Tracking Game

by Margaret Mizushima

  She looked toward the hay meadow beyond the burned van and wondered if Nate Fletcher’s killer could still be out there in the darkness, observing the theatrics of the firestorm he had created. She decided on Robo’s harness and stuffed the collar into her utility belt, thinking they would look for the shooter’s scent first. She strapped on Robo’s Kevlar vest, and because of the amount of shattered glass in the area, she decided to put on his leather booties to protect his feet.

  With a hand gesture, she signaled Robo to jump down from the vehicle. The booties made him high-step around for a few seconds before gliding around her legs and attaching himself to her left heel. He gazed into her eyes with expectancy. On the job.

  Brody sauntered over, his thumbs hooked into his utility belt, resembling a well-sated feline. Or maybe that was just her read on him, knowing what she did. Stella followed and they huddled together.

  “CBI called,” Stella said. “They’ll have a crime scene unit here in about thirty minutes.”

  Mattie scanned the litter in the area. “The spray from the hose has probably washed anything useful out of the van, but I can have Robo search for evidence as soon as things cool down. First, I want to see if there’s anything he can tell us about the shooter.”

  Brody cocked an eyebrow. “Ask him to give us a description?”

  Mattie gave him a thin smile. “Seriously, I wonder if the shooter stayed around out there.”

  They all turned, trying to search beyond the headlights into the meadow. The moon cast enough light to reveal a stretch of rolling grass dotted with haystacks, but that was about it. The base of the foothills defined the farthest edge of the field over a mile away.

  “If anyone’s out there, you and Robo would be sitting ducks,” Brody said.

  “Not sitting. We’ll be on the move.” Mattie waved her hand toward the road. “And maybe the shooter jumped into a vehicle and took off. Let’s see if we can find out.”

  “Okay. Go to it. There’s very little traffic on this county road, but let me tell Garcia and Johnson to stop anyone that might come.” Brody left to get things set up.

  “Don’t leave this area without someone with you, Mattie,” Stella said.

  “I won’t. I’ll wait for Brody.” Brody covered her back whenever possible, and she’d come to rely on him. “First I plan to search a circle around the periphery of the scene to see if Robo hits on fresh scent.”

  Mattie led Robo toward the edge of the road, where she could pat his sides and begin the high-pitched chatter that told him it was time to start. He bent around her legs before backing off to wag his tail and watch her face, prancing on his front paws.

  A fugitive often exuded a scent tainted by stress that some officers called endocrine sweat. As part of his patrol education, Robo had been trained to track people leaving the scene of a crime on foot, and he could do it without a scent article.

  Mattie unclipped his leash, and he circled her feet, a bundle of energy in anticipation of a command that would release it. She raised her arm and waved it outward. “Let’s find the bad guy, Robo. Search!”

  Robo ran along the edge of the road, sniffing the ground, searching for scent. Mattie kept a keen eye on him while he worked. It was up to her to read his body language, to interpret his movement, each tiny communication between dog and handler.

  When he didn’t hit on anything near the road, she called him back and asked him to start working a circle around the van. Robo quartered the area, his head moving back and forth, and her heartbeat quickened as she realized he was narrowing in on fresh scent.

  He led her into the grassy barrow ditch beyond the debris field, where he stopped and stood with one front paw raised for a second before stretching his neck forward to touch something with his mouth, something hidden from view by the foliage. Then he sat and stared at her, his signal that he’d found something left behind by the person he’d been tracking.

  With a buzz of excitement, Mattie praised him as she pulled her flashlight from its loop on her utility belt. The polished steel barrel of a deadly-looking revolver glittered in its beam. She recognized this handgun and didn’t need Brody to identify it—a Smith and Wesson .38 Special.

  “We’ve got a gun,” she called to Brody as she marked the spot with a short spike topped with a strip of orange flagging tape. “I’ll leave it for the crime scene techs to process.”

  Carrying his AR-15 Colt rifle, Brody came up behind her. “That’s one strategy. Leave the murder weapon so it won’t be found on your own property. I’ll bet the gun will be untraceable.”

  Stella had followed Brody. “We’ll see. I’ll check it for prints, and if it hasn’t had its registration number tampered with, I’ll run it through the ATF National Tracing Center for ownership. Maybe we can get a quick turnaround.”

  Mattie doubted it would be that easy, or the shooter wouldn’t have left the gun at the crime scene. “I’ll see where the track goes from here.”

  After being told to go ahead and search, Robo took her across the barrow ditch to a barbed wire fence that separated the ditch from the meadow. Beyond that, slight indentations in the tall grass beckoned.

  “Robo, wait.” Her intuition had paid off. She’d believed it possible that the shooter had left the scene on foot, especially if Nate had known him. Maybe the guy had even sat in the van with Nate before he killed him.

  Brody joined her to look out into the meadow.

  “He’s got a hit,” she told him. “We need to let him follow it.”

  “I’ll get backup.” Brody keyed on his radio mic. “Garcia, pull back in. We’re going into the meadow to search.”

  Stella joined them. “How do you two want to work this? You know the shooter could still be out there.”

  Reading Robo’s body language would be more important than ever. He could tell her “someone is here” versus “someone was here.” “I’ll follow Robo on the scent track. Can you and Garcia flank me?” she asked Brody.

  “Sounds like a plan. LoSasso, you stay here and control this area. Make sure the public stays out. Shut off the headlights on the vehicles around here. I don’t want us backlit like targets at a shooting range.”

  Garcia jogged up, his tactical rifle held ready. A force veteran, he was built like a fireplug and he looked eager to go. Brody took a few seconds to brief him, and then they stamped down the bottom two strands of the sharp barbed wire so that Mattie and Robo could pass through.

  She clipped on Robo’s leash, wanting to keep him close as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A breeze rippled the knee-high alfalfa and grass mix as Robo tugged on his leash, wanting to follow the hot scent. Mattie’s chest tightened as she felt the responsibility of leading the others into the field, where she could barely see Robo’s shadow, much less interpret the nuance of his movements.

  She took a breath. “Ready?” she murmured.

  “Go ahead,” Brody said.

  She bent, ruffled Robo’s fur, and used an excited voice to direct him. “Robo, let’s go find the bad guy. Search!”

  Robo surged forward, forcing Mattie to trot a few steps until she could slow his momentum. She didn’t want him going out too fast through the tall grass. She pinned her eyes on his shadow and spoke to him quietly, asking him to take it easy whenever he pulled against her too hard. She strained to listen, locating the quiet rustle made by Brody and Garcia, slightly behind and off to each side.

  Moonlight glinted off Robo’s back. He kept his nose to the ground, and soon enough it became apparent that he was leading them toward a large stack of baled hay, a perfect spot for someone to hide.

  She kept her voice down while she spoke to Brody over her shoulder. “We’ve got to clear that haystack. That’s where Robo’s headed.”

  Brody called a halt. “Garcia, you hold a point here and watch the front and left side. I’ll circle to the right and clear the backside. Cobb, you stay on the track.”

  Mattie raised her face and tested the breeze against it. Northerly, coming f
rom the haystack. If the shooter remained hidden behind the stack, Robo would probably catch his scent on the wind. But no guarantees.

  She let Robo pull her forward through the deep grass while she watched his every move, looking for his head to go up and his hackles to rise, his way of telling her that someone is here, someone is out to get us.

  Robo raised his face into the wind, and her heart did a double-step. She drew a breath to shout a warning to the others, her eyes glued to Robo’s back. But his hackles remained down. No change.

  “Clear!” Brody shouted from ahead and off to the right. Static crackled the air as he used his radio to check in with Garcia, who reported an all clear from his side.

  Robo’s head went back down, nose to the ground, as he led Mattie up to the stack and around its right side, where she could see for herself that it was clear. But as her dog swept around the corner, he came to a sudden stop, sniffed the area, and backtracked. He stuck his nose in a depression between bales to sniff, then turned to sit and stare at her. His signal that he’d found something.

  Already adrenalized, she felt a new high surge through her. “Robo’s got a hit on the stack.”

  Brody moved forward. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. He’s trained to indicate anything outside the environmental norm when we’re on a track like this.”

  Brody turned on his flashlight and aimed its beam into the stack. A pint jar filled with liquid and topped with a strip of white cloth under its cap was nestled in the crease between the bales. “Molotov cocktail,” Brody said, moving closer to take a whiff. “Smells like kerosene or some type of fuel.”

  This was probably the reason Robo had raised his head to sniff the wind out in the field. Brody had to move close to smell it, but her dog had picked up the scent at about thirty yards.

  “After pouring accelerant inside the van, this is probably what our guy used to ignite it,” Brody said. “He evidently didn’t need this one. Garcia, keep a watch out here until we can get the crime scene unit to process this. Maybe we’ll get prints.”

  “You got it, Chief.”

  Brody turned to Mattie. “Can Robo pick up where the guy went from here?”

  “I’d bet on it.” She patted Robo’s sides and told him again to search. He lowered his head to whiff the base of the grass around him with a soft snuffling sound before setting a course on a diagonal toward the road.

  Now that Mattie knew the stack was clear, she shrugged away the tightness that had gathered between her shoulder blades. She and Robo took the lead while Brody fell in behind. Robo took them to a fence about three-quarters of a mile from the crime scene and lowered his head, making it clear he intended to slip under it.

  “Robo, wait.” Mattie made him pause so they could safely cross through the barbed wire before allowing him to sniff his way through the tall grass into the barrow ditch. He touched a hidden object with his mouth and then sat, his eyes finding hers.

  Mattie grabbed his ruff and hugged him close, praising his find. She signaled to Brody, who came forward with his flashlight. He parted the grass to reveal a tan leather, work glove, large enough to fit a man.

  Brody’s grin looked grisly in the light’s glow. “Our shooter must have dropped this after climbing through the fence.”

  Mattie smiled, sharing a moment of satisfaction with him. “It’s probably loaded with gunshot residue on the outside and DNA inside.”

  “We’ll flag it for the investigators to process. What’s the likelihood of some defense attorney saying a glove by the side of the road could belong to anyone?”

  “They can say what they want, but when a K-9 with Robo’s credentials leads us right to it on the shooter’s scent track, that’s powerful evidence.” While she spoke, Mattie stroked the top of her dog’s head as he leaned against her leg. All their training and all her documentation in her training journal paid off at a time like this. She couldn’t have been prouder of her partner.

  But Robo wasn’t finished. He put his nose back on the ground and tugged Mattie toward the road. Up on the road base, he pinned his ears and circled, sniffing in all directions. Within seconds, he sat and stared at her.

  “The scent ends here.” Mattie hugged Robo against her leg as she patted his side and told him what a good boy he was. “We need to be careful. There could be prints.”

  Brody lit up the area with the beam of his flashlight, and she spotted sharp ridges and valleys in the dirt. “Right here. Tire prints.”

  Robo was beginning his happy dance, signaling the end of the track, so Mattie quickly moved him down into the ditch before he could destroy the evidence he’d just found.

  “Good job, Robo!” Brody apparently couldn’t resist celebrating either, and he leaned down to deliver a few victory thumps on her dog’s side.

  Robo fawned against the chief deputy’s legs for a split second before coming back to press against Mattie. She knelt and grabbed him in a bear hug.

  Brody got down to business. “Okay, let’s get this area taped off and preserve it for the crime scene techs. We’re on our way to catching this guy.”

  FOUR

  Mattie had deemed the panel van at the crime scene too hot to send Robo in to search, so she and Stella were driving toward the Redman Ranch to notify the family of Nate Fletcher’s death. Evidently still excited from his search, Robo sat at the front of his compartment, panting slightly and staring out the windshield.

  “Two o’clock in the morning,” Stella said. “What are the chances that someone will be up and awake?”

  “Slim to none.”

  Her headlights pierced the darkness, revealing tall telephone poles with a wooden sign posted between, REDMAN RANCH burned into it below their brand—quarter circle, backward R. Mattie turned off the road and crossed a cattle guard, her tires thumping against the metal rails. From there she followed a private dirt road that twisted and turned through grassland pasture and then crossed a sturdy bridge over Timber Creek, which flowed down from the northern mountains and ran through the Redman property.

  The ranch headquarters buildings were visible from the highway during daylight, and Mattie remembered them as a cluster of white stucco houses of various sizes with green metal rooftops. A large barn made from weathered planks and surrounded by pole corrals sat at the edge of the buildings.

  It wasn’t unusual for a ranch of this magnitude to have more than one house. Employees typically required housing, and it would take several hands to keep a business of this size running. If Cole was right, Kasey Redman lived here on the property, but in which house was anyone’s guess.

  As they approached, she could see that light glowed from the windows of the first house they would come to.

  Stella pointed at it. “That’s a surprise. I guess we should start there.”

  “I wonder why someone would be awake at this hour.”

  “Maybe Kasey is waiting up for her husband to come home.”

  A sinking sensation tugged at Mattie’s heart. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Mattie pulled up in front of a long, ranch-style home with a flower bed that ran along the entire front wall. The lower part of the wall was stained by mud that had been splashed up during watering.

  The home had probably been built decades earlier, and she would guess that this outer layer of stucco covered thick adobe walls, a method of building used by the original Spanish settlers that had carried over into the area’s architecture during the early part of the twentieth century. Though well maintained, the central structure of this house could be over one hundred years old.

  Mattie turned off the engine. “How do you want to do this?”

  “Let’s find out who lives here and play it by ear. I’ll take the lead.”

  Mattie told Robo he was going to wait in the car and then followed Stella up a graveled pathway that led through the grassy yard toward a screened-in front porch. Light from the house filtered into the enclosed area, revealing a wicker table and a daybed set up in
the corner.

  Stella knocked on the door to the porch. They waited. When no one answered, she glanced at Mattie, shrugged, and knocked louder. After a long minute, a dim light over the wicker table switched on, illuminating the pleasant outdoor space with its faint glow. Soon the door leading into the main house opened, and a figure backlit by indoor lighting came through. A woman dressed in a blue sateen bathrobe walked across the porch. Not Kasey.

  Stella spoke up. “Mrs. Redman?”

  The woman, tall and lithe with graying red hair, stopped on the other side of the screen, one hand clutching her robe’s collar. “Yes, I’m Lillian. Who’s calling at this time of night?”

  Stella held her badge up to the screen. “I’m Detective Stella LoSasso from the Timber Creek County Sheriff’s Department, and this is Deputy Mattie Cobb. May we come in?”

  Lillian squinted through the screen, looking at the badge. “Oh my. What’s happened?”

  “Could we come inside, Mrs. Redman?”

  Lillian opened the screen door. “Of course.” She backed away and stood beside the table while Stella and Mattie filed inside. Her fingers fluttered as they went back to her collar. “Do we have cattle out on the highway?”

  It was a common problem in ranching country. The grass was always greener on the other side of the fence, and livestock loved to escape through even well-built fences. At night, cattle on the highway and speeding cars with visibility limited to the depth of headlight penetration didn’t mix. Mattie wished that was the bad news they were here to deliver.

  “No, ma’am, your cattle aren’t out that we know of.” Stella motioned toward the inner door. “Could we come inside your house? I’m sure it’s chilly for you outside here.”

  Lillian turned and led the way into the house. Warm air washed over Mattie as she stepped inside a large kitchen, its floor covered in dark-gray linoleum with tan and white flecks. Serviceable white cabinets with lighter-gray countertops lined two walls, meeting at a stainless-steel sink in the middle.