by Todd Borg
“POLICE!” I yelled. “FREEZE!”
Cardoza bent down and pulled a small gun out of an ankle holster.
Women screamed. A glass shattered on the patio. The bass player bolted, knocking over his music stand and letting his bass tumble over.
Tyrone and I moved fast, but Spot was faster. He blasted through the crowd. He didn’t thread his way like Natasha, but bowled people aside.
“POLICE!” I shouted again as I raced down the hill on my bike. “DROP YOUR WEAPON!”
Then came another shout from the lawn behind Cardoza. Diamond. “POLICE! DROP THE GUN!” he yelled.
Cardoza swatted Natasha away again. Spot ran in. Just as I expected him to attack, he veered to the left, ran past Cardoza and Natasha and shot into the house.
“Follow Spot!” I yelled to Tyrone. I pedaled toward Cardoza. He was looking out toward the dark lawn from where Diamond had shouted.
I dropped my bike on the fly and ran for cover where the rock wall rose up behind the band.
“CARDOZA! DROP IT! YOU’RE SURROUNDED, SERGEANT!”
A voice nearby said, “That’s not Cardoza.”
I turned. It was one of the security guards hiding behind the piano. “I know Sergeant Cardoza,” the man said, his eyes wide with fright. “That’s not him.” Another security guard was nearby, equally afraid. Rockport seemed to have disappeared.
The man who’d claimed to be Sergeant Cardoza spun around. He pointed his gun into the air and fired a round. A sharp crack. People gasped. Natasha pulled away at the blast of the gun.
“You stupid cops won’t take me!” he shouted. His eyes showed white in the patio lights. He ran several steps toward the crowd and grabbed Violet Verona. She screamed and dropped her champagne glass. He jerked her to his front, locked his big arm around her neck and put the gun to her temple.
Diamond appeared behind the gunman, moving up slowly. I came up in front of the gunman, distracting him. The man turned and saw Diamond.
“Don’t move one more step!! I swear I’ll blow her brains into mush!”
Diamond stepped back. Behind him cowered two security guards.
The gunman jerked Violet backward out onto the lawn. The gun barrel was jammed to her head. She whimpered. Blood ran from where the barrel had pierced the skin at her temple.
Bobby Crash ran out from the crowd. He sprinted toward Violet and the gunman. The gunman swung his gun around and fired. The bullet hit Crash in the face and snapped his head back. I knew he was dead before his legs collapsed. Violet screamed.
“Stay away!” the gunman yelled. “I’m not playing games!” He put the gun back to Violet’s temple. “One step closer and she dies.”
The gunman made his way toward the dock, half a football field away. Violet’s cries rose out of the dark. Someone flipped on the dock light. The gunman and his victim became a silhouette, the thick man dragging the slender woman. The crowd pressed in behind us. People yelled into their cell phones. A siren rose in the distance.
I gestured at Diamond for him to circle around down by the dock. I grabbed my bike and ran the other direction, back up the steep slope. When I got to the top, I jumped on the bike and pedaled along the ridge, through the dark trees toward the lake.
Behind the gunman I could see five or six boats at the pier. They were tied up in a temporary fashion, which meant they belonged to party guests. Any number of them would have keys in the ignition. I couldn’t let him out onto that dock or he would escape, and Violet would die for certain.
When I’d pedaled even with the gunman and Violet, I stopped. They were directly below me, 30 yards down the slope. I moved into the darkness behind a massive tree trunk. I whistled, then cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled down toward the house.
“SPOT!” I shouted. “SPOT, COME!”
I got on my bike and raced down the hill toward the gunman.
Spot appeared in the crowd back on the patio. He ran out onto the huge lawn. Tyrone followed. I raised my arm as I pedaled down the slope and pointed at the gunman. “SPOT! TAKE HIM DOWN!” I yelled.
I’ve seen it happen before where some combination of command mixes with Spot’s instincts. A dog can pick a threatening person out of a group. Spot had that look. His eyes were narrowed. His jowls lifted with each galloping leap showing glints of saliva-wet fang. His nose was pointed directly at the gunman. I knew the gunman could shoot my dog. His accuracy with Bobby Crash was perfect. But I could distract him.
“Give it up! Drop your weapon and I’ll call off the attack!”
The man looked hesitant. He glanced up at me racing down from above. He turned and looked up the long lawn at Spot. Some atavistic paralysis stopped the man for a moment.
Violet sensed it. She jerked in his grip and jammed a thumbnail into the hollow of his throat. He let go for a moment. She broke away, running toward Diamond.
The man raised his gun.
Diamond shouted, “Violet, drop to the ground!”
Diamond cranked his arm back like a pitcher winding up. He let fly with a handful of good-sized stones.
Violet dove to the grass.
One of the stones hit the gunman above the eye. He reached up, touched a growing drop of blood, then looked at his fingertip.
Diamond dove on top of Violet.
The gunman aimed at Diamond and Violet and fired his gun.
I shifted up a gear and pedaled faster.
The gunman fired at Diamond again. And again. And again, in rapid sequence. He saw me, turned and pointed the gun at me.
I leaped off my bike and hit him with a hard tackle to his middle. The gun flew through the air. He hit the ground. Rolled. Jumped to his feet. He had a small knife in his hand. I moved in. He tried to slash me. Movement came in the corner of my vision. Spot leaped into the air. His growl was ferocious.
The man tried to slash Spot. Spot caught the hand with the knife. The man screamed. I heard the bones of his hand breaking like twigs.
I ran to where Diamond lay on top of Violet. I dropped to the ground. Diamond and Violet lay motionless. Diamond was face down. Violet was underneath him. Dark circles of blood were growing on Diamond’s back.
“Get an ambulance!” I yelled to the crowd.
I bent over Diamond and Violet. I tried to plug up the sucking wounds with my fingers. But they were too far apart, and I couldn’t reach them all.
SIXTY
Two days later Doc Lee tracked me down at Street’s condo. I spoke to him for a minute and hung up.
“Well?” Street said. Her face had dark smudges under her eyes and new wrinkles across her forehead. The little acne scars were more pronounced than normal. Her eyes had grown larger in the last few days.
“Diamond’s going to make it,” I said. “He’ll be several more days in the ICU, but they expect he’ll make a pretty good recovery.”
“What about the collapsed lungs and the possible brain damage from going so long without oxygen?”
“Doc says his lungs will be fine. But we won’t know about any brain damage for another week or so.”
Street forced a small smile. “I want to be very happy about it, but...” she stopped. “You should let Violet know.”
I found her number. Street pet Spot while I dialed. The tempera paint had washed out, but it left his white fur stained beige. With the black spots he looked vaguely like a leopard.
“Hello, Violet,” I said when she answered.
“Owen, how is he?”
“That’s why I’m calling. I just spoke to Doc Lee. He says Diamond’s going to make it.”
There was a big sigh. “Thank God. What about... you know. Will he be all there?”
“We don’t know, yet, Violet. Doc says maybe in a week.”
“He saved my life.”
“I know,” I said.
There was a long silence.
“I called Senator Stensen,” she said. “He called the sheriff. I don’t know how, but it turns out they misunderstood me. I was so upse
t when it happened. Maybe I explained it wrong.”
“What do you mean, Violet?”
“The doll my daughter lost by the casino door. We came back for it later and saw it from way down the block. Then that man ran out and Diamond fired at him. I saw the doll get hit by the ricochet. I was so upset. But it’s not like we were close...”
I hung up on her.
Street looked at me. I told her what Violet said.
“Jesus,” Street said, shaking her head.
After a long moment, she brightened. “Isn’t Diamond’s birthday next Thursday? Maybe we should put together a little party for him.”
“Good idea.”
We were making calls when the phone rang. It was K.D. Scarrone.
“Lady K.D.,” I said.
“Yes, only please drop the lady part. I’m no longer in the madam business. Losing Faith has almost destroyed me. I never realized how much of a friend she was to me until she was gone.” K.D. paused. When she resumed talking her voice was thick. “Friend, hell, what am I saying. She was like my daughter. Anyway, I just called to thank you, Owen. I heard how you caught the guy who killed her.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I wondered about the cop who got shot. I understand he was your friend. But I’m afraid to ask.”
“He’s going to be okay,” I said. I didn’t see any reason to express my doubts.
“I wish I could do something for him. To show my appreciation.”
“We’re having a birthday party for him. Maybe you’d like to come along. I’m sure he’d like that.”
“That is so kind of you to ask. I’d love to join you.”
EPILOGUE
The hospital administrators didn’t squawk about a cake and party favors, but they had a problem about bringing in the dogs. I solved that by saying we wouldn’t.
It was early evening when we all tiptoed into Diamond’s room. Yellow-orange sun rays came through his window like horizontal fire. Natasha heeled at Ellie’s side. Tyrone had a bundle of balloons and a bag of party favors. Street carried a big white cake with the candles afire. Spot and I stayed back with Rockport.
K.D. stood to my side. She wore a white blouse, navy skirt and navy pumps on bare legs. She clutched a small present wrapped in white paper and white ribbon. There was a card on it with a red heart on the front. She looked like the new girl at school, privileged to be invited to someone’s birthday party.
Behind me, in the hallway, two nurses and a woman in a suit were fussing about the dogs. Rockport glanced down the hallway toward the elevators. He turned and looked the other direction toward the stairwell with the Exit sign above it.
Diamond lay partly elevated. A soft snore rose from his lips. The flesh where the ventilator tube had been inserted in the base of his throat was raw and pink. Plastic tubes and colored wires connected him to machinery and monitors.
“Surprise,” Street said quietly. Diamond slept. Ellie shook his leg. Tyrone blew gently on a noisemaker.
Diamond opened his eyes at the commotion. He looked at us. After a long time he said, “I could’ve cleaned up.” His words were slow and slurred. “If I knew you were coming.”
“You are the palest Mex I’ve seen in a long time,” I said, “but otherwise you don’t look half bad.”
With noticeable effort, Diamond touched a button on a remote control next to his hand. A motor whirred, and his bed rose until he was sitting part way up. Realizing he was in no shape to blow out candles, Street blew them out while we all sang Happy Birthday. Then she cut him a piece of cake and held it to his mouth. Diamond took a bite and got crumbs all over his bed. I couldn’t tell if any got in his mouth. Then he looked at Spot.
“Where did you go, dog?” he said. His speech sounded like he had rocks in his mouth.
Spot looked at Diamond, then at the cake.
“I scented him on the shirttail and he ran into the house. But the person he was looking for must have left. Or else Spot was confused. He doesn’t have Natasha’s skill by any stretch.” I glanced at Rockport who was staying back by the doorway next to K.D.
“Oh,” Diamond said, giving me a blank look. “What about the senator.” Diamond’s speech was so thick he was hard to understand. “We broke a lotta laws busting into his place. And me on suspension.”
“I think the senator forgave us. Catching the killer was worth our transgressions.”
After a moment Diamond mumbled, “He talk?”
“The shooter? He won’t for awhile. After Spot munched his knife hand, the shooter got the knife in his other hand. Spot got hold of that wrist and crushed it. But the guy was a real fighter. He tried to give Spot a head butt.”
Diamond looked at me, then turned to Spot. I wasn’t sure if Diamond was processing or not.
“So Spot took hold of his face. Broke his jaw and some other stuff. The killer can’t talk. Not even with the electrolarynx. He’s under twenty-four hour guard down the hallway.”
“Keep him from running,” Diamond said.
“Protection, too. There was a substitution in his medication late one night. An alert nurse discovered it and prevented him from getting a deadly overdose.”
“So we have to wait,” Diamond drawled, “until we find out who his accomplice was.”
“Maybe not,” I said. I pulled the Ziplock bag with the shirttail out of my pocket. “Spot, c’mere. Let’s try this again.”
Spot came over. I took out the torn shirttail and held it to his nose. “Take a whiff, Spot. Do you have the scent? Do you?”
Spot sniffed the shirt, then looked up at me, excitement on his face. Natasha watched from over by Ellie. The little shepherd quivered. A deep frown creased Tyrone’s forehead. His eyes flicked around the room. He glared at the window, then at the doorway. Rockport moved over to the door and put his hand on the doorjamb. The move was meant to be casual, but he shook with nerves.
“Do you have the scent, Spot?” I said again. “Okay, find the suspect!”
Spot stared at me, his eyes intense, not sure if I meant it.
“Go on, Spot, find the suspect!”
Spot turned and trotted toward the door. Rockport cowered.
Spot went to Rockport, then past him. He turned his head sideways and gently put his jaws half way around K.D.’s waist.
She shrieked. “God! What is he doing? Stop him! He’ll kill me! This is a terrible mistake!” She stood rigid, like a vibrating board. She dropped the present and jerked her arms to her chest. She stared down at Spot’s jaws wrapping around her body.
“It’s no mistake, K.D. You were the creator of the Camp Twenty-Five land scam. Your boyfriend Baker Camden was the muscle. It was Baker who masqueraded as Sergeant Cardoza.”
“No, it’s not true!”
“K.D., you know how animals have a sixth sense. Like your cat. You even said how he can tell who is safe and who isn’t. Dogs have that sense, too. If my dog thinks you’re dangerous, he might bite down a little too hard. He could cause serious damage. The courts wouldn’t give much sympathy to a murderer.”
“You can’t threaten me. I’m innocent!”
“Spot, is K.D. telling the truth?”
He didn’t know my words, but he knew my tone and what I wanted. He growled, deep and loud. His jaws tightened their grip on K.D.’s waist.
K.D. lifted up on her toes and screamed. “OKAY, OKAY! But it was Baker who did the killings! I came up with the golf course plan, but he was the one who said people had to die to make it work. I just did the paperwork!”
I saw Mallory just outside of the door, out of K.D.’s sight. He held up a tape recorder. “K.D.,” I said, “Spot just demonstrated that it was you who tore your shirt up on Diamond’s roof. You had a gun. That’s not paperwork.”
“Yes, I was there, but Baker made me! He said I’d die like the others if I wasn’t in all the way! I never hurt anyone!”
“And you drove the getaway car when Camden set the bomb in Diamond’s Karmann Ghia. When Camden is able
to talk, he’ll confirm that it was you with him.”
“Yes... But he forced me!”
“Okay, Spot. Mallory’s here. You can let her go.”
Mallory came through the door with three other officers. K.D. saw his tape recorder and looked furious. Mallory took hold of K.D.’s wrist and Spot released her. Mallory took her away.
After a moment, Diamond said, “So the senator wasn’t behind the scam.”
“No. Stensen was an unwitting dupe just like you suggested. His ex-wife K.D. used him all along to promote the Camp Twenty-Five concept that she planned to turn into the golf development.”
Diamond looked at me with dull eyes.
“From the time they divorced twelve years ago, the senator had been doing as K.D. requested. She was his first campaign manager and got him elected. She also collected dirt on him like having eyewitnesses to the senator’s liaisons with Faith Runyon. She used him for his connections and his support of Camp Twenty-Five. She even borrowed his limo to kidnap me. But now that the golf course scam is exposed, I think he is glad to be free of her.”
Diamond’s eyes appeared to go in and out of focus. He looked at Spot. “Good boy,” he said.
Spot looked at Diamond, then at the cake.
Diamond stared past my head. “This guy who pretended he was Cardoza...” he said.
Rockport spoke up, “K.D.’s partner is an ex-military guy named Baker Camden. Used to work with K.D.’s father. He found out Cardoza was on vacation and passed himself off as Cardoza.”
Maybe Diamond was processing. Maybe not. His face was blank.
I said, “We think Baker Camden was one of K.D.’s johns before she even met the senator. It looks like she and Camden schemed to have her marry the senator, then divorce him.”
“They own the land for the golf course?” Diamond mumbled.
“Yeah. K.D. and Camden have been buying lots and old cabins for years under the Camp Twenty-Five moniker. Tyrone figured out that they had used fictitious name statements to use the names Baker Camden and K.D. Scarrone. Their real names are Martin Elgin and Adelina Kercher. If anybody did try to learn the details of Camp Twenty-Five, Inc., they wouldn’t think K.D. and Camden were involved. Camden served as Chairman of the board. The board members were fooled. What board member ever reads the fine print? The board actually had no authority at all. But they gave Camp Twenty-Five an aura of legitimacy and helped convince Tahoe landowners to sell.