Jagger

by Kristopher Rufty

  Smiling, Polly let out a deep breath. “That’s a relief. You just never know these days.” She tapped a finger on the newspaper. “With all this mess going on…” She shook her head. “You just never know.”

  “No, you don’t.” Mark cleared his throat. “Is she busy?”

  “She just finished up with Ms. Goldman, so she’s in-between appointments, at the moment.”

  “Would she have time to talk to me during that moment?”

  Smiling, Polly said, “I’m sure she would. Hang on.” Polly lifted the phone to her ear, punched in a short set of numbers and waited. “Hi, Dr. Alasba?” She smiled. “Yes. There’s an officer here to talk to you.”

  “Deputy,” he whispered.

  “Oh, sorry. A deputy.”

  Mark cheeks warmed. He didn’t know why he always felt the need to correct somebody when they got it wrong.

  A deputy for now, anyway.

  As he’d feared, word had gotten back to the sheriff about Amy’s outburst the other day. He was supposed to be at a meeting in the sheriff’s office at three, and he didn’t expect things to go smoothly. So the way Mark saw it, he had a few hours left to get as much done on this Jagger ordeal.

  Polly nodded, though Dr. Alasba couldn’t have seen it from the other end of the conversation. “Will do. Thanks.” She hung up the phone, looked at Mark. “She said to head on back.” Leaning forward, Polly pointed over Mark’s left shoulder. “See that door?”

  Mark turned. He saw a door in the corner. It had no sign, or even a handle, just a bar window with frosted mesh glass. “Yeah.”

  “Head over there and someone will come let you in. They’ll show you to her office.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Mark turned away from the desk and started toward the door. Before he reached it, he heard a click from the other side that sounded a lot like a shotgun being jacked. A moment later, the door swung open. A man, who looked close to fifty, dressed in brightly colored scrubs, stepped out. He held the door open with his back.

  He smiled at Mark. “Hello.”

  Mark nodded. “Hi.”

  “Come on back to the dungeon.”

  The man didn’t escort Mark. He only pointed to a narrow hall and told him to follow it to the right. Dr. Alasba’s office was the first one on the right after it veered. Mark thanked him and started walking.

  It smelled even worse back here than in the lobby. A combination of medicated shampoo, feces, and stink blended into a repulsive odor that was heavy to walk through. The lighting in the hallway was dim and a little spooky. It reminded Mark of the long walks to the morgue he’d have to take whenever going to see Pierce. He’d never get used to the cold feeling it gave him. Checking his arms, he saw they were stippled with gooseflesh. He rubbed his skin, feeling its bumpy texture.

  The hall ended at a T, branching into two directions. Mark followed his instructions and went right. Dr. Alasba’s office was immediately next. He saw the plaque outside the door with her name on it. The door was open.

  Poking his head in, Mark lightly rapped his knuckles on the door frame. All he saw inside was a desk with two monitors, blocking his view of whoever sat on the other side.

  A head appeared above the monitors. Dr. Alasba was not of Indian descent as he had assumed. She was a white woman with long curls of auburn hair, a pretty face clear of make-up, and very young.

  “Dr. Alasba?”

  “I am. So you’re the fuzz?” she asked.

  Mark smiled. “That would be me.”

  “Well come on in, Deputy Fuzz.”

  Nodding, Mark stepped into her office. In front of her desk were three chairs. He stood behind them.

  “Have a seat,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  Mark chose the one in the middle. As he sat down, Dr. Alasba separated the monitors, opening a space between them to look out.

  “So you caught me, huh?” she asked.

  “Caught you?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  Mark felt a small pinch of alarm. “Um…” It went away when she started to smile.

  She turned the monitor around. A game of solitaire was on the screen. “Caught me not working. And being paid for it.” She gulped.

  Laughing, Mark held up his hand. “No, no. If that was a crime, I’d be guilty of it myself.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. So what does bring you by? More questions about the dog fights? I’ve already talked to the detectives about that.”

  Mark shook his head. “No, this is different, though it’s connected.”

  Dr. Alasba nodded. “Am I safe to assume it involves Amy Snider’s dog?”

  “Very safe.”

  She nodded again. She raised a coffee mug to her lips, softly blew inside, and sipped. Her tongue licked off the small line of coffee from her upper lip. “When I got the report about Jagger, I couldn’t believe it. Have you found him?”

  Mark sighed. “Afraid not.”

  “Really?” Her mouth hung open. She spoke as if he’d somehow let a terrorist slip through his fingers. “It’s been three days since…”

  “Since he killed somebody?”

  Dr. Alasba winced. Nodded.

  Mark scratched his head. “Two days, actually. We’re keeping the others quiet for now.”

  “There were more?”

  “Yes. I’m sure you know Jeremiah…”

  She gasped. “I do. Oh my God…”

  He gave her a very brief report of the events. By the time he’d finished, her pretty eyes were grim.

  “Dear God,” she said. “What a nightmare.”

  Mark thought, You have no idea, but said nothing.

  “How’s Amy?” she asked.

  Mark saw Amy trying to bite Deputy Squirewell and quickly shoved the image away. “Not good, as you can imagine. I haven’t spoken to her in a couple days.”

  “I bet she’s falling apart,” said Dr. Alasba. “That dog is everything to her. You know, some people adore their pets as if they were children…”

  Mark thought of his mother and those damn cats.

  Dr. Alasba shook her head. “But Amy…” Her nose wrinkled, as if thinking hard. “She almost seemed to adore Jagger as if he were her…companion.”

  He considered telling her about Amy’s conduct the other day, but decided against it. “Isn’t that what all dogs are?” he asked.

  “Not that kind of companion.”

  Mark felt his face harden. His stomach bubbled. “You mean…”

  Dr. Alasba quickly held up a hand, patting the air. “No. God, no.” She laughed. “Gross. I’m not suggesting Amy was into bestiality. Yuck.”

  Mark smiled. “Sounded that way.”

  “Sorry. Spend so much of my time talking to animals I forget how to talk to humans.”

  “Must make for an awkward social life.”

  “Please. This is my social life right here.” She waved a finger to Mark and back to herself. “Our conversation.”

  “That’s just sad.”

  Laughing, Dr. Alasba raised her mug. She shrugged. “My life.” She took a sip, set the mug back down. “What I mean is she treats the dog as a mate. Like a person that cares about her as much as she does for him. She threw him birthday parties, cooked meals for him. She’s even referred to him as her significant other more than once. She’s a very lonely person, and coming from someone with a drab life as myself, that’s saying a lot.”

  Mark could feel his mouth lowering into a frown.

  That would explain her acting guilty the other night.

  No wonder she ran him out of the house. She was somehow devastated because she’d cheated on Jagger.

  Very strange.

  “In some odd way,” said Dr. Alasba, “she might be suffering from separation anxiety herself.”

  “Great.” Mark sighed. “Should I suggest she talk to somebody about it?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt.”

  Mark nodded.
He would have to come up with some way to approach her about it. Tell somebody they needed help, they automatically refused any offer. He’d better tread lightly in the matter.

  Besides, she wouldn’t be delighted to see Mark anytime soon.

  “So I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about Amy.” Dr. Alasba tilted back her mug and guzzled what was left of it. “Oh, where are my manners? Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. It’s too hot outside for it.”

  “Yeah, but it’s freezing in here. It’s perfect coffee drinking temperature.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Suit yourself.” She flung herself away from the desk, rolling across the floor in her chair to a small table against the wall. Mark glimpsed a bare leg through the slit in her long skirt where the white lab coat didn’t quite cover. The skin was pale, but looked very smooth and fit.

  On top of the table was a coffee maker, a couple mugs, a bag of filters and a column of paper plates. A microwave was on the other side of the plates. She took the coffee pot from the burner and began preparing her cup.

  “I came to see if you could offer me any insight,” he said.

  “On?” she asked, without looking up from her mug.

  “Jagger. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I was wondering if maybe you have any kind of information about his…personality. His traits. Maybe even give me an idea of what he might do next.”

  “Well, the fact that you haven’t captured him yet is a little unnerving, to be honest.”

  “Please, don’t point out how inadequately I’m doing my job. I do that enough on my own.”

  “No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Feral dogs usually keep to isolation, only venturing into the open for food. They rarely attack, unless they are provoked.”

  “Jagger’s not feral, not really.”

  “He is now,” she said. She spooned in three scoops of sugar and mixed the concoction together. “Really, once a dog tastes human blood, they will eventually become feral. Never fails. Might take a long time before they crave it again, but they always do.”

  She twirled around in the chair and rolled back to her desk, this time moving slower and more careful. Probably so she wouldn’t spill anything on her white lab coat.

  “Also,” she began, settling behind her desk, “feral dogs usually keep to the same patterns, traveling the same path, usually in packs. If they aren’t in one, they’ll find. But I doubt Jagger will seek out a pack. He’s a loner now.” She put her finger down on the desk and drew a circle. “A cycle. And these dogs keep at it until something forces them to move on. But that’s talking as if Jagger hadn’t been neutered, which he has been. So explaining his behavior is just like throwing darts at a board, hoping one of them sticks.”

  “Jagger seems to be constantly moving,” he said. “His attack at the barn, then the next day, many miles away, he killed two more. All we’ve found of him are a few hairs and of course…what DNA he’s left on the bodies. Plus, a lot of…droppings.”

  Dr. Alasba gave an understanding nod. “Maybe he’s so erratic, his behavior is too hard to predict, even for himself.” She sipped some coffee, looking slightly below Mark’s arm as if seeing something. “He might even have a destination already in mind.”

  A prickling sensation sprinkled up Mark’s spine. “He does?”

  “I’m not saying that,” she said. She set the mug on her desk, leaned forward, and crossed her arms flat. “But I don’t see him just wandering around and killing randomly. There has to be some kind of motivation to his rage.”

  Mark rubbed his eyes. He felt the early inclinations of a headache brewing. If he didn’t take something for it soon, it’d become a real problem.

  “And Jagger,” she said. “He’s probably so angry at her…”

  “Amy?” Dr. Alasba nodded. “Why? He’s the one hurting people.”

  “Whatever he’s done is a direct result to his hostile feelings towards her.”

  “Think she’s what’s motivating his rage?”

  “It’s very possible. And probably accurate.”

  “Would he try to make his way back to her?”

  “I don’t think so. I think if he was to see her somewhere on the street, he might try to approach her with cruel intentions. But once the bond is broken, rarely does a dog return to the person he no longer trusts.”

  “Even if he wanted revenge?”

  Dr. Alasba laughed. “This isn’t a bad B-movie, Deputy. Dogs don’t hold grudges and seek out all those who’ve wronged them like in Death Wish.”

  Mark held up a hand, as if surrendering. “Humor me. Let’s erase facts, knowledge, practical training, and even common sense from the board for a minute. Let’s shut off our doubts and open up our imaginations and gut instincts. All right?”

  “Sure.” She smiled as if expecting the punchline to a great joke.

  “Would it be possible, even a smidge possible, he would travel across the county to get back to Amy, so he could…I don’t know…make her pay?”

  “Go that big of a distance, just to attack her?”

  Mark nodded. “Yes.”

  “That would be very farfetched, not to mention seriously impossible. I believe he would die from exhaustion before ever reaching her.”

  “Again, let’s wipe all the bullshit away, and just open up the possibilities, even if they’re slim.”

  “A hair’s width slim?”

  “Yes. Even if it’s that close to impossible…could it maybe be a hair possible?”

  Holding up her hand, she pinched her thumb and forefinger together. The space between them was hardly noticeable. “Even this much of a possibility is an exaggeration.”

  “It’s all I need,” he said, standing.

  “What are you going to do? Put up roadblocks for a dog?”

  “Please. Nobody’s going to believe me if I tried.”

  “What are you going to do?” The humor had left her, replaced by genuine concern.

  Ignoring her question, Mark said, “This conversation stays between us. Got me?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Have a good day.”

  “Want me to come with you?” she asked as he was leaving the office.

  “No, but thanks.”

  Mark hurried up the hall, not quite jogging but very close. He went through the door and into the lobby. Waved at Polly at the front desk on his way to the exit.

  “Everything get worked out?” she asked.

  “It did. Thanks.”

  “No problem!”

  Mark walked out of the vet’s building, and stood under the brick awning. The fresh air was wonderful, though thick with heat. He detected a faint odor of urine from the bushes around him. He checked the time on his watch. It was getting close to nine. He still had a few more hours before his meeting.

  He’d checked this morning and Amy’s bail had been posted last night, so Mark headed for his cruiser, not knowing what he was going to do, but realizing that he needed to see Amy.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ellie had dreamed of sex. She rarely remembered her dreams, but this one had been a doozy. She was her present age, and the man shoving into her had been Tom Doleson. She’d known Tom when she was a teenager, and though they’d never dated or hardly even spoken to each other in the past, the version of him in her dream was from that time period.

  Young and fit, his muscles had flexed as he’d gripped her thighs while thrusting forward. His penetration had been dominating and a little painful, stretching her to make room. Her cries of delight were what had woken her from the wet dream. When she’d opened eyes, she’d seen her familiar ceiling, stained from many roof leaks throughout the years.

  Now, the dream was beginning to fade, thinning as her senses reassembled, as her mind came into focus.

  Jim!

  Ellie looked beside her and was relieved to find the spot empty. Probably outside messing with those damn chickens. For once
, she was glad. He would want to know what she’d been dreaming about. She could lie and tell Jim it was about him, but even he wasn’t dumb enough to believe that.

  Tom Doleson.

  Smiling, Ellie reached out her arm, pawing at the nightstand beside the bed. Her fingers tapped her cigarettes. Grabbing the pack, she brought it over and set it on her bare stomach. She flinched slightly at the coldness of the cellophane wrapping. She removed a cigarette and was still smiling when she put it between her lips. Though she was thirsty, and the cigarette would be harsh on her dry throat, she couldn’t start her day without having one. It helped settle her nerves and prepare her for a morning with Jim.

  Ellie lighted the cigarette, letting the lighter drop from her hand. It pegged her breast when it landed, stinging slightly and sending a soft jitter through her.

  I’m really in a mood now.

  It wasn’t often that she woke up feeling frisky. She could remember the last time being Fourth of July three years ago. She’d rolled over and mounted Jim while he’d slept. Though he was nearly comatose, he’d reacted to her advances and she’d rode him until finishing. It hadn’t taken her long that morning. He’d never gotten his, but hadn’t seemed to care.

  Dreamed about Eric Foster that night.

  He was the son of Ben Foster and had just turned sixteen that week. She’d stopped by Foster’s Market to get some groceries and to give the boy a birthday card. He’d been running register that Saturday, and Ellie would still swear he’d been flirting with her. He’d all but told her to come meet him when he got off work.

  Their conversation had stayed with her all day, and though she’d never asked him to elaborate on the hidden meanings to what he’d been saying, she’d fantasized about it often. Ellie wasn’t a cheater in a physical sense. Never had been and she wanted to think never would be. But in her daydreams, she fooled around on Jim quite often.

  I’m a mess.

  Raising the cigarette to her mouth, she wondered what her daughter and grandchild would have to say about that.

  Something growled from the doorway.

  Ellie’s hand froze in place, her body tensed.

  The hell was that?

  A fusty odor like a dozen skunks and rotten meat drifted into the room. The stench was awful, singeing her eyes.