’d allow only one tonight. Not like before.
Gathering up her bag of food, a pen, and her training journal, Mattie stepped out onto her back porch, a concrete slab attached to the small adobe house she rented on the west edge of town. State Highway 12 divided Timber Creek into two halves. On the east side, well-manicured lawns spread in front of modern houses, each with a freshly painted fence, colorful flower beds, and a shiny car parked in the driveway. On the west, adobe houses were small, built eighty to a hundred years ago, and had barely any lawns to speak of, let alone shiny cars.
Mattie sat down on the concrete step and stretched her sore leg out in front of her. In the backyard, Robo was gnawing on the knucklebone she’d bought for him on the way home. He lay stretched out among tufts of buffalo grass and weeds that she kept whacked down with an old push mower the landlord supplied. Six-foot chain link surrounded her small backyard, provided by Timber Creek County in anticipation of Robo’s arrival. A huge blue spruce towered in the corner, casting a long shadow in the early evening light. Yucca, agave, and cholla—the only plants that Mattie set out in a “flower bed”—lined the back part of the fence.
Mattie liked prickly things; they suited her.
She ate her meal, savoring the spicy chili and dipping the soft corn tortillas in its broth. She thought of Grace Hartman, her parents, and what this young girl’s death would mean for the community. Was her death an accident? Had the killer panicked and tried to cover it up? Or had someone killed the girl on purpose—and if so, why?
When she finished eating, she uncapped her pen and focused on what she should record in her training journal, one of a K-9 officer’s most important tools. By recording a police dog’s successes and problems, as well as training methods to remedy problems, a handler enhanced the dog’s credibility in court when it came to submitting evidence that the dog found.
And today Robo had certainly scored a number one success. Mattie was so proud of him that it was difficult to know what to write in her log. She knew she needed to be objective, but to her, Robo’s performance was nothing short of miraculous. After all, he hadn’t even been trained in cadaver work. It was amazing he’d found a body like that.
After recording some notes, she sat for a moment savoring her beer and watching Robo enjoy his bone. Their bond was growing, and today she’d crossed a bridge in her ability to trust her partner. She hoped this success would be the first among many.
Her cell phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket, noting the caller and connecting at once. “Deputy Cobb.”
“It’s Sheriff McCoy, Deputy. Our victim is Grace Hartman. Her parents identified the body.” He paused for a moment. “This is important, and we need to handle this investigation by the book. I posted Deputy Garcia up there to guard the crime scene, and he’ll stay through the night. I’m calling in a detective and a crime scene unit from Byers County. They’ll arrive early tomorrow morning. I’ve set up a meeting at seven o’clock and I want you to be there.”
“Yes, sir. The vet told me that his daughter is one of the girl’s friends. We need to notify him as soon as possible and set up an interview with her.”
“Agreed. Do you want me to do it, or can you handle that?”
Mattie hated even the idea of it. “I can do it.”
“All right, you’re authorized to tell him about the death. Give him as few details as possible, but I know Cole Walker, and he’s a man who can keep things confidential. Tell him we’ll call in the morning and set up an appointment for his daughter to talk with the detective. At least one of her parents should be with her for the interview.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You did a great job today, Deputy. If it wasn’t for our K-9 unit, this girl’s body might have never been found.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m glad we were in place to do it.”
Mattie ended the call. Glancing at the time, she decided to wait another half hour to let Dr. Walker enjoy time with his daughters before she called and destroyed his evening.
Chapter 6
Cole hurried to finish up at the clinic so he could join his family at Clucken House, but when he started to drive past his home, he saw that they’d already returned. The divorce and when to tell the kids still weighed on him, but he struggled to keep his game face on while he ate the burger they’d brought home for him. Soon, he glanced at the clock and, with more than a little relief, suggested that the girls watch television for a while before bed.
Sophie reacted to the idea of bedtime with sadness, something Cole had grown used to over the summer.
“Who’s going to read me a story?” she asked, her voice quavering.
Cole looked at Jessie, who gazed back at him, saying nothing. “I have to check on two sick animals,” he said.
Jessie gave him an intense we’ll-talk-later glare and then turned to Sophie with a cheerful smile that Cole thought looked slightly forced. “I’ll read you a story, honey. Just like we did at my house.”
Glad to leave his children in his sister’s capable hands, Cole climbed into his pickup truck and drove away from the two-story log home that he and Liv had designed together. Liv had decorated it with a western motif—heavy leather furniture, Navaho rugs, western art—and made it a comfortable place to return to at night. Without her, it felt awfully empty. A dull ache filled his chest.
At the clinic, he turned on the lights in the shed and made his way out to check the mare. She was down. He paused outside her pen, watching her roll onto her side and grind her head against the hard-packed dirt floor. Discouraged, he opened the gate and moved toward her, murmuring softly, trying to soothe her with his voice. Sweat darkened her gray coat, and when he listened to her heart, it was racing in rapid, uneven beats.
He needed to recommend they put her down. She wasn’t going to make it much longer, and it was cruel to let her suffer.
With boots dragging against the concrete pad outside the building, Cole unlocked the clinic door to let himself in. Immediately, a terrible stench assailed him. Flipping on the light switch, he went into the kennel room to find Belle lying in her run surrounded by viscous, liquid feces.
Cole was so tired that his thoughts were sluggish inside his head. Obviously, Belle was sick with diarrhea. But why? A bullet wouldn’t cause this.
“Belle?”
She raised her head to look at him with dull eyes and then let her head flop back to the floor as if it were too heavy to hold up.
Approaching the kennel, he noticed several solid lumps amid the liquid mess, lumps that looked like small, white balloons. Puzzled, he turned to grab a pair of latex gloves. After putting them on, he entered the kennel and picked up one of the lumps. Sure enough, it was a balloon, and it contained something, a substance that felt solid between his fingers but shifted when he squeezed it, like sand or powder.
A possibility burst into his sluggish brain.
S
tripping off one of his gloves, he reached into his pocket to pull out the deputy’s business card. Then he reached for his cell phone.
*
When Mattie checked her caller ID, it read, “Wireless Caller,” and gave an unfamiliar number. She answered the call anyway. “Deputy Cobb.”
“This is Dr. Walker. Could you come to the clinic?”
“Is Belle all right?”
“She’s pretty sick. There’s something I need to show you.”
“I can be there in about ten minutes.”
She disconnected the call and glanced at Robo. He remained hunched over his bone.
While she put her things away, she wondered what to do with him. She’d accepted the responsibility of taking care of this valuable animal when she agreed to be his handler, and that meant keeping him safe and secure twenty-four hours each and every day. Taking him with her might expose him to Belle’s illness. Much as she hated it, she was going to have to break up his bone fest and leave him locked up in the house.
She stepped out on the porch and called him.
Robo arched over his bone, pulling it close to his chest. Then he remained still, every muscle tensed, as he avoided eye contact.
Oh, Christ, now he’s going to challenge me for the bone.
She stepped off the porch and approached him. “Leave it,” she said in a firm voice.
Robo’s eyes flicked her way, then off to the distance as he placed his chin on the bone.
“Robo, come,” she commanded, pointing to a spot directly in front of her feet.
With a covetous glance at the bone, Robo forced himself away from it and slinked up to sit by her feet. Exhaling a sigh of relief, Mattie placed a hand on his collar to keep him from returning to the bone. “Good boy. Come with me.”
Together they moved toward the house, Mattie proud that she’d won an important skirmish. Aggressive male dogs often challenged their handlers, and it was crucial to stay in charge.