By Dog Alone: A Kelton Jager Adventure Book 2

by Charles Wendt

  The northern houses seemed about the same as on the southern side with lights on and everyone inside for the night. He’d stopped looking about the grounds. The thrill of the hunt had gotten boring and the darkness made it impossible to see anything of note. Bobby McFife was more peeping Tom now than security watchman, concentrating on well-lit windows. He glassed the houses systematically, both this and the far side of the hockey field hoping for a quick thrill from an errant curtain. He also gave the dorm windows of the main school building an intense appraisal.

  Then he peered into the first floor common room through the panes of the backdoor of the middle house. Around the table sat four girls, each with their electronic tablets. And amongst them, writing on a piece of flipchart paper on the wall with a magic marker, was the man with the dog who’d savaged him the previous night.

  Bobby McFife dropped the binoculars onto the floorboards grabbing for the radio, “Command, Command! This is Unit 4.”

  CHAPTER—13

  Kelton Jager sat at the common room table, marker staining his fingers as he set up the next homework problem on the large sheet of flip chart paper. Abriella had brought the flip chart paper, explaining her dad used them a lot in city meetings. It provided a space of about two feet by three feet and allowed Kelton to write big so that everyone could see, and each sheet in the pad had a sticky strip on one edge so it could easy be hung and removed as needed. Elizabeth, Vicky, Kate, and Abriella sat around the table with their school computers. Paper plates held crumbs of brownies. They’d been working for nearly an hour, and the focus was intense. The girls were grasping it, and combined with his somewhat illicit presence, that made the math fun and exciting.

  Azrael lay on his side against the base of the sink cabinets and microwave stand. There were too many feet under the table, so he’d opted to be in the open. His food dish was empty and he rested, not having much interest in geometry’s theorems and postulates. Azrael’s coat also shone clean, Kelton having taken the time in the early afternoon to brush away shedding clumps of hair and pull away thorns gathered searching out Master Bartholomew.

  Kelton too, had worked up an appetite. After returning with Ollie, Helmut wanted to set horse jumps in the outdoor riding ring for the week’s lessons. Kelton gave him a hand, moving the long poles and heavy wing standards, while Helmut paced off the spacing and dictated the lines of approach. Jose drove the tractor raking the stone dust footing, and Kelton used a garden rake near jumps where the ring drag couldn’t get close enough. The warm day made for a sweaty afternoon.

  Then Jose got the call from his family. His eyes were wide and voice uncertain as he looked over at the stabled horses. Jose kept his responsibilities top of mind as he wrestled with how to balance what he needed to do. He didn’t ride himself, but he considered himself part of a team and always wanted to hear how the school’s riders and horses performed at shows. Kelton stepped in again to help, knowing Helmut seemed like the type of guy who would try and take up the slack only to have his old body punishing him all week. And Kelton hoped to see the little blond that he considered at risk by sticking around on campus for a big block of hours.

  The evening effort was more about supervision, as a rotating nightly detail of girls did most of the work. However, Kelton learned there was plenty of heavy lifting that teen girls struggled with that was too precise for Helmut to do with the tractor. Bales of straw bedding for the stalls, for instance, weighed eighty pounds and had to be distributed to each stall and the tractor and wagon could not get it there. Ninety-gallon water troughs had to be tipped over for the algae to be scrubbed out before refilling. It was heavy, dirty work, just to meet the minimum care requirements of the animals, let alone the effort to train and develop an equine athlete. Equestrian was a team sport.

  He had hoped to see the girl he was looking for, but had to settle for a reward of a shower in Helmut’s barn apartment. His alternate set of drab clothes was dry from the hot baking afternoon. Helmut started a load of laundry and added Kelton’s soiled clothes from the day, promising to leave them folded on the apartment’s front steps so Kelton could get them when he chose. Then it was over to the house for the evening study group his young friends had roped him into.

  Elizabeth and Vicky each brought him a cheeseburger from the dining hall, smuggled out in paper napkins. Kate had grabbed a little bag of chips. He devoured them after the farm work. Abriella showed up with his poncho, the flipchart paper and a plate of brownies her mom had made before leaving for work. And then they’d gotten down to business with the theorems of Euclidean Geometry.

  Azrael rose his head from the floor and cocked his head. Kelton turned away from his student’s in midsentence to watch his dog’s body language a moment before rising to stare out the house’s back door. Behind the trio of cars, just thirty feet away on the perimeter road was an idling truck. Its shape was impossible to make out in detail, but enough light reflected off the houses and trees for him to see it was white with the silhouette of a light bar atop the cab. He felt his dog’s shoulder pressing against his leg, and then a soft warning growl.

  Abriella asked him, “What is it Kelton?”

  Kate and Elizabeth left their chairs to glance around his shoulders at what he saw.

  “It’s a policeman,” answered Kelton. “What’s to the south beyond the outdoor ring?”

  Vicky answered him, “The surrounding woods break out into cattle pastures that extend all the way to 715. It’s rolling ground, with big rocks here and there making it impossible to till and plant.”

  “Thanks. Girls, I have to go. Good luck tomorrow and I’ll see you soon,” he wished as he grabbed Azrael’s bowl and his pack and carried it by one arm to the living room facing the hockey field. A moment later, Kelton was out onto the sleeping porch with Azrael racing alongside.

  He paused a moment in the shadow of the porch to throw the bowl in the top of the pack and mount it up, and then took off at a run to the south. To his right, he saw flashing blue lights approaching from the west as a patrol car came from around the side of the main school building on the perimeter road. He angled to his left, diagonally across the hockey field to the south side of the barn. A vehicle’s spotlight behind him began to sweep back and forth. On the well-groomed campus, there weren’t a lot of places to hide or take cover. Further to the south and west, he could see the telltale flashing through the trees of another set of blue lights, probably coming up Full Cry Road.

  As Kelton ran, he knew his dark clothes would help him best if he stayed in the darkness so he weaved to keep his feet upon the shadows cast by the old growth trees and the houses. He considered pausing to retrieve his pistol from his backpack. Normally it would have been on his hip, but that hadn’t been feasible doing barn work with the students; the Glock Model 40 with its six-inch barrel and reflex site was also too large to readily conceal under summer labor clothes. Besides, he was looking to escape, not participate in a large running gunfight. Kelton poured on the speed, and bolted across the perimeter road and down the service lane to the outdoor ring.

  Behind him, tires screeched on asphalt as the two police vehicles speeding from opposite directions narrowly avoided a collision. A third police vehicle pulled up behind, before the first couple of drivers could get out. Kelton didn’t pause to watch them disembark and get organized. He knew the ground from the afternoon. Hurdling the arena fence, he quickly made it to the other side to hurdle the fence again and plunge into the woods. The tree branches slowed him down enough to hear the shouted voices behind him as the police mounted their pursuit.

  A stream snaked through the woods and rather than cross it, he turned left and made his way east. Even under the starlight he could see the piles of sand between puddles of water. It would be hard to tell which way things flowed absent a good rain. His pursuers had been reduced merely to dancing rays of light as their trio of flashlight beams randomly bounced around like some techno disco. The lights weren’t closing, so he paused, letting him and
his dog catch their breaths, and slipped his shoulders from his pack straps while they walked. A moment later he had gunned up.

  Just like Vicky said, the woods gave way to cattle pasture. But rather than make his way out into the open ground, knowing that police would likely soon ask the girls what had been said, he elected to stay in the edge of the woods curving northward around the eastern edge of the school grounds where the horses were out at pasture for the night. The moon began to rapidly rise from the horizon, making it easier to see for better going.

  In this better light, he saw something dangling from his dog’s collar. At first he though a strap may have come loose from the patrol harness, or a twig from the woods had hung up on it. As he paused to make a quick check to be sure nothing was wrong, he noted the small rubber strap and attached box of hard plastic about the size of a wristwatch. A tracking device? He knew right away it wasn’t his gear. The strap had a small buckle, and he detached it.

  His fingers found a catch on the small box and it opened to reveal a small digital display. He took out his IPhone and used its LED flashlight to read the digits: 13,534. He inadvertently shook it as he rolled it upon his fingers to take a better look. The digits showed 13,535. There was a single button, and he pressed it. The digits went to 00,000. It was a step counter. He turned it over. The small metal nameplate was hard to make out, but read “Kate Dabbinshire”.

  “What in the world?” he muttered to himself.

  Bruno Salvitore stood silently in the woods, watching the flashing posse of blue lights. His gloved hands gripped the rod of steel rebar, holding it close to his black clothes. It wasn’t your typical rebar for a driveway picked up at the local hardware store. This was a piece from a commercial cargo airport runway enhancement job, a full inch in diameter and weighing eight pounds. There was enough rust on it that it could have been laying anywhere a while if he had to suddenly ditch it. It made a formidable cudgel, and at the end of the day was not classed as a weapon but as building material. It was his “persuader” of choice. But he couldn’t use it while the police were all over campus.

  He’d parked on lonely Stirrup Cup Road like he had before, using the lights of the buildings to guide him toward campus through the trees as it became dark. He didn’t bother with raising the hood like last time. No one was likely to drive by the car tonight and see it, and he didn’t want to waste time closing it if he required a hasty departure. Bruno had never been planning to be in a hurry on the way in. He knew that the people of the school, with its horses and athletics, were early risers. Which meant early to bed. Which meant he could beat someone while they slept, walk back, and still catch the late show at the Hunt Lodge Hotel. But he did find the presence of local cops cause for reflection.

  Why were they here? What could possibly have caused three units in such a small town to converge on an extremely quiet and upscale learning institution? Then, he realized, it didn’t matter. For now, he needed to focus on his mission. He would observe and report later when convenient. Bruno skirted the woods that lined the perimeter road, moving opposite the designated traffic flow direction across from the northern houses and then the barn.

  He heard a twig breaking deeper in the woods to his left and he paused, again tightening his grip on the steel rod. Bruno was a big city type guy, and towns like this made him feel he was out in the sticks. He cocked his head, trying to hear any other sound, but all was quiet. With a shrug, he resumed walking down the black wood line, cursing to himself as a low branch got him in the face. Soon he was east of the barn’s central side entrance where he’d skirted by Justin Harper.

  There was a dull glowing security light on a nearby utility pole, providing just enough light so no one accidently walked into the parked tractor and manure wagon. Insects swarmed around its glow and a group of hungry bats feasted. The large doors were open, allowing the cool night air inside. Enough light from the central main aisle way inside let him clearly see the corridor before him was empty. Above the entrance, a couple of lit windows went dark.

  That would be the apartment. Timing was good. Helmut Meunch had gone to bed and in a short time would be fast asleep. Bruno looked to his left for the flashing blue lights but they seemed to have departed or at least dispersed. Timing was indeed very good. He looked at his watch, and decided he would give things a half hour. He would not only get to enjoy pizza and the late show, he’d be able to catch the news at ten.

  A man with a cane entered the corridor from the left. Helmut hadn’t gone to bed in his apartment; he’d come downstairs. He could be leaving, and Bruno’s heart raced. His car was too far over on Stirrup Cup. If Helmut was going somewhere, Bruno would lose him. This meant he needed to take him on now in the open. Bruno looked left and right for any witnesses about on the quiet campus, and there were none. He shrugged to himself. Why not? Go for it now.

  Bruno strode rapidly out from the foliage between the barn and paddocks, crossed over the perimeter road and then the thin strip of parking area. Helmut had reached out to the door of the barn office, when his head turned noting Bruno’s steady advance. The thug tightened his grip on the steel rod and began to raise it. There were only a dozen steps or so to go.

  Helmut stepped away from the office door to stand in the middle of the aisle and squared up to him. Bruno slowed a little to make a fresh read of things. He’d expected the old man to collapse into a cower, turn and run, or try and slip into the office and lock the door. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes went to Helmut’s hands to see if he had a gun. But the one was empty and the other held a cane. Bruno raised the rod some more, and lumbered ahead a few steps to bring it downward on Helmut’s shoulder.

  When the spacing was right, Bruno swung. The heavy rod brought with it crushing momentum. Helmut’s cane came up in flash, knocking against the side of the steel bar. It was much lighter, but all Bruno’s strength was directed earthward. The slapping parry made the blow drift wide outside and miss the shoulder. Helmet didn’t let his cane ride the bar downward, but instead bounced off of it in a fearsome repost at the side of Bruno’s face. He screeched and stumbled backward as he suffered an orbital fracture about his right eye.

  Helmut didn’t press his advantage, maintaining an open distance between them and giving Bruno time to recover. The scarred old man held out his cane before him, and slowly made a sneer. Bruno flushed with a rage that rose up his shoulders and neck to color his cheeks. He gripped the bar with both hands as one would a baseball bat. He wound it up like a homerun hitter looking forward to a fastball.

  The cane’s steel tip thrust forward, shattering a rib high on his chest. Bruno gritted his teeth and swung anyway for all he was worth. Helmut danced backward as quickly as he had lunged forward, and the short steel rod found nothing but air. The broken rib kept Bruno from arresting his swing, and he found himself facing the entrance before getting the momentum of the heavy club under control.

  Bruno’s third injury was a piercing blow to his kidney, just a couple of inches to the side of his spine. The dull tip didn’t break the skin, but the shockwave of pain through his back arched his head backward and paralyzed him for a moment. Helmut didn’t recover from his lunge this time as Bruno’s weapon slipped from his grasp. Instead Helmut brought his arm back in a renewal of the attack, landing a brutal overhand whack to the top of Bruno’s head. The hardwood proved more than a sufficient match to crack the skull.

  Kelton and Azrael stood in the entryway, staring down at Bruno’s still form on the dusty barn floor. Helmut recovered from his lunge into a normal stance, and rested himself on his cane.

  “Hauptman Jager. Nice to see you. I’ve left your clothes at the top of the steps. I told you I had no use for a dog and to try the drunken fox hunters up the road.”

  “I must say you made short work of him. I didn’t even have time to let Azrael go.”

  Helmut shrugged, “To quote author Rafael Sabantini in the Black Swan, ‘To pirates he might have been a swordsman but to a swordsman he was mere
ly a pirate.’ The novel I mean. In the thirties. Don’t waste your time on the movie, although Captain Blood was a pretty good film. They don’t make them like Flynn and DeHavilland anymore.”

  “So what do we do now?” asked Kelton looking down at the comatose form of the thug.

  “Back at Heidelberg your mates dragged you to the dorms and wrapped your face in bandages. Here, I reckon I will have to call the police back to campus. As an old man with a cane, it will take me quite a while to climb the steps back up to my apartment. That will give you plenty of time to be somewhere else.”

  “Is there a phone in your office?”

  Helmut nodded, took his keys from his pocket and tossed them against the wall to his left. They fell straight down into the particles of dirt, hay and straw that collected on that part of the floor.

  “Seems I lost my keys in the struggle. I also need to go check the water bucket of a horse with a stone bruise in on stall rest.”

  “Then how do you get into your apartment?”

  “I guess I find my keys and do use the office phone. It takes quite a while. I don’t bend over very well anymore. Lots of back problems from years of riding. But I call eventually. Which should give you plenty of a head start to go and ponder.”

  “And what am I pondering? When I take my dog for a walk and all.”

  Helmut shrugged in a relaxed confidence, “I am nothing but an old man with a long simple life of teaching schoolgirls to ride horses. I’m asked to speak at a town meeting, and suddenly a thug tracks me down in the middle of the night. Who cares what I might say there? And why?”