by Amy Shojai
She shook her head. “Thanks, but I want to visit Mount Pleasant Cemetery.” She rubbed Shadow’s ears when he pushed against her. “Once we take the information to the police, questioning takes hours. I need to pay my respects at Chris’s grave, it’s one reason I came.” She blinked hard and wiped her eyes. “Now he’s with his parents. He had no other family, just me.”
Teddy rose and gave her a hard hug. “Of course. Go. Make your peace. Ya know, he’d be proud of how far you’ve come.”
September shrugged into her parka and adjusted the cap to hold back her hair. “When we get back, I’ll take the cats over to Tee’s hotel room. Shadow, let’s go, baby-dog.” She opened the door and stepped out, waiting for him to prance down the steps. “Teddy, call me when you learn anything. We’re so close!”
Once back in her SUV, she stuffed the baggies of treats into her pocket, and then pulled up the directions to the cemetery. Located only a few minutes from South Bend Airport, she fought the temptation to instead buy a plane ticket home. But she couldn’t retreat, not now, with answers finally within her grasp. She owed it to herself, to Angela, and to the memory of Detective Christopher Day.
“You would’ve loved Chris,” she told Shadow. “He’s why I train dogs.” All these years she’d blamed herself, and Victor, for his death. Once she found the truth, perhaps she’d also find peace—and open the doors on a future.
MR. BLEAK WAITED UNTIL she drove away with her devil dog. Only then did he approach the motor home. He knew of the old man by reputation, a brilliant hacker back in the day, and guessed she’d left the thumb drive with him. He fingered his scalded face, and flexed painful cat-bitten hands. They’d never find September, once he finished with her.
Chapter 41
TEDDY WATCHED SEPTEMBER’S car disappear down the street. Even though a safe, happy future beckoned with Combs—a fine man—September’s survivor’s guilt fueled her behavior to drop everything and come to South Bend. He couldn’t make the past disappear. But perhaps he could help her understand, and then overcome, whatever ugliness shadowed her life.
The software program had compiled the list of names, dates, and amounts paid. The police needed a forensic accountant to get the whole picture, but even Teddy recognized patterns of inexplicable payments. He’d bet anything that few cats changed hands, and only served as a furry smokescreen, payment for secrets kept and favors granted. He had a bad feeling about how and why September’s stalker, Victor, was connected to Sissie Turpin.
He started to close the door, and noticed Shadow’s bear-toy had caught in the jam. Before he could retrieve it, one of the cats meowed. Teddy looked up, wondering which one wanted to talk. He’d never been much into cats. Molly loved them but they’d only kept dogs.
He crossed to the two cat carriers, nifty zippered duffels with pockets for leashes and whatnot. September had left her gloves behind. He stuffed them in his back pants pocket so he’d remember to return them, and peered inside. Macy blinked, yawned, and closed his eyes. But the white cat, Sherlock, meowed again, and pawed the webbing at the front.
“That’s right, you didn’t get your food, did you, Sherlock?” Teddy saw the remains of the boiled egg. “Picky cat, you like warm food, eh? We can fix that.” He placed the bowl with the last shelled egg in the microwave and set it to 30 seconds. When it PINGED, he retrieved the bowl, turned—
The dark-clad man jerked open the door, and pointed a gun. Teddy froze.
“The thumb drive. Hand it to me. Now.”
Teddy nodded toward the rear of the vehicle. “There, plugged in the port.” He’d already saved a copy to his secure cloud. He didn’t move. “May I get it for you?” He licked suddenly dry lips, but otherwise remained frozen as the man kicked away the dog’s toy, and reached the computer, all the while keeping the gun trained on Teddy’s mid-section.
The man with the scorched face hadn’t bothered to wear a mask. That told Teddy he had moments to live. A sudden calm descended. He met the impassive gaze with stoic determination. He wasn’t afraid, but he’d rather not rejoin Molly today.
Mr. Bleak broke eye contact to retrieve the thumb drive. As soon as his attention shifted, Teddy lobbed the microwaved egg at him and dodged the other direction to the door. His knees protested, and he fell the final step, just as an explosion jarred the inside of his RV.
Cats screamed. The man yelled.
Teddy scrambled to regain his feet. He slipped and slid on the icy drive. Another gunshot, this one muted compared to the first, coincided with a shriek of pain in his leg. Maybe he’d get to see Molly today, after all...
Porch lights blazed on. Theo stood silhouetted in the doorway. “Dad! What’s going on?”
“Inside, get inside! Call 911!” Teddy tried to yell but his voice failed him. The dark man, now standing above his prone form, would kill him, and then Theo. He stared up at the merciless face weirdly clotted with bits of white and yellow.
A hundred-twenty pounds of Great Dane launched through the air. Kismet hit the killer hard, and Teddy heard the rush of air when together they struck the ground. Mr. Bleak cursed, and scrambled away, tripping over and squeaking the stuffed toy before escaping into the pre-dawn morning.
Theo knelt beside him, squeezing Teddy’s hand. Begging him to hold on...hold on....
Teddy passed out with Kismet snuggled tight against his other side, crying and licking his face.
Chapter 42
THE SNOW-DUSTED CEMETERY shined with an ethereal glow from the breaking dawn. Far from spooky, the place felt bathed in an other-worldly hush: expectant, quiet, almost holy.
September parked as near to the grave markers as she could. She’d only been here once, to bury her husband. Those days had blurred over time, the sharp pain that fueled her escape to Texas now a dull ache. But the location of his memorial was burned in her memory. Chris, as much as Angela, had called her back to South Bend, to finish what he’d started, for her. She needed to thank him, and say her final goodbye.
“Shadow, wait.” He yelped in protest when she switched off the SUV and pocketed the keys next to her wallet. “I’ll be right over there. I need to do this alone, baby-dog.” She took her gun out of the glove box and carried it with her. She carefully set the child lock. He continued to fuss as she left the car.
She pulled the hood of her coat up over her knit cap, snugging the cord tight to keep wind off her neck. September trudged past several rows of headstones to reach the Day monument. They’d laid Chris next to places reserved for his parents. Slightly raised soil testified to the more recent interment of his father, Peter. Soon, Angela would join them both. September realized she’d need to make the arrangements for Angela, and her heart broke a little more.
With her bare hand, September traced his name. Christopher Day loved her, a broken soiled doll he’d wanted to fix. Wanted to heal. And she’d loved him for caring for her, damage and all.
Through his work, Chris recognized the pain, anger, and emotional scars that led to the crimes he swore to prevent, or to solve. “Mr. Fix-It,” she murmured. How their lives would have changed, had they never met. He’d be alive. Angela, too. She’d be dead, or behind bars. “How did it all come to this?”
Taking a deep breath, she knelt on the cold ground, and rested her forehead against the icy stone. “I’m sorry, Chris. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you more, love you the way you deserved. Thank you for trying to save me. Thank you for Dakota. And I’m ... oh God, I’m so sorry it got you killed.” Her voice shuddered. Tears froze on her cheeks like sparkling contrails. “You should have told me, not hidden away what you found.” She sighed, scrubbing her face. He knew how broken, how fragile she’d been, and wanted to protect her. “I’m stronger now. And it’s because of you that I survived. I won’t let you down, not again.”
When her cell phone rang, she set the gun atop the Day headstone. At the same time she dug in her pocket to answer the call, the tenor of Shadow’s barks changed. That’s when the shovel hit the back of
September’s head.
THE DOG’S SCREAMS IN the distant car got on his last nerve. He’d take care of the mutt, after he finished with September.
Mr. Bleak stooped over September, scooped her up and slung her slight weight over one shoulder. He slogged back the way he’d come, shovel in his other hand. He had had to wait until the Uber driver left, explaining he wanted alone time in the cemetery to meditate. The freshly dug grave he’d passed on the walk gave him satisfaction. He’d always been lucky. After he finished here, he’d take September’s car and leave it in an appropriate place. To the outside world, she’d simply disappear. He’d looked her up. September Day had a history of running away.
The tracker he’d put on her car paid off twice in one night. He recovered the thumb drive, and nailed the old man. He ran a gloved hand over his watch cap, still picking exploded bits of egg off his clothing and face. That had been a surprise, and so had the monster dog that interrupted him. When he finally finished this assignment, he never wanted to see a dog or a cat ever again.
At the fresh grave, Mr. Bleak dumped September face down beside the hole. He checked her pockets and collected her car keys. She moaned and moved. So he hit her a couple more times, grunting with effort at the thwack of the shovel blade on the back of her skull. When she stopped moving, he rolled her in.
Quickly he covered her body with scooped dirt from the nearby mound. To a cursory glance, the grave appeared empty. The poor slob’s casket dropped on top of her would hide September for eternity.
Then he dialed the boss. “It’s done. Got the computer records, eliminated witnesses, and terminated the September account.” The girl, Charlie, didn’t count, and he’d take care of her later. He stared down at the still mound of dirt in the bottom of the grave. “Wire payment to my account tonight.” Once he received payment, he’d make arrangements for a new face.
“You need to settle two more outstanding accounts.”
Two more people? This job had turned into whack-a-mole, with new targets multiplying with each elimination. “That’s not in our agreement. I can’t settle two more accounts until you clear the current balance. Immediately.” This would be his last contract. He just had to figure out how to finish clean, and make sure that door stayed closed.
The voice on the other end of the line initially sounded female, but now changed timbre to a low bass. “I must check with my client. The organization appreciates your professionalism, but frowns on jobs left unfinished.”
He smiled. The client believed the voice distortion software protected his identity. Fat chance. They all answered to higher power. And Mr. Bleak had a direct line to the highest echelon. Should this cretin try to stiff him, nothing would stop his retribution.
Nothing personal, of course. He simply had a reputation to protect. Additional fees, though, meant early retirement to the island retreat he’d picked out years ago. “Do what you need to do. Tell your client once I see the payment in my account, we can discuss additional jobs.” He stabbed the shovel into the mound of dirt beside the grave.
The voice now mimicked the lisp of a young child. “Our end can terminate one loose end but need you to remove all September contract connections—do you understand? We’ll double your fee to terminate the Latana Ojo account in Heartland, Texas.”
He found it interesting how many ways one could discuss murder. You never knew who listened, or recorded conversations. Nobody could trace Bleak, though, and he preferred plain language. “I have a job to complete in Chicago first before deleting September’s mother, and any related connections.” When the man hissed at the blunt declaration, he added, “Yes. By tomorrow afternoon your troubles will be over. I’ll terminate the Latana Ojo contract.”
Pleased with the terms of the negotiations, he disconnected. Most flights from South Bend connected through Chicago O’Hare, a serendipitous convenience for him. He’d already agreed to remove the baby-voiced subcontractor to complete his assignment. The powers that be took house cleaning seriously.
Juggling the keys in one hand, and the shovel in the other, he strode back to September’s car. If he wanted the police to believe she’d gone into hiding, the dog must disappear, too. Plenty of room in the grave to toss a dead dog. He’d make sure the authorities found September’s car at the airport. The authorities always believed the obvious.
Chapter 43
SHADOW BARKED SO LOUD and long that his throat hurt. But he couldn’t stop himself. He recognized the man’s smell and his signature walk when the man followed September to where she knelt on the cold, frozen ground.
He needed to protect her but he couldn’t get out of the car, however hard he tried. If he pawed the door just right, the windows scrolled down so he could leap out. But Shadow tried every window, and nothing worked.
The man stood up, carrying a slight form. Shadow howled. September, his person, swung like a limp bear-toy over the stranger’s shoulder. He snarled until foamy saliva sprayed the windows. He leaped from the back seat to the front, around to the side passenger window, and back to the rear, so he wouldn’t lose sight. But the stranger carried September out of view.
He had to get OUT and go to her! Barking didn’t help. Scratching and paw-thumping doors only left his toes and claws bruised. Shadow sniffed each of the side panels, carefully examining the handles that somehow made doors swing open. If he couldn’t get to September through windows, he’d chew his way out.
Shadow set to work, growling under his breath, but making satisfying headway on the armrest he chose. He gnawed the covering, appreciating the give beneath his teeth. At the same time, he kept ears cocked for any danger sign in case the dangerous stranger returned.
When the man did return, moving quickly, with purpose, Shadow still hadn’t managed to breach the car door. He crouched low on the back seat. He didn’t bother barking any longer. His lifted lips and silent snarl shouted a warning anyone of intelligence understood. His hackles bristled off his shoulders, doubling his size, and his tail stirred the still air in high jerking arcs.
Ignoring Shadow’s threat, the killer drew closer and closer. Shadow increased the volume of his growls, and lunged halfway across the seat when the stranger stopped outside the window. The man brandished a gun in one hand, and something in the other.
Shadow whined. When the man pointed at him, he flinched, dodging to the far side of the car. But instead of the expected scary sound, the car made its normal beep-beep that announced the unlocking of the doors. The man opened the rear door and waved at Shadow.
“Go on, dog, get out.” His voice wheedled. “I can’t make you disappear with blood in the car. Get out, puppy, come on.”
His unctuous tone didn’t fool Shadow. The man’s stink of violence shouted DANGER louder than any rabid snarl. Shadow shrank against the far side of the vehicle, then feinted toward the man, teeth bared in defense. This car belonged to September.
The man jabbed the shovel at him.
He bit the blade. Teeth clanked on the metal beneath the clotted soil. Shadow scented September on the blade, and roared. He dodged the poking metal, leaped past it, and attacked, bright teeth aimed at the man’s face.
With a cry, the killer side-stepped. Shadow bounded by and escaped the car. He landed on the slick, snowy roadway, and whipped around, poised to renew his attack.
The shovel dropped to the roadway. The killer pointed the gun.
Shadow didn’t wait. He’d done this before on September’s command. This time, he knew what to do. He sprang high, compensating for the man’s reaction, and nose-punched the gun. It flew out of his hand, landing in deep snow on the side of the road.
Cries silenced, the man caught up the shovel and swung it while he turned in a half-circle, to keep a good-dog’s teeth at bay. Finally, he threw the shovel. When Shadow ducked, the man dove into September’s car and slammed the door.
The car tires sputtered snow in his face as it drove away. Shadow didn’t bother chasing. He had to find September.
; Nose in the air, he scented deeply. He launched himself after the footsteps the killer left behind. The bad man’s scent rose in scent-cones thick and bright as neon to a good-dog’s nose. Within seconds, Shadow’s measured tread became a jog and then a gallop. September needed him.
He came to the hole dug deep in the frozen ground, and slid to a stop, sniffing the dirt. The man spent many minutes here. Shadow snuffled beside the hole, where the disturbed snow marked September’s last resting place. He whimpered. She felt near, she smelled close, but where? He lifted his head again, tasting the air, and cocked his head. Listening. In anguish, Shadow howled his fear and longing to the sky.
A moan. So very soft that only a good-dog could detect the sound... there! His head swiveled, eyes cast down into the dank, black hole. Fresh dirt below, speckling the snow with detritus. Again the moan. The dirt shifted.
Shadow leaped into the grave. Her scent surrounded him. Fear. Blood. Pain. He whimpered again, gently pawing the loose soil, then more eagerly, fiercely digging, digging, moving the wet earth off of her, finding the back of September’s hood, pawing the way clear. He grasped the fabric of her hood, pulling it down to her neck, and clawed off the funny soft-hard hat she wore beneath. He nosed her dirt-clotted cheek, whining, crying loudly, licking at her face, cold-nosing her eyes, until September blinked and she coughed.
“Baby-dog. You found me, good-dog.”
Her voice sounded funny, but he didn’t care. He woofed, tail whisking the air with joy.
“Help me, Shadow. Dig, get my arms free.” She struggled but couldn’t move more than her face. The rest of her body remained encased in the wet muck. “That’s right, Shadow, dig.”