“I put in parameters to find all the dogs whelped here who are within two years of Barkley, male, and had the same markings. I got a list of four names here.”He’d almost given a speech to me here, considering his behavior.
“That’s great. Could you print it out for me?” I eyed the laser printer in the corner of the desk and knew that he could.
He pressed a few more keys and the paper whirred out. He handed it to me.
“You let me know when you find that dog. He was a good boy, and no one should do that to him. I keep an eye on all of my pups. Some breeders don’t care once they sell them, but I do.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, taking the list and heading out.
Chapter 2
As I sat in the car, I pondered the breeder’s words. Up until now, I had considered that Barkley was alive, but just taken. Now I wondered if the man knew something that I didn’t, or perhaps he just had a more cynical approach to life. It was quite possible that Barkley was dead, killed for some reason that I had yet to uncover. I had to admit that it was an easy solution, but then again nothing in this case so far had been easy. Swapping out one dog for another was not the simplest method to getting a dog off of your tracks. It seemed like a humane choice, one that cared about the dog as well as the crime. I could only hope that Barkley would still be alive when we found him.
Even if the dogs were switched, the deceit would be discovered at some point in the near future and then the same investigation would begin. So either the dognapper had needed a very small window of opportunity to do something involving drugs or dead bodies or else he had planned to switch the dogs back at some point. I hoped for Barkley’s sake that it was the latter.
I knew for certain that I wouldn’t find anything just sitting here in the man’s driveway. He’d given me my next big lead, and I decided to follow it. There were four names on the list. Two of them were out of town. One was in Seattle and another was in Holland, Michigan. For now, I decided to go with the assumption that they were not suspects. If I couldn’t find my answers in the two remaining dogs, then I’d look into these dogs. Given that I’d only received one hundred dollars from Brate, I wouldn’t have enough to fly to Seattle. I barely had enough to buy the gas needed to drive around Toledo, so cross-country trips were out of the question.
I plugged the addresses into my GPS and mapped out a route to visit both homes. I figured that a random drive-by might tell me what I needed to know. If I saw a neutered Beagle who responded to the name “Barkley,” I had a match and a culprit. I wasn’t exactly sure what the perp would be arrested for. I was certain what the crime would be called for taking a police dog and replacing it with another dog. Something to do with obstruction of justice or stealing police property, but it would be a difficult case to prove.
The first house was in Library Village, a small community on the west side of Toledo that had been named after the West Toledo Branch of the library. It has been designated a historical area, but unlike many such neighborhoods, the houses are smaller and more affordable than some of the other such areas in Toledo. It didn’t seem a likely place for a dognapping, but I wasn’t sure what area of town did seem likely.
I pulled up in front of the house listed on my paper. No dogs or people outside. I was going to have to be more direct. I got out of the car and walked up the front sidewalk to the door.
The door opened before I even knocked. “We don’t want anything,” the man said before I could even speak. He was probably in his late 30s with a beard that had begun to gray. Dark colored bags under his eyes made it appear like he hadn’t slept in a while. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans.
I cleared my throat to speak. “I’m not selling anything. I actually just had a question about your dog, if you don’t mind.”
“What about him?” the man asked, still looking at me suspiciously. I don’t think that I’d ever had a door-to-door salesman who sold dog products, but he looked like I was about to be the first. He kept a firm hand on the edge of the door.
“Your breeder, Mr. Johnson, said you would give him a reference. I’m thinking about buying a Beagle from him, and I always like to know something about the breeder before I do. Are you happy with the dog? Was the breeder okay to deal with?”
The man opened the door wider. “Have a look for yourself.” A Beagle came walking to the door. He barked several times, and I bent down to say hello and get a closer look at the dog. Two features ruled him out almost immediately. His front paw was white, which was unlike the photos I’d seen of Barkley. Additionally, he had a small knick out of his right ear, which looked quite old. This dog definitely wasn’t the one I was looking for. My skills of observation definitely came in handy with this case.
“So you’re happy with the breeder?” I asked.
The man nodded. “Sure. He was great, and the dog’s great too. You could do much worse.”
I quickly thanked him for his time and walked back to my car. I could feel the man watching me leave, but I didn’t look back. No use in giving him any more suspicions.
I consulted my GPS again, and I headed off to Onyx, a neighborhood that had begun as a home for German and Slavic peoples in the heart of Toledo. Now it was another centrally located neighborhood in town.
The house here was boxier and less cared for. Small patches of weeds had died with the onset of winter, leaving clumps of large, gristled weeds. I pulled up and looked around. The backyard was fenced in, and a Beagle was barking up a storm at the section of chain-link nearest to me. I got out of the car and walked over to him, which only served to make him bark louder. I bent down as I had with the previous dog, but this Beagle looked much more promising. In matching the characteristics I’d memorized of the dog, he looked like a match for Barkley.
“Good dog. Good Barkley.”
At the mention of the name, the Beagle’s eyes met mine, and I knew I had found the missing police dog. While I know that I can’t actually talk to pets (even though my ads say something to the contrary,) in that moment, I heard his pleas for help as clearly as if he’d spoken to me. He needed my help.
I thought about taking him with me, but that would only have made the situation worse. First, I would be committing a crime, and while I cared deeply for the plight of any dog, I had no desire to go to jail for this case. I liked my life a little too much to give it up for a dog. Secondly, if I took the dog, the people who had swapped Barkley for the fake would know that the game was up. We’d likely never find out what they’d planned on doing or how they planned on doing it. I felt like a heel, but I had to let him stay here.
I looked around for information about the owner, anything that might help me understand why they would have taken the dog, but I couldn’t find anything to help me out. I knew that at some point in the very near future, I would be expected to talk to Barkley to find out why this had occurred. The more information that I had, the easier it would be to find a plausible explanation for the events. However, this yard and house was not telling me a thing except I needed to leave before I got caught playing with a dog. While normally people accepted that from strangers, I had a hunch that in this case, there would be repercussions.
Barkley whimpered as I got up and walked back to my car. I called Brate from my cellphone in the car, but as luck would have it, he’d only given me his number at the station. When he didn’t answer there, I called the general police station number and learned that he had the day off. Just my luck. Apparently, he hadn’t thought that I’d get to the bottom of the situation quite so quickly. I made a note to be more thorough next time with my client information.
I thought about making a fuss to get his home number, but even if I succeeded, I knew that the other Port Clinton officers would remember the incident. Given what Brate had told me, I didn’t want to stick out or be visible in any way to the station. So I thanked them and hung up. Barkley would have to wait for another day to be rescued.
I imagined that I could hear Barkley whimper as I drove away.
Chapter 3
I woke the next morning to a phone call. I rolled over but it was barely 6am. Brate was on the line, and he was talking so fast that I had trouble understanding him. I had to ask him twice to slow down before I could comprehend what he was saying.
“Barkley’s been returned,” he said at a slower pace. “The other one spent the night at the station. Barkley did that once in a while, but I didn’t really feel right having an unknown dog in my home. When I got in today, Barkley was back to being himself.” He sighed loud enough for me to hear it on the other end.
“That’s great,” I said. I was confused and rattled from sleep. My brain needed a minute to process all of the new information.
I tried to take it in. Then I began to tell him my story of how I’d tracked Barkley down and found him at the house in Onyx. He asked a few questions about it, but I didn’t have much to add.
Of course, not being a professional detective and not thinking that the thieves would return the dog before I could talk to Brate, I had no photos or other evidence to back up my claims. All he had for the trouble was a name and address of someone who would not be approached about the incident now that it was over. Brate didn’t want to make trouble or have anyone ask any questions about the events, so he wouldn’t look into it further. Doing so would highlight the fact that he’d been negligent about his treatment of the police dog.
Brate asked for a meeting. I hoped it wasn’t a discussion to ask for his money back. My plan was for Barkley to tell me that he’d seen me at the house yesterday in Onyx. While that didn’t constitute proof in a court of law, it would back up my story and allow Brate to see that I’d earned my money.
I managed to get a cup of coffee and wash my face before I met Brate at the Port Clinton police station. The small building was quiet at this time of morning, which is likely why Brate wanted to meet now.
He was standing near the door with Barkley waiting for me. I nodded, and we went inside.
“As I told you, I put Barkley, or rather fake Barkley, in his crate last night. When I got in this morning, the real one was in his place.”
I didn’t even need to tell Brate my story. Barkley licked my face and hands when I bent down to greet him. It was obvious that we’d met before, and that he was happy to see me again. He jumped up on me and barked several times. This was not a quiet reunion by any means. I tried to quiet him down, but Barkley was having none of it. He barked a few more times before he stopped.
Two guys from the station walked by. The first was a younger guy, probably fresh out of school and looking to make his name. He stopped by, threw Barkley a treat, and walked on without talking to us. I could see that Brate was visibly relieved not to have to explain to the officer who I was. Apparently I was on the same level as mediums and unreliable CIs in his book.
The second man was more talkative. He was an older gent, carrying a large cup of coffee that I coveted with all my brain cells. He laughed as he saw the dog and threw it a treat as well. “Barkley, old buddy. I haven’t seen you in a few days.” The officer did not know how right he was.
The man made a few more comments, mostly to the dog and none to Brate or me. Then he moved on. It was apparent that the dog was well loved in the station house, which meant that any of these men could have easily persuaded the dog to get in the car with him. Narrowing down the field of suspects here would be difficult.
After the second officer left, Brate stood. “Let’s go outside and get away from the spectators,” he said. He whistled for Barkley who headed for the door with no leash. I knew of many trainers who managed to get their dogs to walk off-leash, but my Corgis were not among them. My dogs would be likely to run full tilt towards a squirrel or a treat without any care for my commands.
Barkley looked at the cup in Brate’s hand and jumped on his leg to indicate that he wanted some. After jumping for a few seconds, Barkley went silent. He still had his front paws on my legs, but he stopped jumping, and his body went still. He just continued to look up at me expectantly, like I had the answers to his problems.
I looked at Brate. “What’s going on? What’s he doing?”
Brate stared off into the distance, but all that I saw when I turned around were a few cars in the parking lot. “I’m hoping I’m wrong, but that’s Barkley’s stance when he finds something. I think we might have our motive as to why he was taken in the first place. I think he’s found some drugs.”
Brate had no sooner finished speaking when Barkley put all four feet on the ground and trotted off into the parking lot. His bark was loud and demanding, and even without “talking” to the Beagle I knew that we were supposed to follow. Barkley ran from one car to the next, his head up and his nose sniffing wildly at the air.
Finally, he stopped behind a late model red Corolla and put his paws on the back bumper of the car. The Beagle barked twice and the sound changed to a howl, a long low sob. I felt my blood run cold, knowing that the dog had found something in the car. I’d never seen a sniffer dog in action before and I was surprised at how easily it worked.
Brate was there before me. He tried the trunk which was locked, of course. He tried both of the front doors and then tried the back doors. The passenger side rear door was unlocked, and Brate leaned through to open the driver’s door.
“Get in and find the trunk release.”
I looked at him, shocked that we might be corrupting a crime scene. My time with Detective Green had told me the protocol to follow with a crime scene and the need to secure the scene. I didn’t have gloves or any type of protective gear. My DNA and fingerprints would be on the crime scene if I did this. However, if there were any chance that Barkley’s nose had found a not quite dead person, I guess that we had to take the chance. I opened the door and leaned in, looking for a lever or button to unlock the trunk. I found it and pulled up on the lever. I heard the trunk pop open, and then a coughing sound from Brate. That was not a good sign.
I left the car and walked back to the trunk again. I was slow in getting there in case Brate wanted to do the nice thing and not let me see the body. However, he had no such intention. I peered in the trunk and saw the body of a man.
The man’s hands were handcuffed behind his back, which would not be a great advertisement for the Port Clinton Police Department. He’d been dead for a while, because the stench that arose from the trunk was sufficient that I could have probably located the cadaver without Barkley. The scent was overwhelming and like nothing I’d ever smelled before. I wanted to throw up from the magnitude of it.
The body matched the stench. The skin had gone pasty white and bugs crawled across his face and neck, but from what I could discern beyond my desire to wretch was that he was a middle-aged white man who had been shot at least twice in the head. Not much of a description, but I wouldn’t be called on to identify him. I’d never seen him before in my life.
I didn’t feel that I needed to give an explanation as I left the crime scene to sit down on the steps to the station. Barkley came over and sat with me, satisfied that he’d done his job well. After a few more minutes in which I felt my own breathing grow more normal, Brate came back over to me. My stomach was still doing flips, but I didn’t feel like I’d throw up now. More like I wouldn’t want to eat for a few days.
“I need to call this in. You’ll have to stay and back up my story about this.” He nodded to the car with the open trunk.
“Sure, no problem. Do I leave out the part about me looking for Barkley?” I asked, thinking of how Brate had wanted to keep this quiet. It wouldn’t look good for the local police if a body was found on the premises and the police were hiring a man to talk to the K-9 unit for clues in the investigation. He nodded at me and then went inside.
Chapter 4
The next two hours were tortuously slow as I was asked the same questions repeatedly. A few of the officers had heard of me, two of them had seen me inside the station moments before, and I merely explained that I was offering my service
s to police animals as possible witnesses. Just trying to grow my business in a soft market. My response elicited some snickers, but it kept Brate from explaining why he’d lost a valuable police asset and how he couldn’t explain why the asset had been returned to the station without explanation. Still the story left out a few facts that needed to be investigated, like the fake Barkley and the man who had bought him from Mike Johnson. That was a lead which needed to be followed soon, and the situation looked like the police would not be the ones to do it.
The circumstances left Brate and me with more leads than the rest of the force had. We knew about the house in Toledo where I’d first found Barkley. I had a name for the people who had bought that dog as well. We knew that someone had been trying to stop Barkley from doing what he had done today.
However, we – certainly I – couldn’t explain why Barkley had been returned at this juncture. I did wonder if I’d been spotted at the house in Onyx yesterday. Had the dognappers been frightened when they saw me snooping and decided to return the dog before they were arrested? It was possible but I hadn’t seen anyone at the house.
The other option was that they were done with whatever needed to escape detection and they’d returned the dog since they were finished. However, the corpse was still around and had been discovered within hours of Barkley’s return. That didn’t make this option seem as likely – unless I was still missing something. I would have expected the scene to be clean before the dog was returned. Why store the body here and return the dog?
So what exactly had the disappearance accomplished? It had made Brate aware of the disappearance and possible motives for Barkley being removed from a potential crime scene. It had possibly prevented the killers from being caught in the act; however, we had a name and an address of the most likely suspects. We still had a body and a crime. They’d merely gotten a head start.
Nothing To Sniff At (Animal Instincts Book 5) Page 3
