by Alex Kava
“Girl. She’s a black Lab-ra-dor retriever.”
He said Labrador slowly, pronouncing each syllable carefully so the word sounded like three instead of one. It was obviously something he was still getting used to.
“Do you have a name for her?”
“She already has a name. I’ll find out when I meet her. But I don’t get to meet her until this fall. She’s not even two years old yet. She’s twenty-two months old.”
Taylor checked his monitors and cleared his tray. They had sent up instructions that included watching for slurred speech, so this conversation was helpful.
“Do you have a picture of her?” she asked to keep him talking.
He shook his head. “No, they don’t let you have pictures before you meet. I have to pass some tests before she gets to be mine. My dad says I have to show that I can take care of her. I have to spend a whole week at her training facility working with her. If I do a good job, then she gets to come home with me. She’s gonna help me with my diabetes. I can hardly wait!”
“Oh, so she’s a medical alert dog?”
“Yup. That’s right. She’s still in training.”
“I’ve read about those dogs,” she said. “They’re very smart.”
“My dad said she’ll even get to go to school with me.”
“I bet your mom’s looking forward to having a dog help you.”
And that’s when his smile slid completely off his face. He crinkled his brow, and he shook his head.
“I don’t think my mom likes dogs. She said they’re messy and they shed a lot.”
“Oh, well...” Taylor was caught off guard. “I bet when she sees how smart the dog is she’ll change her mind. Sounds like your dad thinks it’s a good idea.”
His expression stayed serious. It didn’t matter what his dad thought. He didn’t need to say it. His face made that clear. Sometimes she hated how transparent little kids were.
Change the subject, Taylor.
What did she know about little boys? Hell, was there anything she knew about kids?
It wasn’t that long ago she was helping piece them together. Young men. Boys really. Eighteen, nineteen years old. Convoys or helicopters brought them in with arms blown off or half their faces missing. Shrapnel—nails, bolts, and twisted wire—in their guts.
Sometimes her nightmares took her back inside the mobile units that pretended to be surgical wards. She’d spend an entire night trying to stop the bleeding. She’d toss and turn while she searched for their missing pieces. Patching up one boy only to be replaced with another.
Their eyes were always the same...always pleading.
After a while even the vodka didn’t help. The only thing that seemed to help was putting on a pair of running shoes and hitting the pavement.
Running.
She was forever running away from her nightmares, away from her problems, away from her obligations.
“My dad had to go away for a while,” Luke’s voice startled her back to the present. “Just so he can get better. Not like when he went to Afghanistan.”
“Your dad was in Afghanistan? Army?”
He nodded and sat up. Proud. A much better subject for him.
“I was in Afghanistan,” she told him.
Luke gave her a suspicious look. “Really?”
“Yup. As an Army nurse.”
“Wow!”
And suddenly he had all kinds of questions for her, while Taylor wished they had kept talking about dogs.
Chapter 9
Blackwater River State Forest
Anger fueled his hike back through the woods. A couple of times he had to stop and get his bearings. The woman had steered him off course. He thought for sure she had panicked and had started running headlong with no idea where she was going. He thought she’d get lost. Turned out she knew exactly where she was going. And she had dragged him through an area he wasn’t familiar with.
But now he knew where she had come from.
As he slid the boat into his usual hiding place he wondered if the woman had realized her mistake. He trudged the rest of the way to his pickup and felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. He was still in a pickle.
His mother’s phrase. He didn’t have any idea what it meant, but he knew exactly how it felt.
Sometime later today, his sacred grounds would be crawling with law enforcement officers. They’d find what was left. Maybe even start digging to see if there was anything else. He needed to think. He needed a plan.
When his cell phone rang it made him jump. He yanked it out of his pocket bringing with it twigs and leaves. His shirt and pants were covered in forest debris, and he swept it off. He brushed more off the back of his neck and plucked it out of his hair.
Ordinarily, he’d let it go to voicemail, but he recognized the number and knew better.
“I’m a little busy,” he said in place of a greeting.
“Udie, my man, you sound like you’re in the middle of the woods.”
The guy was always cheerful, always on. Most people would recognize it as being fake, but this guy was so full of charisma and confidence, you found yourself hoping some of it would rub off. The man was older, accomplished, knew things and had everything Udie could only wish for. Somehow the guy had found out that Udall was his middle name and began calling him Udie. He managed to take the embarrassing family label his mother had shackled him with and turn it into a fun, cool nickname.
“Actually, yeah, I’m out in the woods.”
“You’re in luck, my friend. Turns out this could be a double for you this week.”
“A double? No. Wait.”
“This one’s back to the usual. Nothing special. I should have him ready to go by the end of the week.”
“Yesterday’s was a little too special. It wasn’t a simple drop-off. You left him unfinished.” Udie let the anger drive his confidence. He had to, because otherwise, he’d never be able to confront this guy. He liked the man, respected him, and wanted him to like him. But all hell was about to break loose.
“Hold on, Udie.” The singsong tone had an edge. “What’s going on? What do you mean he was unfinished?”
“The guy wasn’t dead.”
“What?”
“He was only mostly dead.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Udie leaned against his pickup. He’d never heard the guy upset. He was always cool and calm, and now he was mad at Udie. He regretted telling him.
“Where is he now?”
“I took care of it.” He didn’t want the guy to worry. He wanted to be his partner. He needed him to know he could count on him.
“You took care of it?”
“Yup. No worries.” Udie had heard the guy use that phrase before, and he hoped it would calm him.
“You took care of it,” he repeated. Not a question.
“That’s right.”
Silence.
“I guess I owe you one.”
Udie wouldn’t tell him about the man and the woman and the dog. About the cops. How could he? That would ruin everything. No more drop-offs. No more connections. Somehow, he’d need to take care of it. All of it.
And his sudden confidence propelled him to add, “Yup, you do owe me. Double.”
“Thanks, Udie.”
He wiped the sweat from his forehead, grabbed the new ball cap from the seat of his pickup and pulled it on. The guy had never thanked him before, and Udie smiled. Maybe he would end up teaching this guy a thing or two instead of the other way around.
Just when he thought he had a handle on things, the guy said, “I’ll give you a call when to pick up the next one later this week.”
Chapter 10
K9 CrimeScents
Florida Panhandle
Brodie wished she hadn’t upset Hannah. Although the woman usually appeared calm, Brodie knew her level of worry and stress by how many “Lord have mercies” she used.
By the time she reached the ho
use, Brodie had caught her breath, but she was still clutching the bear spray in her fist when she came in the back door and into the kitchen. Hannah took one look at her and her eyes went wide.
“Lord have mercy, what happened?”
She tossed the baking sheet onto the top of the stove with such urgency that one of the biscuits, fresh out of the oven, slid off and hit the floor. Hannah grabbed it before the two dogs at her feet snatched it up.
“I’m okay,” Brodie told her, realizing that Hannah must have noticed the canister squeezed between her fingers.
But that wasn’t what had gotten her attention. Hannah didn’t even notice it. Instead, she started opening drawers, gathering items and pointing for Brodie to come in and sit down on one of the stools by the counter.
“You didn’t need to rush,” Hannah told her as she plucked twigs and leaves from Brodie’s short hair. Then she ripped open a package of cotton balls and removed the cap from a bottle of alcohol. “That man’s gonna still be dead whether you ran or walked.”
Hannah dabbed one of the cotton balls with alcohol and started gently wiping Brodie’s cheek. Only then did Brodie notice the rips in her shirtsleeves. Ryder always insisted she wear a loose cotton shirt over her T-shirt whenever she went into the forest, no matter how hot and humid it was. Long cargo pants. No shorts. Hiking boots and socks. Even with all those precautions, she saw that her shirt didn’t just get caught and ripped, so did her arms. In some places the scrapes were deep enough to bleed.
“There was someone in the forest,” Brodie told her.
“I know, Sweet Pea. Rye texted me.”
“No, I mean someone followed me.”
Hannah’s fingers stopped. She tilted her head to look directly into Brodie’s eyes.
“Did you get a look at who it was?”
Brodie shook her head. “A flash of blue is all. He was trying to sneak at first. When I started running. He did, too. He was pretty fast.”
“Oh my good Lord.”
“He chased me all the way to the edge of the ridge. You can see the roofs of some of our buildings from up there. I think that’s what stopped him.”
Hannah caressed Brodie’s face, but the lines in her forehead didn’t relax.
“A good thing you’re faster,” she said then grabbed her cell phone off the counter. “I better warn Rye.”
“Do you think the person who chased me killed that man?”
“I don’t know, Sweet Pea.”
But Brodie thought Hannah’s eyes believed it was.
Now as they waited for the sheriff and medical examiner, Brodie watched Hannah make lunch as if they were expecting invited guests. Ryder had explained to Brodie when she first arrived about Hannah and how she believed food was therapy; even medicine. She administered it sometimes with wise advice. Ryder said that both the food and the advice came from the heart, and that Hannah had nourished dozens who had found their way to her kitchen whether they were lost, on the run, or injured. It was one of the things Brodie understood, took comfort in and had come to rely on.
“Will Ryder be okay?”
Hannah’s eyes flickered to the cell phone next to the jar of mayonnaise. Her fingers never stopped spreading and layering.
“He knows how to take care of himself,” Hannah said, “But I’d feel better if he told me he was okay.”
Then she glanced up at Brodie and added, “Probably poor cell reception inside the forest.”
Brodie nodded in agreement while thinking this was just another reason to not carry a cell phone. Everyone wanted to her to have one. She was convinced the mobile device provided a false sense of security. It certainly wouldn’t have saved her earlier. Still, she was fascinated by the dependency and hypnotic effect it had on people.
She did agree there were some advantages, just as Hannah’s phone buzzed.
“Sheriff Norwich is here,” Hannah said. “Looks like the medical examiner is right behind her.”
With only a glance and a tap of the phone’s screen Hannah could see anyone who turned into their long driveway. Brodie knew it was something called an app that Ryder had set to buzz when the security cameras sensed motion.
Ryder had cameras all over the property. He showed her how easy it was to look in on the dogs out in their yard or inside the kennel. He could see them on any of the monitors inside the buildings or by pulling up the app and seeing on his cell phone’s screen. The cameras were under the eaves, on fences and even in the trees.
All the security was in case of bears or bobcats, he’d told her. But Jason slipped once and admitted the cameras were meant to warn them of any human intruders as well.
She didn’t understand why they were so careful about telling her this. It actually made her feel better. Brodie still worried that one day Iris Malone would find her and drag her away, again. Or pay someone else to do it.
Of course, she never told Ryder or Hannah or even Jason about these hidden fears. They’d just worry more, and that was the last thing Brodie wanted them to do.
She helped Hannah pack the sandwiches and bottles of water. They were almost finished when Sheriff Norwich knocked on the back door.
“Come on in,” Hannah called out as her hands continued working.
Brodie immediately felt her insides tense. She still wasn’t comfortable meeting people for the first time.
The stocky gray-haired sheriff came in and held the door for someone.
“Hey, Hannah. Have you met Dr. Kammerer?” Sheriff Norwich asked.
A petite woman with red hair came in, followed by yet another woman. But this one, Brodie knew.
“Maggie!” she said before Hannah could answer the sheriff.
“Good Lord, girl! What are you doing here? We didn’t expect you until this evening.” Hannah rushed over to hug Maggie.
“Hannah, Brodie, it’s so good to see you again.”
“Oh, isn’t this special,” the medical examiner said. “You all know each other. And here I was worried about bringing a fed to the party.”
“Good to meet you, Dr. Kammerer.” Hannah smiled at her as she gestured toward Brodie and added, “This is Brodie Creed. She’s going to guide you all to the scene.”
Then Hannah turned to Sheriff Norwich, and her face went serious. “Someone chased Brodie on the way back.”
“Did you get a look at him?”
Brodie liked the sheriff’s eyes. They were almost the same gray as her hair, but warm and gentle. Not at all what she’d expect from the color.
“No, ma’am. Just a blur of something blue. He was very fast.”
The woman nodded as if she understood exactly what it felt like to be chased through the woods.
To Hannah, she said, “A couple of my deputies are about an hour out. I don’t want to wait for them. I can give them GPS coordinates, but I’m not sure that’ll make it easier for them. Is there any way we can guide them to the site without sending Brodie back?”
“Sure we can,” Dr. Kammerer said.
She already had a backpack on and slipped it off. Brodie liked the medical examiner’s voice, rich and full of confidence and certainty even as she made them all wait while she unzipped and sifted through the contents. Brodie recognized trowels sticking out of one overstuffed pocket.
“We’ll blaze a trail,” the medical examiner said, pulling out and showing them a can of fluorescent spray paint.
Chapter 11
Blackwater River State Forest
Ryder Creed had already planted five surveyor flags, and Grace still wasn’t finished. The bright orange stood out against the green and brown like flowers that didn’t really belong this deep in the forest.
Other than the skull, they’d found another body on the far edge of the clearing. Even if Grace hadn’t pointed this one out, Creed would have followed the swarm of flies. This one wasn’t even buried. He was on his back as if staring up at the sky. Staring up at the sky before the maggots took over.
Creed wondered if the killer purposely le
ft his victims out in the open so the forest’s scavengers would have easy access. Was he counting on nature to clean up his mess?
Grace had also led him about twenty feet into the forest. At first glance, Creed thought it looked like someone had left a pile of old, dirty clothes then covered it with branches and debris. Rain and animals had poked and pulled enough for him to recognize canvas pants. There was no shape to the fabric, and the clothes had sunk partially into the ground. Judging by the slight depression Creed guessed the owner’s remains were probably still inside or what was left.
Creed had noticed that was something killers didn’t seem to realize. Some were very careful to not leave a mound of dirt, thinking it would be an obvious telltale that a grave was underneath. Most didn’t account for the body’s decomposition. Investigators rarely looked for mounds of dirt. Instead, they searched for concaves in the landscape, places where the grass didn’t grow as tall or maybe didn’t grow at all.
He knew more about killers and victims than he cared to know. Being a K9 handler wasn’t just about taking care of the dog. Creed had learned about decomposition and bones. How long a body lasted on top of the ground was different than underground. Water played an entirely separate role if a victim ended up in the river or at the bottom of a lake. That was another thing people got wrong. A dead body didn’t automatically float to the surface.
When Creed taught new handlers, he emphasized that the dog didn’t do all the work. It was a team effort, which could be tricky. The handler was an extension, not a guide that gave instructions. In fact, Creed usually asked for very little information from investigators. Knowing too much could result in the handler throwing off the search, especially if the dog wasn’t following the already established evidence or preconceived notions.
But the one thing Creed drilled into his handlers was that their main priority was to watch out for and protect their dog. That meant foreseeing obstacles or threats. Floodwaters hid all kinds of debris traps. So did the floor and the trees of a forest. Snakes, spiders, bears, alligators could surprise a scent dog that was focused on and working the scent she was asked to find.
Sometimes the dog became so focused she pushed herself beyond physical limits. A handler needed to know how to rest the dog, cool her off, protect her paws, and even rehydrate her if necessary; all of that without getting in the way of continuing the job.