Burning Ridge

by Margaret Mizushima

  Ed returned, his cell phone in hand. He read off York’s number while both McCoy and Cole plugged it into their phones.

  McCoy’s dark eyes burned as he fixed his stare on Ed. “Do you have a wildlife dart gun here on your premises?”

  “Actually I do. I have an old one from a project a few years ago.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Geez, Sheriff. It’s buried in the closet in my bedroom. I’ll have to go back there now to get it.” He sighed and turned, starting to lumber away as if the thirty feet he had to walk was a marathon.

  McCoy spoke to Ed’s retreating backside. “Do you have any darts?”

  Ed stopped and turned. “I think so. Some old, used ones.”

  “Bring those, too. Show me whatever you’ve got. Actually, I’ll come with you.”

  Ed made a noise that sounded like protest, but he threw up his hands in surrender and headed back toward his bedroom. Cole followed the sheriff, entering a room that looked like it had been struck by a tornado: clothing scattered everywhere, shotgun shells and bullets scattered on top of the dresser among other collectibles such as pocket knives and loose change.

  Ed dug into the closet, tossing coats, sweatshirts, pants, down vests, and other clothing out onto the floor. Back in the nether region of the far corner, he found what he’d buried there—the dart gun and a bag full of darts, similar to the one found in Mattie’s back yard, only these had plastic feathers on the ends instead of the daisy shape.

  “Is there anything significant about how the dart is made? I’ve seen one with a flowerlike pattern on the end instead of these feathers,” McCoy said.

  “That end part just stabilizes the projectile. There’s nothing special about it,” Ed said.

  “Have you ever used the other type in your department—the one with the daisy?”

  “Sure. These are just the ones I happen to have.”

  McCoy nodded.

  “Here’s how the projector works,” Ed said, as he demonstrated unlocking a lever-type bolt on the gun that resembled a smaller version of a rifle. He pointed to the opening used for ammo. “You load the dart in here, lock the bolt, pump it with this lever, aim, and fire.”

  “How loud is the report when it’s shot?” McCoy asked.

  “It’s powered by a carbon dioxide cartridge instead of gunpowder. It sounds like an air gun or a kid’s pellet gun.”

  McCoy withdrew a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. “I need to take these with me, Ed.”

  “All right. Can I ask why?”

  “We suspect this type of equipment was used on our patrol dog. Even if this isn’t the exact equipment, it will give us a better understanding of what the gun looks like and how it functions. We’ll return it to you as soon as we’re done with it.”

  “I haven’t used it for years. We have newer projectors we’ll be using on the sheep project, so I won’t need it back right away.”

  McCoy seemed to be turning that over in his head as he put on a glove and picked up the gun. “Do you have those newer projectors here at your local office?”

  “Nah. Tucker has them at his office.”

  “Who else is involved with this sheep project?”

  “Oh, let’s see. The southwest regional manager will be coming in, and we’ll have several wildlife technicians and another district wildlife manager like myself. Probably at least one biologist will be on the team. Cole will be our vet.”

  “Do you have the names of these people?”

  “Sure.”

  “Who has access to the darts and the guns?”

  “Well, I suppose any of us might. I mean, the equipment isn’t exactly kept locked up like the drugs are. Tucker stores the new equipment, but some of the older stuff could be anywhere.”

  “I’ll need a list of names and phone numbers for the project team members.”

  A furrow appeared between Ed’s eyebrows. “I can get that together for you when I go into the office in the morning.”

  “Sorry, Ed, but I need it now.”

  “Gol-durnit, Sheriff. I thought you were gonna say that.”

  “Get me everyone’s home and cell phone numbers if you can. It’s imperative that I start contacting these people tonight.”

  “Give me a few minutes to get dressed, and then I’ll go.” Ed grumbled under his breath as he bent to grab a pair of jeans off the floor, saying something about all this hoopla over a dang dog.

  McCoy drilled the man with his eyes, his face set in a grim frown.

  “I’ll tell you something in confidence as a wildlife officer of the state,” McCoy said. “This is about more than the attack on my K-9. My K-9 handler is missing and unaccounted for now, too.”

  Ed looked back at the sheriff, and the surprise in his eyes appeared genuine. “You mean Mattie?”

  McCoy nodded, and Cole was glad that the seriousness of the matter had finally been emphasized.

  “Geez, Sheriff.” Ed stepped briskly into his pants, pulled them on, and grabbed a shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? Let’s go see what I can find out at the office.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Pain danced along every nerve ending of Mattie’s body, shooting from one extremity to another. Her head pounded, and shards of shale bit into her cheek.

  She lay on her side, slack-jawed, taking slow breaths through her mouth. She could see nothing, but she heard the occasional shuffle of a small animal in the night and the footsteps of her captor as he came and went. Whenever he approached, she pretended to be unconscious.

  In the air she could smell the scent of a horse, the smoke from a campfire, the pine of the forest, and the earthiness of the hard stone beneath her. When the man drew near, she caught the musky odor of his body along with some type of cologne. Was that a hint of cinnamon? She wracked her brain, trying to recall if she’d ever smelled that scent before on anyone.

  After he left, she tried to wiggle her toes and this time felt a tiny sensation of them pressing against her boot leather. Now, fingers. Her head told them to flex, but they refused to budge.

  At least her brain seemed to be thinking more clearly. Robo came into her mind. Her brave dog, willing to tear into someone to protect her, yet willing to do anything she asked of him. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  She couldn’t allow herself to think of Robo. It would be her weakness. And if there was one thing she knew, it was this—she needed to remain strong, because she was going to be in for the fight of her life.

  * * *

  After retrieving a list of the sheep project team members from Lovejoy, Cole rode shotgun as McCoy drove back toward Mattie’s house. “Do you think Ed had anything to do with this?” Cole asked.

  McCoy remained tight-lipped. “What’s your opinion?”

  Cole thought it over. Lovejoy’s reactions, both when he’d called earlier and when he and the sheriff made him open his door, seemed genuine. “I don’t think so.”

  “I tend to agree.” McCoy’s cell phone rang. He checked caller ID and connected the call via the SUV’s hands-free system. “Yes, Detective. You’re on speakerphone and Cole Walker is here with me.”

  “I’ve roused both owners of the surveillance cameras,” Stella said. “I just finished with Moses Randall at the feed store. The view of the highway is blurry and distorted at best, but I could see the shape of what looks like a light colored sedan cruise past at 10:23 PM on the tape. It came from the south, which would be the direction from Mattie’s house, headed north on Highway 12. There was one more vehicle that passed from the south four minutes later. It was a dark colored pickup truck.”

  “Can you ID the car or the truck?”

  “Too distorted. Can’t tell make or model. But I’m headed to the gas station. If either vehicle turned west at the intersection, and if we have a better picture, I’ll be able to spot them in the same timeframe.”

  Sounded like a lot of ifs to Cole.

  “Good work. Call if you get anything,” McCoy said, signing off
.

  Cole thought of the two pickup trucks he’d spotted in the parking lot on the day he and the kids found the boot. “Tucker York drives a dark blue pickup truck.”

  McCoy swiped and tapped his phone. “I’ll try his cell again.”

  Cole waited while the sheriff ended the call and redialed, repeating the process several more times. Finally, he left a message: “Mr. York, this is Sheriff McCoy of Timber Creek County. Call me back when you get this message.”

  “So he’s not answering his phone,” Cole said.

  “Could be sound asleep. The phone could be turned off or in a different room.”

  Cole knew that to be true, but still felt a growing suspicion that the man could be involved. He was in a prime position for having access to the drug and the method used to tranquilize Robo. But, he reasoned, there was no known connection between York and Mattie or her brother.

  They were nearing Mattie’s house when McCoy spoke again. “What are we going to do about your involvement in this investigation, Cole? I deputized you to secure the chain of evidence on that dart, but you’re still a civilian.”

  “A civilian trained in the use of firearms and who has worked with you on cases before. You know you can trust me to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Not worried about that.”

  “I’m the closest thing you have to a K-9 handler for Robo right now, and I’ve trained with Mattie before. You deputized me, Sheriff, and I’m staying on the case.”

  When he heard his name, Robo poked his nose through the heavy-gauge mesh that separated his compartment from the front. Cole reached through to stroke the top of his head, squaring off toward the driver’s side of the vehicle. He wouldn’t let Sheriff McCoy send him home now.

  “It’s not your responsibility, and I can’t guarantee that we can keep you safe,” McCoy said.

  “I’m safer investigating with your team than I am out there on my own. And I will search for Mattie on my own. You know I’m not good at sitting at home waiting by the phone.”

  McCoy shot a glance his way. “Let’s take this a step at a time. For now, you’re still deputized, and you’re still in. I’ll inform you if I change my mind.”

  They pulled up in front of Mattie’s house and found the Byers County van parked at the vacant lot. Additional lights had been set up in both the lot and Mattie’s back yard.

  “You know how Robo learned to do a scent lineup last month?” Cole asked. He’d been mulling over what Mattie had told him about teaching Robo to match a scent article to a lineup of people. It was a skill used more frequently in European countries, and one not necessarily given credence in American courts of law. However, it had proven valuable for Mattie to ferret out the owner of a piece of evidence.

  McCoy murmured a sound of agreement.

  “I want to take him to the backyard now and ask him to do a thorough sweep. I don’t know if he’ll find something that your officers couldn’t, but he’ll at least get his nose full of this person’s scent. If he locks it into his memory, maybe he could identify the person later. You never know.”

  McCoy raised an eyebrow. “Go to it. I’ll tell Johnson and Garcia what you’re up to.”

  Cole fastened a leash on Robo’s collar, making a stop at his truck to give McCoy the box that contained the dart. He also wanted to keep offering Robo water to help him metabolize any remaining effects of the drug. He followed McCoy to the backyard, leading Robo past the fence where the sheriff huddled with his deputies.

  After going to the porch, Cole paused and gave Robo several firm pats on his side, hugging him against his leg the way he’d seen Mattie do time and time again. Robo tolerated the affection but didn’t look into his eyes with the ecstatic pleasure he always shared with his girl. “Just doing the best I can, buddy,” he murmured.

  He remembered the command Mattie used for evidence detection. Seek! He tried to get Robo to search a grid. Directing the dog with gestures wasn’t as easy as it looked when Mattie did it, but Robo put his nose to the ground and started quartering the yard in a two-foot swath. Thank goodness, Cole thought as he followed the shepherd.

  Robo charged up and down the yard quickly until they approached the fence along the side yard. At that point, he slowed, thoroughly sniffing the ground. Cole could imagine him taking in all the scents he was collecting and cataloging them into his memory. About halfway down the fence line, Robo broke from the grid pattern and followed his nose to the area where Riley had found him down and unconscious.

  “I think someone came at Mattie and Robo from along the fence here,” Cole told McCoy, who was standing by observing the process. Cole gestured along the ground. “This appears to be a scent trail.”

  McCoy indicated that he understood.

  Cole knew the information was anticlimactic, but he’d pinned his hopes on logging the guy’s scent into Robo’s unique data bank, which appeared to be a success. He finished up the search without any objects or visual evidence to show for it.

  But he’d come up with another thought, which he shared with McCoy as they led Robo toward the front yard. “Mattie spent most of the evening with her foster mother, Teresa Lovato. She knows Mattie as well as anyone. I wonder if she’d have any idea who might have attacked her and Robo.”

  “Are you thinking this is someone from Mattie’s personal life?”

  “I’m just trying to cast a wide net. We know it’s possible that someone associated with her past might have killed her brother. So it’s possible the person who took her could’ve known her, too, or at least could’ve known who she is.”

  “I’ll go with you. I need to inform Mrs. Lovato about what’s happened.”

  After Cole loaded Robo into the K-9 unit, McCoy drove them to a white, stucco two-story on the west side of town, a home that Cole had never been to before. On their way, the sheriff had called Mattie’s foster mother to warn her they were coming.

  The porch light flicked on. As McCoy shut down the car’s engine, the front door opened, revealing a Hispanic woman of short stature wrapped in a pink bathrobe. Cole followed the sheriff up the sidewalk, and as they approached, more detail became apparent; the woman’s gray-streaked black hair was worn in a long side braid that trailed down her chest, her wrinkled face etched with concern.

  “What’s this about Mattie, Sheriff?” She extended her hand to draw the officer into her home. “I was asleep and not thinking too good, so tell me again.”

  Cole paused at the threshold while McCoy explained that Mattie was missing after an apparent attack on her dog. Though she didn’t make a sound, tears began to stream down the lady’s wrinkled cheeks while he spoke. When he finished filling her in, McCoy introduced Cole.

  She extended her hand, and Cole grasped it in both of his. This lady was very special to Mattie; in fact, she’d been a mother to her.

  “Come in, come inside,” she said, tugging gently at his hand. “Don’t stand out there on the porch.”

  Cole stepped into the room. “I’m sorry we have to meet this way, Mrs. Lovato. I know how much you and Mattie mean to each other.”

  “And you mean so much to her, too. Call me Mama T. Everyone does.”

  Another woman appeared, coming down the stairway from the second floor. She, too, was dressed in a terrycloth, pink bathrobe, wrapped around her rather stout shape and belted at the waist. She’d also braided her long, black hair for the night.

  “This is Doreen,” Mama T said. “She is another one of my children.”

  Doreen approached, looking from the sheriff to Cole as she extended her hand and introduced herself. She had a soft grip and kind eyes.

  Doreen turned to McCoy. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “Do either of you have any idea who could be responsible for taking Mattie? Any idea, even if it seems unreasonable,” McCoy said.

  Mama T held her clasped hands against her chest. “Is this related to her brother’s death?”

  “We don’t know. We can’t eliminate that possibil
ity. Do you know anyone who might have done this?”

  Distress lined the lady’s face. “It could be anyone. Anyone she arrested before.”

  Cole knew how she felt. Mattie’s work lent a fine opportunity for her to make enemies.

  “She was here at your home tonight,” McCoy said. “Did you notice anything unusual about her behavior this evening?”

  Mama T paused as if thinking. “She was upset when she got here, wasn’t she, Doreen?”

  “Yes, she was. Even more upset than the night before.”

  Cole observed something akin to guilt cross the sheriff’s face.

  Mama T looked at Doreen while she spoke, as if for confirmation. “But she seemed to relax after she got here, and I think she had fun.”

  “She did have fun, Mama. She was laughing before she left.”

  “Did she say where she was going from here?” McCoy asked.

  “She planned to go straight home. She mentioned she was tired and ready for bed,” Doreen said, while Mama T nodded her agreement.

  “Did you see her drive away? Or notice anyone following her?”

  Mama T plucked the nap of her robe’s lapel, her stress even more evident. “I didn’t see her. We were in the kitchen, and I didn’t watch her drive away. I should have.”

  “That’s okay, ma’am,” McCoy said, reassuring her. “Chances are there was nothing unusual for you to see anyway.”

  After determining that Mama T could provide no further information, McCoy made his way to the door. “I’m sorry we had to disturb you with this bad news. We’ll keep you informed if anything changes.”

  “I’ll be here,” she said. “I won’t be going back to bed.”

  They said their goodbyes and Cole followed McCoy out to the car. As they left the house, Robo’s face popped up in the Explorer’s window, panting and wild-eyed. Cole hurried to open the door, and saw what he’d been doing while they were gone. The entire carpet in the dog’s compartment lay in shreds.

  “Poor guy,” Cole said. “I’ve got to get him out of this car.”

  McCoy raised a brow. “Is he distraught over Mattie absence?”