A Hell of a Dog

by Carol Lea Benjamin

  I wondered why I’d thought Alan would be waiting for us with a picnic of goodies from Zabar’s, or be lying faceup in the dirt, a small red circle over his heart and ketchup drooling out of his mouth. Alan Cooper, as far as I could tell, had no sense of humor whatsoever. Perhaps that was why he used a shock collar to train dogs, because he lacked the capacity to laugh at himself when a dog made him look like a fool. Hell, you can’t do that, you don’t belong around dogs.

  So what did this all mean—that Boris was simply telling the truth? If so, where was Alan?

  8

  OLD-FASHIONED

  “That’s what Jack Godsil always told me,” Bucky was saying between bites of bagels, lox, and cream cheese in the Ritz breakfast room. “Every handler ends up with the dog he deserves.”

  Chip tugged at my sleeve, just like the old days, to let me know he, too, knew the real source of that quote.

  “‘Bucky,’ he’d say …”

  “Put a zipper on it, King,” Rick Shelbert said. Then he looked startled by his own boldness.

  “It’s amazing how many students a trainer picks up after he’s died,” Woody said. He put some milk into his coffee and took a sip. “Rachel, weren’t you telling me the other night that you were taught by Blanche Saunders?”

  “You know, my dears,” Beryl said, “none of the students coming today would have any idea what you are talking about.” She picked up a knife and slid a little pot of marmalade closer to her plate of toast. We didn’t only have our own pots of jam and jelly, we had individual creamers, sugar bowls, salt and pepper shakers, every amenity for people who usually ate greasy hot dogs on the fly between training jobs. “For them,” Beryl continued, “history begins with the people out there teaching seminars now, some of you, some far younger and far less experienced. Nor do they study breed differences. They choose a gadget and advertise themselves as experts. I hope this week inspires one or two of them to better scholarship.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” Bucky said.

  “At my age, I don’t count on much.”

  “I don’t think that all the changes are bad ones, Beryl,” Rick said, putting down his coffee, ready for battle.

  “Of course you don’t,” Beryl said, dismissing him.

  “I think the introduction of scientific—” Rick started to say, but Beryl didn’t let him finish.

  “Scientific? Scientific only means you have no feeling for dogs, no insights, no respect for their intelligence and ability to learn, no—”

  “My good woman—”

  “I am not your good woman, nor anyone else’s.” Beryl pinned Rick with an alpha stare. “You are about to be very condescending toward me, and I suggest you rethink your position. Actually, rolling over, exposing your neck, and urinating would be more appropriate.”

  Rick opened his mouth as if to respond, but began wheezing instead, his face turning red as he struggled for breath. I could hear the air whistling its way down to his lungs while he fished around in his pants pocket and came up with his inhaler. That was when the door opened and Sam appeared in the doorway, her face as pale and dry looking as chalk.

  She came over to my chair and bent over so that her lips were right next to my ear. “Something terrible has happened. I need you outside now,” she said.

  I followed her out the door and partway down the hall.

  “There’s been an accident,” she said.

  “Alan?”

  She nodded, then covered her nose and mouth with her open hand.

  “What happened?”

  Her hand came slowly away from her face and landed lightly on my shoulder.

  “He’s dead,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from tension.

  I thought immediately about the park. It must have been a mugging.

  “He must have gone to lay the track alone. There must have been two—”

  She shook her head. “The police have been here since shortly after you all went out to do the tracking, checking the room and asking questions. They want to talk to Audrey, Bucky, and Beryl, because they have the rooms closest to Alan’s, to see if they heard anything. I think we’ll be able to go on. They seem pretty sure—”

  “You mean he died in the hotel? Not in the park?”

  Three men in coat and tie and a woman in a navy skirt suit, her long hair pulled back and clipped at the nape of her neck, came up the stairs at the end of the hallway.

  “Detectives O’Shea, Flowers, DeAndrea, and Mullins, Rachel Alexander,” Sam said.

  They nodded. The woman put out her hand. “Diane Flowers,” she said. “Rachel, I was wondering if you saw Mr. Cooper after he left the group last night?”

  The other three detectives and Sam walked back toward the breakfast room.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t run into him walking his dog when you took your dog out?”

  I shook my head.

  “Did any of the others mention seeing Mr. Cooper later in the evening, either out with his dog, or back at the hotel?”

  “Not to me,” I said. “What happened?”

  “And you heard nothing last night?”

  “I believe Mr. Cooper’s room is on four,” I told her. “Mine is on three. No, I didn’t hear anything. And no one,” I said, looking back toward the breakfast room, “mentioned hearing anything last night or this morning.” I saw one of the detectives walking down the hall with Audrey at his side. “He was supposed to lay the track for us, for one of the dogs to follow, and he didn’t show up.”

  She was writing something in her notebook. A second detective passed us, Bucky King walking next to him.

  “Yes, across the hall. But I sleep with the air conditioner on,” he was saying as they passed us and headed down the stairs.

  “Was Mr. Cooper here by himself, Ms. Alexander, or did his wife accompany him?”

  “As far as I know, all the lecturers are here without family. Except for our dogs,” I added.

  She looked up and smiled at me. Then she looked back down at her notes. “Did Mr. Cooper seem depressed?” she asked. “Or agitated, you know, upset, jumpy, anything that seemed out of the ordinary to you?”

  “Not that I could tell.”

  “My dear young man.” Beryl and the third detective were in the hall. “Once I take out my hearing aid, there could be a five-alarm fire at the hotel, and it would go unnoticed in my room.”

  Detective Flowers reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “If you think of something you might have seen or heard.”

  “Detective—”

  “Detective DeAndrea is going to explain what happened in a moment,” Flowers said. “Come with me.”

  We headed back to the breakfast room, where I took my chair and looked around the room. Woody raised his eyebrows, but all I could do was shrug. I leaned toward Chip. “Did they ask you anything?” I whispered.

  “Just if anyone had seen Alan last night after he left the group. What’s the deal here? Did Sam say? Where’s Alan?”

  I didn’t get the chance to answer. The door opened, and Audrey, Bucky, and Beryl came in quietly and took their seats. Sam and the three detectives were right behind them. While the others remained near the doorway, DeAndrea stepped closer to the table. He stood with his feet slightly apart, ready for anything. Muller, standing next to Sam, was putting his notebook away. When he clasped his hands behind his back, I could see the bulge of his gun under his navy jacket. Detective Muller was apparently ready, too.

  “Folks,” DeAndrea said, “I’m sorry to inform you that one of your colleagues, Alan Cooper, has had an accident.”

  Tracy stood. “What happened? Is he okay?”

  “No, ma’am. He’s deceased.”

  Detective Muller walked over and assisted Tracy back into her chair. “Can I get you some water?” he asked, even though there was a glass of water at every place setting. Tracy shook her head.

  “What happened?” Woody asked.

  “It appears that Mr. Coo
per had moved the clock radio from his nightstand to the towel shelf over the foot of the tub so that he could listen to it in the bathroom. It seems that when he got up to get out of the tub, he slipped and grabbed for the shelf to catch himself. He took the whole shelf down with him into the tub, including the radio.”

  Cathy covered her mouth with both hands, Audrey was trying to shred her cloth napkin, and Rick’s dead white skin seemed even paler than usual. I looked over at Sam, but she wasn’t looking in my direction. Woody and Chip got up. Then Bucky rose.

  “Sit down, if you would, folks. There’s nothing for you to do. Ms. Lewis here has given us the information we need. The hotel staff has been very cooperative. We’ve been in touch with Mrs. Cooper, who’ll be here this afternoon to pick up his personal effects and the dog. It’s unfortunate, in the middle of your convention, but accidents happen. I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, looking down for the first time. “I hope you’ll be able to settle down and get on with your work.”

  He turned his back to us and whispered something to Sam, who nodded, and with that, the officers left. Sam started to take the empty chair that would have been Alan’s, pulled it out from the table, and then hesitated, resting her hands on the back of it instead of sitting.

  “Elizabeth Cooper is on her way from Connecticut. I have Beau in my room. He’s pacing a lot, but Elizabeth says he always does that. We have”—she stopped and looked at her watch—“an hour and a half before my little welcome to the students and Beryl’s very important talk on breed character. I thought I’d take Beau out to the park and then see if I can get him to eat something. I think each of us needs to find a way to calm down so that we can go on with our work.”

  The room was silent. Sam pushed the chair back in and turned to leave. But then she turned back to face us again.

  “The detectives have questioned the staff and those of us whose rooms were closest to Alan’s. Nothing unusual was heard or observed and they have assured me his death was—” Sam looked up for a moment, as if she were trying to stop the flow of tears. Then she picked up a napkin from the table and blotted her eyes. “Accidental,” she said when she was able. There wasn’t another sound in the room. “Does anyone have a question?” She held out her hand, as if she were asking for spare change.

  “How did they—” Cathy asked.

  “The manager called me after Boris and Chip had gone to the front desk to inquire about Alan. I’ve known Alan Cooper for ten years, and I know many of you don’t like the method he used with dogs; however, I have always found him to be a responsible, reliable speaker. Had I not, I wouldn’t have asked him to participate this week. It made no sense to me that he’d agree to do something and then just not show up, so I asked the manager if they could check his room and see if he was there, if perhaps there was some problem, if he was sick. He sent up one of the maids, and she found him. She spoke to the police, and then she was sent home. She was pretty shaken up.”

  Sam waited. No one else, it seemed, had anything to say.

  “If that’s all for now, I’m going to take care of Beau. I’ll be back in my suite in forty-five minutes, should you need me.”

  “Walk Beau on this.” Chip had a nylon slip collar in his hand. I took it and passed it to Sam.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” I asked.

  Sam didn’t answer right away, as if she were thinking over my offer.

  “You’re all great,” she said. “I knew you’d come through. It’s tragic, what happened to Alan. But it could have happened anywhere, at any time. I just knew you’d all—” She looked away for a moment. “You’re all terrific. Together we’re going to do this thing. And we’ll be great.” Then she turned toward me. “Thank you, Rachel, but I hope you understand, I’d rather be alone just now. Thank you all for being so wonderful.”

  I followed her out into the hall.

  “I can’t believe this,” she said. “What a freak thing to happen.”

  “What you said in there was perfect, Sam, setting the tone for cooperation. They’re all going to pull together and make this happen. You’ll see.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I do.”

  “Poor Alan,” she said.

  “Sam, what else did the police say?”

  “That from the position of his legs they’re pretty sure he was getting out of the tub when the accident happened. His left heel was on the rim of the tub, and there was a lot of water on the floor. They said the water was very soapy, which is what made the tub so slippery. Of course, the final determination of cause of death rests with the medical examiner.

  “They said the shelf Alan grabbed to try and stop himself from falling was never meant to hold anything except a few extra towels. It could never have held the weight of a person.” She shook her head. “It pulled right out of the tile.”

  “Sam, are the police finished with the room?”

  “Yes, but they don’t want the hotel to release it yet, not for twenty-four hours. They said I could go in and pack his things, though, that that would be okay.”

  “Let me do that for you. You’ve got enough to do taking care of Beau. And yourself. Anyway, you have to be available to the others, in case there are some second thoughts later, anxieties to be dealt with, questions.”

  “Thanks, Rachel. I certainly want to have everything ready for Elizabeth. I don’t want her to have to be in that room at all.” She reached into her pocket and took out two keys, checking the room numbers, and then handed one of them to me.

  “I’ll pack and leave the bag at the front desk, okay?”

  “Why don’t you just bring it to my suite after you’ve cleaned up and changed?” she said. “I’m in 501. Of course, you already know that, don’t you? Thanks for this, Rachel. It’ll help a lot. The hotel offered to have it done, but I said no. I think we owe it to Alan not to have a stranger—”

  “Not to worry. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  I stopped on three for Dashiell, then took the stairs up one more flight. Standing in the empty hallway outside 408, I took a deep breath, preparing myself as if Alan’s body would still be in there, one foot sticking up out of the tub, his face locked in a grimace of pain and fear. But the room was empty, the curtains open, the sun streaming in onto the rumpled bed, the electronic collar and remote lying on top of the dresser.

  I put Dashiell on a down just inside the door so that I could look first. I could see that the nightstand was still pulled away from the wall. I guessed that Alan intended to return the radio to its place after his bath. There was a pair of pants over the back of a chair near the window, a pair of shoes near the bed, the socks he’d worn tossed over them. The bedcovers were in a great pile on one side of the bed, and the pillows were one on top of the other. I bent and looked under the bed, and found Alan’s shirt there. Perhaps he’d tossed it on the bed and it slipped off when he’d gotten up, then got kicked beneath the bed by accident. I pulled it out and did the best I could to fold it, pushing the covers over to make room for Alan’s suitcase so that I could pack up his things, as promised. I thought I’d do that first and save the bathroom for last.

  But when I pushed the covers over, I saw something that made me stop. Had I only been looking at Alan as someone whose training method I disliked intensely, that all changed when I saw the tennis ball pushed under the edge of the bedclothes, placed there by a hopeful dog who wanted one more toss. Many dog trainers have two sides to them, the one they show in public and one they keep private. But in most cases, the public side is the gentle one, and the rougher training techniques are used when no one else is watching. Here was a case where the public side was one many considered harmful to dogs. But, alone with Beau, Alan had played ball with him.

  Come to think of it, there’d been a ball just inside the door. I was so used to seeing dog toys on the floor, it hadn’t really registered. When I turned to look for it, it was between Dashiell’s paws. I picked it up and held it in my hand. Did he let the d
og sleep up on the bed, too? I wondered, putting the ball in my pocket and running my hands on top of the spread to see if I picked up dog hair.

  I couldn’t find any fur on the spread, nor could I find any pajamas tossed anywhere. They were probably in the bathroom, I thought, wincing. He probably hung them on the back of the door before he got into the tub. Or if he didn’t wear any, no wonder he wouldn’t let the dog in the bed, I thought. You can get some nasty scratches sleeping naked with a dog. I flipped up the end of the covers, finding Alan’s polka-dot boxer shorts there. So, no pajamas. He just kicked off the last article of clothing after he was already under the covers.

  I put Alan’s things in his bag, including his shorts, looking through his seminar notes and placing them in one of the pockets, using the plastic bag the hotel provided for his shoes, as if it mattered now, even folding the slacks as smoothly and neatly as I could, as if he were going to wear them again. Then I walked over to the bathroom, opened the door, and looked in.

  The tub was empty and looked as if it had been cleaned, so despite what my mother called my overactive imagination, I figured it would be safe to start breathing again after only a few seconds. Unfortunately, I was wrong. The stench of feces was too strong to be masked by air freshener, especially since there was no window in the small bathroom. I picked up a clean washcloth, wet it, and held it over my nose and mouth.

  I looked at the outlet next. It was as old-fashioned as everything else in the hotel. Had there been an outlet with a ground fault interrupter, the way there is in the bathrooms of more modern hotels, Alan Cooper would still be alive.

  The bath mat was gone. It must have gotten soaked when Alan fell back into the tub. The wet towels and the broken shelf had been removed, but the radio had not. It had been placed on the floor next to the foot of the tub, and there it sat, the loose cord behind it. It was useless as evidence. You wouldn’t be able to get fingerprints from an object that had soaked in hot, soapy water. From what Sam had said, the detectives would only expect to find Alan’s prints on it anyway. There had been black powder on top of the nightstand. Tomorrow or the next day they’d confirm that Alan was the one who’d moved it out so that he could have music while he soaked in the tub.