by Alex Kava
“Hadley is one of the several who agrees?”
“Actually, it was Hadley’s idea. And besides that, I’m hoping I have access to the FBI’s crime lab.” She waited a beat and added, “I’m hoping I still have access?”
“Of course,” Maggie told her. This was far from the first time she’d dealt with local law enforcement juggling around each other.
Relieved, the medical examiner went back to the counter and picked up an evidence bag. She put it in front of Maggie.
“I think the contents of that crumpled fast food sack might pay off,” Vickie said.
Inside the evidence bag was a half-eaten cheeseburger. Another bag had about a dozen French fries. The actual brown paper sack was in its own evidence bag.
Maggie could remember at least one incident where Keith Ganza at the FBI’s crime lab had been able to come up with DNA from a half-eaten sandwich. The murderer had taken several bites and left the sandwich on his victim’s kitchen table.
Instead of agreeing or being pleased with the possibility of identifying this killer, Maggie said, “I can’t believe how sloppy he is.”
“I thought you FBI profilers called it disorganized.”
“Have you ever been to a crime scene where the victims were just left out in the open? Simply tossed and left for nature to finish the work?” Maggie asked.
The medical examiner put hands to hips and gave it some thought. “Not with multiple victims. I do remember a guy in northern Minnesota who drilled a hole in the ice to drop his victim into a lake. He only prolonged the inevitable. Come spring thaw, the body eventually popped right up. But no, I haven’t seen anything like this. You know, though, his sloppiness is our treasure trove.”
She wagged a finger for Maggie to come take a look at one of the other trays. Laid out on a sterile cloth were short tan-colored hairs. Each was about an inch long, a few a little longer. Vickie already had one mounted on a slide and under a microscope.
“Dog hair,” she told Maggie. “Enough of it that we might be able to determine the breed.”
Maggie folded her arms across her chest and caught her lower lip between her teeth.
“What?” Vickie asked.
“Ryder and I found a tan-colored dog last night. We were checking out the area for a boat launch.”
“There are a lot of tan-colored dogs.”
“Yes,” Maggie admitted. “But this one had a gunshot wound.”
Vickie threw her hands into the air and said, “Well, this just gets better and better.”
Chapter 43
The medical examiner invited Maggie upstairs to her office, so she could feed her little dog. She also needed to grab the necessary forms and labels. Maggie wanted to overnight the pieces of evidence to Keith Ganza at the FBI lab. Vickie had already packaged everything appropriately and told Maggie where she could drop them off. All that was left, were the labels.
“I’ve called ahead,” she told Maggie. “You’ll be fine for overnight delivery as long as you get there by seven tonight. Ask for Carol if you have any problems.”
On the elevator ride up, she instructed Maggie about the hair sample she’d need from the rescued dog.
“If the veterinarian retrieved a bullet, bring that along, too.”
Maggie was convinced the dog was connected to John Doe #1. If not his owner, then he might be someone who had handled the dog.
“This is Sugar,” Vickie announced when the dog greeted them at the door.
Sugar returned to what was obviously her place at the window. The big, comfy chair had a colorful quit thrown over the back. It looked like the prize spot in the room.
Maggie wasn’t surprised to find Vickie’s office as meticulous as her autopsy suites. However, she was impressed to find it cozy, almost like a studio apartment without a kitchen. Her desk, by comparison, was small but quite beautiful: a slab of repurposed wood on a simple metal frame.
“Can I get you coffee? Tea? I have an assortment next door.”
“Any chance you have a Diet Pepsi?”
“I will check.”
While she was gone, Maggie made small talk with Sugar. All of these dogs were making her miss her two, big guys: Harvey and Jake. She had called her brother, Patrick after she got out of the shower.
She worried more and more about Harvey. He was starting to slow down with age. In the last several months she had made her two-story, Tudor home more senior friendly for him, adding steps to the bed and ramps to his favorite place on the sofa.
Jake was a whole different story. It was only in the last year that he’d decided to stay put and not run away. Her huge corner lot backed to a stream and woods on the other side. Maybe Jake believed those Virginia woods would somehow lead him back to the Sandhills of Nebraska where her friend, Lucy Coy had found him. Maggie tried not to take Jake’s urge to roam personally.
“Found one,” Vickie said, smiling and holding up a can of Diet Pepsi.
“I hope you didn’t have to go far.”
“Just the convenient store at the end of the block.” Before Maggie could gasp, Vickie added, “Kidding. Vending machine on the ground floor.”
“Well, thanks.”
Vickie had gotten herself an iced tea, freshly brewed. The aroma filled the office.
“So how long have you and Ryder been together?”
Maggie almost choked on her sip of soda.
“Actually, we’re not together,” she managed to say.
“Really? Why not?”
“He’s here. I’m in Virginia.” Even in her head, Maggie thought the excuse sounded lame.
A dinging sound from next door saved her. Both Vickie and the little dog jumped up and were headed out the door.
“Excuse me,” she told Maggie. “Sugar’s pancakes are ready.”
Chapter 44
Blackwater River State Forest
Udie dragged his boat from its hiding place in the bushes. His new cell phone buzzed in his back pocket.
He yanked it out already angry before he read the new message. All hell was breaking lose. Whatever small victory he’d claimed earlier in the day had evaporated.
He punched in a phone number and waited.
“What are you doing with his phone?” the voice said in place of a greeting.
“Oh hey, you recognize this number,” Udie told him.
“You’re supposed to get rid of everything. I’m starting to believe you’re not very good at this anymore, Udie, my man.”
He still made the cross words sound like a good-humored jab. The kind of thing Udie had seen him exchange with his friends. And Udie so wanted to be one of his friends. But the situation in the forest was spiraling out of control. He’d need to take some serious measures to make it go away.
“Udie, are you listening to me?”
“It’s a brand-new phone. One of the newest versions,” Udie said in defense.
“They can track you, dude. You know that, right?”
“Not if they don’t know who the guy is.” But Udie suspected they might figure it out soon. How much longer could he keep it a secret? Could he patch it all up before then?
He tried to change the subject. Deflect. A handy trick he’d learned from his mother.
“So the guy you shot had a dog?” Udie threw it out like a fishing line, laying the hook right there to be grabbed and swallowed.
“How do you know that?”
“Somebody found him.”
“What are you talking about, Udie?”
“The dog. A guy named Ryder Creed said he found him.”
“Creed? I shot that dog. It’s dead.”
“No, not dead.”
“The dog’s still alive?”
“Apparently. You’re not very good with a gun.” He tried to mimic the guy’s own words.
“Son of a bitch!”
Udie grinned so wide his mouth hurt. A couple of his teeth were bothering him. No big deal. The stupid rash was driving him crazy. He resisted the urge to dig his fing
ernails into his shoulder.
“Want me to take care of it?” Udie offered, enjoying the temporary control. Just as well get whatever he could before all hell broke lose.
“You think you can do that? That would be great.”
“No worries.” He let the man relax then he added, “Can you get me more pills? Those patches are crap. They made me break out in a rash.” That had to be what it was, although Udie knew he hadn’t used a patch for weeks. Maybe a month. He still had a stash of them.
“For you, my friend, I can certainly get some. I’ll leave them in the regular place. I’ve got to go.”
He clicked off without nagging Udie about the illicit cell phone. Deflect and distract. His mother had taught him some decent tips. It was times like this that he sort of missed her. Sort of.
The black magic, the superstitions, all the strange stuff she’d started bringing home gave him the willies. But when she found out how much it bothered him, she found another place to store the stuff. He did appreciate that. Still, it was too little, too late.
Toward the end, she grated on his nerves so bad he could barely listen to her. The drugs helped him tune her out for a while. He could go somewhere else inside his mind. Anything she said sounded like a hum, a mumble, hardly registering with him. Except that last scream. The one that sounded like a screech owl.
No one was surprised to hear that she had suddenly picked up and left town without a word. Anyone who knew her seemed to suspect she had problems. They all felt sorry for Udie.
He learned quickly what people were willing to do when they felt sorry for you, or maybe a bit guilty, because they might have contributed to your circumstances.
Whatever the reasons, Udie suddenly had more people taking care of him than he could imagine. Neighbors offered to paint the little, old house that his mother had neglected. His house now. Those first months they brought him casseroles, sometimes a fresh baked pie and lots of cookies.
He was only nineteen at the time. They were impressed that he’d picked up and started running her cleaning business all by himself. Clients kept him on. They trusted him, because as strange as Udie thought his mother was, people did trust her in an illogical, emotional way.
They listened to her mumbo-jumbo like it was a religious sermon. She had that effect on people when she started talking about souls and auras and karma. As a little boy, he’d watched her and was fascinated by the way she could mesmerize—almost hypnotize—people with her ability to tell them things about themselves or their loved ones who had passed away. Things that made their eyes go wide and their jaws actually drop open.
She claimed she could hold a person’s hand and see the last ten seconds before their death.
Some people wanted to know. Others were simply curious. Udie hated it.
She took his hand one morning...one of her last mornings. Instantly, her face went pale and her mouth formed a perfect O, but no sound came out of her. She stared straight at him, not a single blink. The fear and horror he saw in her dark, brown eyes could still send shivers down his back.
“So much fire,” she finally whispered.
That was enough for him.
She was a crazy woman!
She could see things so clearly; things that weren’t real. Yet, she couldn’t tell him who his father was. Wouldn’t tell him.
“We were both so young,” she’d say, following it with something equally ridiculous like, “It was a summer of love.”
It was her strange and twisted effort to ensure him that he was conceived out of love.
It wasn’t until he was a teenager that he suspected who his father was. His mother spent a lot of time around the man. Not with him. But in close proximity. She acted like a silly schoolgirl whenever he was anywhere near her. It was easy to see she still cared for him.
And that’s when Udie’s anger began to build. He tried easing the anger with a little shake-and-bake that took the edge off. Until it wasn’t enough. He began experimenting with stuff that came with cool names like Dance Fever, Goodfellas, and Murder 8.
The more he learned, the more the anger festered. Because the man was married. He had a wife and beautiful life. And Udie and his mother had nothing but a little, old house and a back-breaking cleaning business.
It wasn’t until recently that Udie realized the guy probably had no idea Udie was his son. That made it hard to blame the guy. So it was Udie’s mother’s fault. She’d chosen to not tell him. Let him off the hook. Allow them to collect trash and mop floors while the guy had a huge swimming pool in his backyard.
But Udie had managed to direct his anger entirely at his mother even after she was gone. He started getting to know the man, respecting him. Wanting to be like him. A few carefully stolen items from the man’s personal trash, and Udie was able to confirm that the guy was, indeed, his father.
He was waiting for the right time to tell him. After, of course, Udie earned the man’s respect and his rightful place as his business partner.
Looking back, he knew he’d never forgive his mother for not telling him. For depriving him of a father. Instead of sharing it with him she bitched and nagged at Udie. Constantly.
Life was so much better without her.
Now, he did what he wanted to do. He was comfortable with his little house and his little business. He liked that people didn’t notice him or pay any attention to him. If they did, it was only because they were reminded of how sad it was that his mother had left him, and how remarkable it was that he had made a life for himself.
If only he could stop hearing his mother’s voice in his head. That screech! That scream. He wished he could turn it off. None of the drugs could flip that frickin’ switch.
Other than that, his life was good. Or at least it had been before that man and woman and their stupid, little dog invaded his sanctuary.
He refused to let them turn his life upside down.
Chapter 45
K9 CrimeScents
Florida Panhandle
Creed had finished all the kennel chores. He had just checked on Scout when Jason came through the clinic door. The handler looked worse than his dog.
“How’s he doing?” Jason asked.
“Good. His heartbeat and blood pressure are back to normal. Pupils look good. Dr. Avelyn left a little bit ago. She’ll be back in the morning, but she said you could take him home for the night. Said to call if you notice anything out of the ordinary.”
“Can I see him?”
“I’m sure he already smells and hears you. He’s in the big kennel in back.
While Jason was with Scout, Creed pulled out his cell phone. There was still no message from Hank’s owner.
Dr. Avelyn believed the dog might have been protecting his owner when he was shot. Hank must have been facing his assailant to get hit in his upper chest. The bullet was lodged in the tissue right above his shoulder when Dr. Avelyn extracted it. She seemed pleased and cautiously optimistic that it hadn’t done too much damage.
Creed wasn’t convinced about her theory on the owner. As part of a Marine K9 unit in Afghanistan, he had been trained to do anything and everything to protect his partner. Dogs were even given a higher rank than their handler. Creed knew without hesitation that if someone tried to shoot his dog, he would do whatever was necessary to prevent that. Including taking the bullet himself.
But from experience, he also knew some dogs would do the same for their owners. One of his dogs, a Rhodesian ridgeback named Bolo, had taken down to the ground more than a few men he believed were a threat to Creed. Bolo was a talented scent dog, but his tendency to be overprotective of Creed was one of the reasons Creed had to be careful when and where he used the dog.
“He’s hungry,” Jason said coming from down the hallway. “So that’s a good sign.
“He’s always hungry.”
“True. Did Dr. Avelyn say if I can give him dinner tonight?”
“You should probably check with her.”
Jason already ha
d his cell phone out and was tapping in the message.
“So the ER doc said you’re okay?” Creed asked. He didn’t want to come right out and tell Jason that he looked like hell.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He glanced up from the phone and rubbed the back of his neck. He must have noticed that Creed wasn’t satisfied, because he added, “Just a bit worn out.”
Jason leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Creed noticed something was clearly bugging him. Usually Creed left the emotional prodding to Hannah.
“I just don’t understand women, you know?” Jason said. Before Creed could tell him that he was the absolute wrong guy to help him, Jason continued. “I met a gorgeous woman. Really smart, too. A nurse at the hospital. She was an Army nurse in Afghanistan.”
Creed sat back and listened.
Jason shook his head and forced a smile as he said, “So completely out of my league.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Did you not hear me? She’s gorgeous and smart.”
“You met her in the ER?”
“Hospital cafeteria.”
“Oh, sounds romantic.”
“Actually it was. She bought me lunch,” Jason told him.
“Maybe she didn’t get the memo about you being out of her league.”
“I know, right?” But this time Jason said it with a real grin, before going serious again. “She probably felt sorry for me. I mentioned about being in the ER. You know, what happened with me and Scout. She probably felt bad for my dog.”
“Yeah, gorgeous, smart women do that a lot. Buy lunch for guys when they feel sorry for them. Especially when they know they’re out of their league.”
Creed waited to hear more. When none came, he asked, “So how did you manage to screw it up?”
“I offered to buy her a drink or dinner. She actually agreed. Told me she gets off at seven and asked if I knew Walter’s Canteen. Then I remembered Scout.”