Burning Ridge

by Margaret Mizushima

  He whirled and jumped on his cushion, shoulders down in a play pose.

  “Now you’re all revved up and ready to go. Come on, I’ll take you outside for a break, but then we’ve got more work to do.”

  When Robo finished his short romp, Mattie told him to heel and went back inside, going through the lobby to join Stella and McCoy in the war room. Mattie sat and settled Robo beside her. Lawson entered the room, carrying his laptop, and he joined her at the table. He’d washed the dirt from his face but still looked weary.

  Stella reviewed the case. She asked Mattie to present the findings from her interview with Carlos Martinez, and when she did, Lawson nodded but didn’t comment. His computer appeared to be holding his attention as he opened it and began to scroll.

  “The ATF has a hit on the Desert Eagle,” Lawson said, typing the keyboard, evidently retrieving the report. When he paused to read the screen, his brow lifted with surprise. He looked up from the computer screen and cleared his throat. “The last date of sale on the gun was thirty years ago, purchased new from a gun shop in San Diego by a man named Harold Cobb.”

  Mattie felt as if she were falling, and her stomach flipped. Her father was the last registered owner of a gun she’d found near her brother’s grave? How could that be? She wondered if she’d heard right.

  Lawson frowned as he turned his head to make eye contact with her. “Any relation to you, Deputy Cobb?”

  Her mouth had gone dry, and it was all she could do to form words—words that articulated a relationship she hated to admit. “He was my father.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Silence reigned while Mattie waged war with her emotions. All eyes were on her, even Robo’s. Shock and dismay triumphed over her ability to remain detached. Her eyes prickled, and she knew her cop face was beginning to crumble. She leaned over to pet Robo, bowing her head to hide her weakness from the others.

  Lawson turned his chair to face her, and its scrape against the linoleum resounded in the silent room. “Was your father? Is he deceased?”

  “Yes.” Mattie forced in a deep breath as she remained hunched over Robo.

  “Is that definite?” Lawson sounded like he doubted her.

  McCoy cleared his throat. “I confirmed it myself. He died twenty-four years ago.”

  “Was he living here at the time?”

  “Harold Cobb was a resident of Timber Creek,” McCoy said, “but he died while incarcerated at the Colorado State Penitentiary in Canon City.”

  Mattie used the few moments when their attention shifted away from her to realign the features of her face. She lifted her chin to meet Lawson’s gaze, confident that she could remain expressionless. “My father was convicted of domestic violence and killed during a prison fight. He died when I was six years old.”

  “How long had he lived in Timber Creek?” Lawson asked.

  “Harold and Ramona Cobb lived here for approximately four years prior to his arrest,” McCoy said. “He had no prior record at the time.”

  The fact that McCoy could relay her father’s history from memory stunned her. He’d been a young deputy when he’d responded to her call for help the night her father tried to kill her mother. It was a long time ago and he’d seen countless arrests since then.

  Lawson was observing McCoy with narrowed eyes. “This is too much, Sheriff. Deputy Cobb’s brother is a victim in our first case, and now her father’s a firm suspect for the murders of our three victims in the second case. I insist we take her off this investigation.”

  Stella leaned forward and fastened Lawson with a heated gaze. “Do you realize that our deputy is the source of the major points of evidence we have in this case? I insist she stays.”

  A sinking sensation gripped Mattie’s belly. Lawson was right. Both cases had crossed over the line and become too personal. Even she couldn’t deny it.

  Though it hurt to surrender, she felt forced to. “He’s right, Stella. The gun registration implicating my father makes a difference, because it designates me as family times two. These two cases are now linked by MO, location, and family relationship. No court would accept anything I discovered as fact.”

  Stella turned her glare on Mattie, but she could tell underneath that anger lay helplessness in the face of the inevitable, a helplessness Mattie shared.

  “Detective LoSasso, you will act as family liaison to Deputy Cobb,” McCoy said, sounding resigned. “You’ll share appropriate details with her as well as bring any information that might come her way back to us. Deputy Cobb, you’ll cease investigating both cases.”

  “Understood,” Mattie said. She needed to get her hands on her computer to search for any information about her father that she could find.

  Lawson might have read her mind. “Thank you, Deputy. I’ll be following up with a thorough search of your father’s history, trying to find any known associates who might be involved with your brother’s homicide. We need to remove you from the investigative process, but we’ll still keep you in the loop.”

  “Appreciated.” Mattie stood, her movement as abrupt as her reply, determined to leave the room before someone told her to. Robo jumped up to follow, and she’d never been more grateful for his championship.

  * * *

  During the last hour of her shift, Mattie uncovered nothing new about Harold Cobb. His case had been archived, but she could pull up a mug shot, the record of his arrest, disposition of his charges, and his date of death.

  She studied the photo. She’d seen it before, and it had lost its ability to move her. Harold Cobb was Caucasian with pale skin, lank brown hair, and a scruffy dark beard. She tried to see her own features and even Willie’s in his likeness, but she couldn’t. She’d never seen a picture of her mother, but both she and her brother had inherited the Hispanic features of their maternal ancestry.

  She glanced at the clock and decided to finish her paperwork. She’d promised Mama T that she would come to dinner to say goodbye to Doreen, and it was important to stand by her word. First, she would drop Robo off at her house.

  Several hours later, Mattie returned home from dinner at Mama T’s, tired but in a calmer state of mind than when she’d left work. She leaned back in her seat, studying the front of her house by the glow of the porch light and thinking about her evening.

  Being with her foster family had lifted her spirits more than she’d thought possible. She’d surprised herself by discovering that she actually enjoyed visiting with Doreen. Much to Mama T’s delight, the two of them had entertained their foster mother by telling stories about their memories from growing up in her home, and Mattie had found relief from the turmoil of her own life during her time with the two women.

  Her phone signaled a text from Riley, asking if she had time to talk. At the same time, Robo’s face popped into the picture window of her house, paws braced against the sill, his nose pressed against the windowpane.

  Mattie texted back: I’ll call you in ten minutes after I take care of Robo.

  While she went toward the porch, she remembered that she needed to call Cole, too. When he’d texted earlier in the evening, she’d promised him a call after she got home.

  She unlocked the front door, turning off the porch light as she entered. Robo greeted her but then made a beeline for the kitchen and scratched on the back door. “Do you need to go out?”

  She opened the door to the backyard. Robo charged onto the porch and leaped off, growling a low-pitched warning in his chest. He rushed around the corner of the house into the side yard that led to the gate. Must be a rabbit or something on that side of the house, Mattie thought and started after him.

  A loud pfft, similar to air escaping from a hydraulic valve, came from somewhere in the darkness.

  Robo yelped.

  Mattie dashed around the corner of the house. A shadow that could only be Robo lunged against the chain link in an awkward leap, bouncing off the fencing. She called to him, and he stumbled toward her, taking a few steps before falling.

 
; Her heart pounded in her throat. Was that a pellet gun? Kids? Did he get hit?

  She reached his side and sank to her knees. Robo tried to raise his head, but he collapsed, one paw stretched forward, his body limp.

  It was too dark to see, so she ran her hands over his fur, searching for blood. She lifted him and slipped her hand down the far side of his body. It connected with a hard object stuck in his fur.

  She pulled it loose, and held it up to catch the moonlight. A dart, like the kind used to tranquilize animals.

  Pfft!

  Something hit her square in the back, between her shoulders. Pain bit hard, and a burning sensation spread outward. Another dart! She reached over her shoulder, but she couldn’t touch it. She tried reaching below, and it glanced off her fingertips. She struggled for another inch, grasped it, and pulled it out.

  Her arms grew slack; her hands shook. With a huge effort, she tossed the dart toward the tall grass at the edge of the house.

  Her vision narrowed to a tunnel, and threads of thought dangled in her mind. Her Glock—locked away in her gun safe. Willie—with his disfigured face and blackened tongue. Robo—is he still breathing?

  As she lost control of her body, she flopped down beside her dog. She struggled to press her face against his chest to see if she could detect his breath, a heartbeat.

  A shape loomed over her, and she tried to focus her narrowing vision. Dark clothing, hood pulled tight, gas mask hiding his face. He nudged her with his foot.

  And then, there was nothing but darkness.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Cole was waiting to hear from Mattie. After everyone else went to bed, he’d turned off the lights and was watching television in the darkened family room. When his phone jingled in his pocket, he fished it out, hoping the call would be from her.

  Unknown number. Though tempted to push it through to voice mail, he soon changed his mind. A caller at this time of night probably had an emergency. He answered the phone.

  The voice on the other end sounded panicky. “Dr. Walker, help! Come to Mattie’s house.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Riley. Something’s wrong with Robo!”

  Cole headed toward the garage. “Let me talk to Mattie.”

  “She’s not here!”

  “Where did she go?”

  Riley began to sob. “She’s not here! I don’t know. She didn’t answer the door. The front door was locked, but the yard gate was open. Mattie never leaves it open.”

  The garage door rumbled upward, and he jumped into the truck, turning the key in the ignition and jamming the gearshift into reverse. “Take a breath, Riley. Stay calm. Tell me what’s wrong with Robo.”

  “I think … I think he’s dead. He’s down in the yard, and his tongue, it’s hanging out.”

  “Check to see if he’s breathing.”

  “I can’t tell. It’s too dark.”

  Cole had sped halfway down his lane. “Put your ear to his chest, Riley. See if you can hear a heartbeat.”

  There was a pause on the line during which he hit the highway and turned toward town. He floored the gas pedal.

  Riley spoke, her voice quivering with tension. “It’s beating. He’s barely breathing.”

  But where’s Mattie? He tried to keep his voice calm. “I’m almost there. Leave him where he is. Don’t move him.”

  He searched for ideas. Someone had tried to poison Robo last summer; maybe this was a repeat. “Have you called the police yet?”

  “No, I called you first.”

  “Can you go to a neighbor’s house or someplace that’s well lit?”

  “The neighbors all have their lights off. And I don’t want to leave him.”

  “I’m almost there. Go ahead and pet him and talk to him, but stay on the line with me.”

  He’d powered the truck up to well over ninety during the mile of highway that led into town, but slowed as he hit the city limits. Pressing hard on the brakes, he screeched around the turn onto the street that would lead west to Mattie’s house.

  He could hear Riley talking to Robo in soothing tones; she’d evidently managed to get her panic under control.

  “I’m a block away, Riley.”

  Her voice quivered. “He’s still breathing, but he’s not moving at all.”

  He reached Mattie’s yard, pulled the truck onto the grass, and aimed its headlights toward the open gate, lighting up Riley’s silhouette as she knelt beside the prostrate dog. “I’m here, Riley. I’m hanging up now.”

  As he gathered his stethoscope and a flashlight from the truck console, he disconnected the call and tapped 9-1-1. Dispatch at the sheriff’s office answered.

  “This is Cole Walker. There’s an emergency at Deputy Mattie Cobb’s house. Her dog Robo is down in the back yard, unresponsive, and Mattie isn’t on the premises as far as we know. Send an officer right away and get the sheriff over here, too, as soon as possible.”

  He ended the call, sprinting toward the back yard to kneel next to Riley. “Good job, kiddo. Let me take a look.”

  Cole flipped on the flashlight and inserted the earpieces of his stethoscope, splaying the light over Robo’s body as he placed the resonator on his chest. Heart rate was slow but strong, respirations shallow and intermittent. Limbs and torso were immobile, no muscular movement or fasciculation. No sign of vomiting or foaming at the mouth. He quickly palpated Robo’s fur and entire body. No blood that he could see or feel.

  He lifted an eyelid and shone the light, waved the light away and back—pupil constricted, pinpoint, no reflexive movement. He tapped Robo’s eyelid. No eye blink.

  This didn’t look like poison. It looked like sedation, paralysis. Even though Robo’s heartbeat remained strong, the lack of steady respiration concerned him. If his oxygen levels went too low, his heart could stop beating at any time.

  What am I dealing with here? Phenobarbital? Ketamine? How could someone get to a protection dog like this and sedate him?

  He thought of a dart gun—like the one Ed Lovejoy planned to use with the sheep. He rolled the limp dog into a sternal position, looking for a dart. Not seeing one, he swept the light around the grass. Nothing.

  He placed one hand lightly on Robo’s chest to monitor the pattern of his breathing.

  Riley had begun to sob. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know yet, but he’s still alive, and we’ll do what we can to keep him that way.” A patrol car, overhead lights pulsing red and blue, pulled up beside his truck. Riley started to get up and go toward it. “Stay put, Riley. Let him come to us.”

  Cole didn’t want there to be any confusion that would put the girl in danger. He shouted to the officer and waved him over. The deputy came running, hunkered down and on guard, hand on his holstered weapon.

  “Is that you, Dr. Walker?”

  “Yes. This is Riley, she’s with me. We’ve got Robo here. He’s unconscious. Neither one of us has been in the house. We don’t know where Mattie is.” He tried to be as succinct as possible. “I’ve got to get Robo to the clinic, and fast. He’s having trouble breathing.”

  “I’ll check the house,” the officer said as he dashed away.

  Even though his first impulse had been to follow and go look for Mattie, he knew that Robo took priority. Mattie must be around somewhere. I can’t let her dog die.

  The time between Robo’s breaths had grown more prolonged. Cole shone his light on his mouth and checked his mucous membrane. Blanched. He pressed the gum with one finger and released. Poor capillary profusion and refill.

  Time to give him a boost. He gave the flashlight to Riley. “Train the light on his chest for me, okay?”

  He let Robo settle back on his side, positioned the dog’s tongue in his mouth and closed his jaw, cupped his muzzle with his hands, and began mouth-to-nostril respirations. Cole could see his breath lift the dog’s ribcage. He kept up a rhythm for several rounds, gratified to see Robo’s chest rise with each one and then fall as he allowed him to exha
le on his own.

  Cole stayed focused on Robo but was acutely aware of the activity around him. Another car pulled up in the front yard, overheads flashing. The deputy who’d gone to search Mattie’s house approached from the backyard, and relief washed through Cole when he heard McCoy’s steady voice. “What’s going on here, Deputy Garcia?”

  Garcia summed up everything that Cole had told him earlier. “Mattie’s not in the house, Sheriff. We don’t know where she is.”

  “The lock on this gate has been broken,” McCoy said.

  Cole paused, monitoring Robo’s ability to breathe on his own. The shallow, intermittent breath pattern returned. “I have to get Robo to the clinic, stat. I need to put him on a respirator.”

  “Was he poisoned?” McCoy asked.

  “Tranquilized. Search this grassy area for a dart. I need to know what was used on him. If you find one, don’t touch it with your bare hands. These drugs can be dangerous.” As he spoke, Cole squatted and gathered the big dog up in his arms, clasping him by chest and haunches. Riley hurried to help. Straining, he stood, rearranged his grip on the limp dog, and headed for his truck. “Go open the back door of the truck, Riley.”

  Sheriff McCoy followed close behind. “What can I do to help?”

  Cole groaned as he lifted Robo into the back seat. McCoy reached through to help him adjust him on his side. “Could you drive? I better not leave him back here alone.” McCoy agreed and Cole climbed into the back of the cab, wedging between the front and back seats so he could lean over Robo.

  McCoy shouted to Garcia that he was going to the vet clinic and that Deputy Johnson was on his way. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat. Riley was standing back, her face white, her distress evident. Cole couldn’t leave her alone in the yard like that. “Riley, do you want to come with me?”

  “Yes!”

  “Hop in front.”

  Even though McCoy made good time on the drive to the clinic, Cole had to deliver more respirations to Robo. Thank goodness the young dog had a healthy heart. It was still beating, but its increased rate told Cole that it was stressed. Riley gave McCoy directions to drive down the lane to the clinic’s front door.