They chatted for a couple more minutes before the police officers arrived. When they did, she gave her statement while they waited for Cheryl’s mother to arrive. There wasn’t anything left for Bailey to do except inform her client of the result of her investigation. She wasn’t looking forward to it.
She pulled open the door to the silver Ford Explorer and climbed inside. She ran her fingers through her hair and decided to get a trim. She fished through the papers in her briefcase for Mrs. Marsden’s number. She glanced at her rearview mirror and turned on the engine to get the heater going while she waited for her call to be answered. The phone clicked into voicemail and instructed her to leave her message after the beep as she watched a dog emerge suddenly from the park across the street.
“Mrs. Marsden, this is Bailey Davenport. I have a report to give you on your husband’s activities. I feel it would be best if we talked sooner rather than later.”
The voicemail clicked off and Mrs. Marsden answered. “Ms. Davenport, thank you for calling.”
“No problem. Would it be okay for me to come to your home? I really think we should talk.”
“No. I don’t want you to be here when Alec comes home.”
“That really isn’t necessary.”
“I’ll meet you at your office in twenty minutes.”
“Mrs. Marsden, you really—” The line went dead. “Don’t have to worry about your husband coming home right now.” Bailey sighed and glanced in her mirror again. The dog ran across the street, barely avoiding traffic. Bailey couldn’t see a leash, or anyone running after it. It weaved in and out of cars, causing mayhem, and seemingly terrifying the poor dog even more. Bailey rolled her eyes. She didn’t have time for this, but she got out of the car anyway.
“Here, pup. C’mere.” She clapped her hands to try to get its attention without startling it further. The dog slowed as it approached her and stopped a few feet away, tail tucked firmly between its legs, hackles raised, and head ducked. There was no aggression evident, just fear. “It’s okay, pup. C’mere so I can see your collar.” She held her hand out, held the dog’s gaze, and waited. It approached slowly, cautiously, nose working the air furiously for her scent. The dog kept eye contact, and Bailey could see the intelligence as it sniffed her hand carefully. A car honked behind them, startling the dog again. But this time it moved close to Bailey and turned to face the noise, clearly putting itself between Bailey and danger. Bailey smiled. “Sweet girl. Good girl.” The dog wagged her tail slightly under the praise, and Bailey decided to push her luck a little. “Come on, girl. This way.”
She stood and started for the sidewalk. The dog tipped her head in Bailey’s direction, then trotted behind her to the safety of the sidewalk. “Good girl.” She ruffled the top of the dog’s head. “Now, let me get a look at your collar and see who you belong to.” She trailed her hand down and around the dog’s neck, but couldn’t find any collar, no ID tag, no harness, nothing.
“Well, it looks like you’re not gonna make it easy to find your owner, and I don’t have a great deal of time to waste here, girl. Let’s see if you’ll get in the car and I can solve your problems after I talk to Mrs. Marsden.” She opened the back passenger door to the Explorer. “What do you say?” The black and white border collie looked up at Bailey, then into the car. Bailey tipped her head in the direction of the backseat and the dog jumped in. “Good girl.” Bailey stroked her head again and closed the door. By the time she rounded the car and climbed in the driver’s side, the dog was sitting on the passenger seat, leaning against the backrest, and staring out the window. Bailey laughed. “Well, someone’s clearly been spoiled. Fine, but only because I don’t have time to argue with you.”
Bailey turned the engine on again and buckled her seat belt. The dog whined and looked at the belt on the passenger side. Bailey put the car in drive, and the dog whined louder, looked at Bailey, then at the passenger seat belt. “Please don’t tell me you get car sick or something. That really would make my day. I’ll roll the window down a little bit when we get moving. Okay?” Bailey started to ease off the brake, when the dog barked and pawed at the seat belt. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She put the car back into park, pulled the seat belt around the dog, and clicked it into the holder. “Happy now?” The dog panted. “Well, good. I’m working here, you know.” Bailey sighed. I’m talking to a dog. A dog I just met. A dog who likes to be seat-belted in. She flicked the switch to turn the radio on and smiled as the sultry, gravelly tones of Nina Simone’s “Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” filtered out of the speakers. The dog let out a rumbled sort of howl and Bailey turned to look at her. “You like jazz?” Another singsong rumble and Bailey laughed. “Nina Simone stays then. But no singing. You’re out of tune.” She pulled out, turned east on Washington, and headed toward the waterfront, her office, and a difficult conversation.
*
The conversation with Mrs. Marsden was even more difficult than Bailey had expected. The poor woman was distraught, confused, and Bailey felt nothing but sorry for her. Throughout the meeting, the dog had curled up beside Bailey, watching her intently, never moving more than three feet from her side.
After more than an hour of trying to comfort the poor woman, and eventually calling a friend to come pick her up, Bailey was on her own again. Which was exactly how she liked it. She needed her space, time away from the lowlifes and scumbags she followed and dealt with on a day-to-day basis. People she’d dealt with for as long as she could remember.
She dropped heavily into her chair and closed her eyes. A weight landed on her knee, and she opened one eye to look into the compassionate eyes of the dog at her side, paw resting gently in her lap. “Was that a bit heavy for you too, girl?” She reached down and stroked the top of the dog’s head. “Okay, time to solve your problems.”
She opened up her laptop and searched for a local vet. Within a couple of minutes, she’d set up an appointment, grabbed her keys, and headed for the door. The dog trotted beside her every step of the way. It only took five minutes to reach the vet’s office and the dog walked at her heel from the car without any prompting. “Seems you like me, hey, girl?” The dog wagged her tail as Bailey checked in at reception and they sat to wait their turn. She kept her hand on the dog’s back, stroking her fur and noting that she needed a bath. She wondered if the dog had been reported missing yet, and what could have happened to her leash and collar. She was too well trained not to have been loved and well cared for, but her matted, dirty fur, and the ribs she could feel too close to the surface, told her the dog had probably been on the streets for a while.
Bailey was called through and she quickly explained what had happened.
The vet smiled. “Well, this little girl certainly seems to have taken a shine to you. Do you think you can get her on the scales?”
“I’ll give it a go.” She stepped closer to the scales and pointed to the machine. “On here, girl.” She trotted over and sat down, her eyes flicking from one to the other as he made a note of the figure.
“You’re right. She is underweight. She’s a good fifteen pounds under what she should be for a dog of her breed and height.”
“Neglected?”
He shrugged. “Or a runaway.”
“I have difficulty believing this dog would run away from her master. She’s not ventured more than three feet from me since I found her.”
“Let’s get her on the table and see what else I can find. Maybe she has a microchip and we can find her family.” Bailey lifted the dog onto the table and stroked her head as he ran the scanner over her back. “Nope. Nothing. You’re not making this easy for us are you, girl?” She ruffled her ears. “Okay, I’m gonna give her an exam and write up a report for the police to notify them in case anyone reports her missing, then I guess we’ll have to take her to the animal shelter.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, if we can’t find her family, we can’t just let her wander the streets.”
“I know that. I’ll take care of her.” What the fuck? Bailey wanted to look around and see who had spoken, but she recognized her own voice—even if she didn’t recognize the words.
He looked at her skeptically. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to look after her until her family is found?” He ran his hands over the dog’s body and frowned.
“Because she doesn’t belong in the pound.”
“No dog does.” He parted her fur and examined a scab, his brow furrowing. “Damn it. Bite marks.”
“She’s been attacked?”
“Looks like it.” He cleaned the wound efficiently and applied some ointment. The dog didn’t move though she visibly flinched at one point. “She is a good girl, and you didn’t answer my question.” He continued his examination.
She looked into the soulful eyes that were begging her for…help? A chance? Love? Bailey didn’t know. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to let this little girl go to the pound. Not in a million years. “Well, everybody needs a second chance now and then. I guess I want to give her one.”
He began cleaning another bite wound. “She’s been attacked. Possibly more than once. These wounds appear to have happened at different times.”
“How could that happen?”
“Dog fights.”
“Excuse me?”
“People training fighting dogs will buy or steal dogs this sort of size to throw in training rings as bait dogs.”
“Oh my God. That’s…”
“Disgusting? Awful? Evil?”
“All of the above.” She looked into those copper eyes again and drew the dog’s head toward her, dropping a kiss on top between her ears. “How can people do things like that?”
“Money.” He cleaned a third bite wound.
“There’s not enough in the world to hurt animals like this.” Bailey could feel tears welling in her eyes and she thanked God that this guy didn’t know her well enough to know just how out of character it was for her.
“Okay, I’ll let her stay with you.”
“Thanks.”
“But there’s some things I’m going to have to do to make sure she’s safe. And some things you’re going to have to do too, because of what I suspect her background is.”
“Like what?”
“She’s going to need a series of shots before you can apply for a license. I want to get her micro-chipped, check if she’s been spayed, and if not, she needs to be. Then you have to keep her on a lead and watch her around other dogs at all times.”
Bailey had seen more than a few dog attack victims when she walked the beat, but she found it really hard to picture this girl capable of savagery. “But she’s been really good.”
“Not negotiable. She’s been attacked by another dog. She may be unpredictable around them in the future. I’d hate to have to put her down because she attacked out of fear after everything else she’s been through.”
Bailey stared as the words sank in, then cleared her throat. “Well, you certainly know how to get your point across. Okay, fine. I’ll get her a collar and leash.” She rubbed the dog’s head again. “I was going to anyway.”
He quickly drew the blood sample and gave her a shot to prevent infection in any of her wounds before he loaded the microchip gun. “I’m going to need a name for her to put on the registration form.”
“I don’t know her name.”
“Pick one.” He positioned the gun and injected the microchip. “I can’t send this off until you do.”
“What if she doesn’t recognize the name I give her?”
“She seems like a pretty smart dog. I’m sure she’ll learn whatever you choose. Haven’t you had a dog before?”
“When I was a kid, sure. But we got him as a puppy.”
“Well, you’ve got a couple of minutes while I fill this out to think of one. Where did you find her? Maybe that would work.”
“Blackstone Square doesn’t strike me as a great name for this girl.”
He chuckled. “True enough.” He filled out the details on the form and Bailey laughed.
“Jazz.”
“Jazz?”
“Yup. We were listening to it on the radio when she first got in the car.” The dog shuffled along the table closer to Bailey and leaned into her.
“I think she likes it.” He handed her the pen and pointed to the bottom of the form for her signature. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a dog.”
“Just like that?”
“It’s unusual to reunite dogs with families, especially if it’s been a while. And if she was a bait dog, they’re not looking for her. So yeah, just like that.”
Bailey smiled down at Jazz and stroked her head. Would it work? Could she adjust to having a pet? How would the dog be if she left her? Would she arrive home to find her apartment trashed? She looked into Jazz’s soft eyes as she licked Bailey’s hand and knew it didn’t matter if she did. It was a done deal. “Just like that.”
Chapter Five
Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead, formed a tiny river down his cheek, and ran into the cut on the left side of his face. Masood Mehalik always took pleasure in giving his guests a scar that matched his own. A little something to remember him by. The salty sweat must have stung because the seated man winced as the bare light bulb flickered to life, illuminating the dingy cell. The sandstone walls, dirt floor, and barred window only reinforced the situation created by the shackles securing his wrists behind the back of the rickety wooden chair, his feet bound to the legs.
“Dr. Jensen.” Masood placed a sturdy chair opposite him, sat down, and crossed one leg over the other as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt. “Thank you for coming to visit me. I trust your journey was comfortable.” He didn’t expect an answer, knowing full well that the doctor’s kidnapping from London and his subsequent journey had been far from comfortable. “I have a request, a project I wish you to complete for me.”
“Why are you holding me prisoner? I’m a research scientist. I have no money. I have no trade value. I don’t work with nuclear material. I research genetics to help with disease treatment. Why have you brought me here?”
“Doctor, as I said, I have a project for you.”
“Then untie me and discuss this like a civilized human being!”
Masood glanced quickly up at Hakim, giving him a silent signal. The blow to the back of Jensen’s head was brutal and the crack of Hakim’s gun against his skull was drowned out only by the cry of fear and pain from Dr. Jensen.
“Now, the project I want you to work on is a little creation called Balor.” He pulled a handkerchief out of the inside pocket of his charcoal gray suit jacket and slowly mopped his brow. “Balor is a beautiful child I had created for me. But before I could set my child free, he was stolen.” He pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket, unfolded it, and held it before Jensen. The diagram showed the molecular makeup of Balor, the combination of the relatively harmless E. coli bacterium and the deadly botulinum toxin. “This is my child, Doctor. I want you to re-create him.”
Jensen stared at the page for a long moment and shook his head. “It can’t be done.”
Masood laughed. “I beg to differ, my friend. It has already been created, so I know that it can be done. I have a plethora of information on how it was created and what is required to do so again. What I do not have is someone with the expertise required. So you see, Doctor, the question is not if you can create it for me, but will you create it for me?”
Jensen looked at the page again, then back to Masood. “It’s a biological weapon. I won’t have any part in creating this.”
Always the same response. So noble they were, these scientists, these inventors, these creative geniuses, in the pursuit of their advancement, and yet so blind to the problem they were truly facing. Masood clicked his fingers and Hakim quickly stepped around the man and held up an electronic tablet.
“No!” Jensen thrashed in his chair. H
is face turned red as his anger surfaced again. “You bastard.”
On screen, a woman huddled with two children next to her, her arms wrapped around them as they cried.
“I will ask you again, Doctor. Will you create Balor for me?”
“No.”
Masood nodded to Hakim who pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He continued to hold the tablet up for Jensen to see.
“The way I see it, you have four chances to say yes. And you’ve already said no to me once.”
A quiet pop came from the speakers of the tablet. Like a cork exploding from a bottle of champagne. But the blossoming rose of scarlet spreading across his wife’s chest and the screaming of his children left no room for doubt.
“Bridget!” Jensen’s voice was little more than a whisper as her lifeless eyes stared toward the cameraman. The children shook her until her face was out of his sight.
“Do not be a hero, Doctor. Your family will not thank you for it.”
“You’ll kill us all anyway.”
He was right, but Masood shook his head. “Ye of little faith, Doctor.”
“I have faith enough to know a liar when I see one.”
“Come, come, Doctor, your answer?”
Tears ran down his ruddy cheeks. “For the love of my children I won’t create your vile disease.”
The second pop had the man crying as his son fell haphazardly across his mother’s body. The little girl backed away from them both, screaming. Tears ran down Jensen’s cheeks and his chest heaved as he sobbed, under his breath he recited a prayer; words to accompany his family on their journey, words of comfort his daughter would never hear.
“Number three, Doctor? Is your daughter’s life not worth a little effort on your part?”
“I trained as a medical doctor. I believe in the oath I took. I will do no harm.”
“But you are harming your family.”
“No. You’re doing that.”
Masood smiled. Over the years, he’d discovered just how much pleasure taking a life gave him. He had come a long way from scrabbling in the dust trying to survive. And he would go further still. “I believe that was your third no, Doctor.”
Swordfish Page 4
