Murder in the Dog Days (Maggie Ryan)

by P. M. Carlson

  “I—” Olivia hid her face in her hands. He didn’t understand. “No. I wouldn’t have—but—the dog—” Would she have robbed a bank for Ernie? She had a sudden insane sense of fellow feeling for Patty Hearst. How much would she have done to survive? She turned her face into Jerry’s bare shoulder, sobbing.

  “Liv, Liv!” Half-contrite, half-exasperated, he stroked her hair. “I shouldn’t have—look, I just thought you’d be more helpful.”

  She still sobbed. “But even if I was—I thought of all that, Jerry! I thought at first that if I could just get the rifle, shoot the dog—but then I realized it was impossible. He’d have other guns.”

  Jerry looked surprised. Nick nodded. “She’s right, Jerry. Detective Schreiner took two handguns off him just now, before she gave first aid.”

  “Wow,” said Jerry softly.

  “I tied you up so you wouldn’t do something to—to get him mad,” Olivia explained.

  Jerry nodded and Nick’s brown eyes smiled at her. “You did fine,” he said. “But now, would you mind untying me?”

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry!” Olivia leaned around Jerry to unfasten the knotted electric cord. Nick flexed his fingers and rubbed his wrists. She added apologetically, “I’m still sort of dazed. It was—you know, he was completely in control.”

  “Right,” said Nick. “Jerry, we’re all mad as hell, but it was Ernie Grant’s fault. What Liv did was reasonable.”

  Olivia managed a small smile. Reasonable. But Jerry’s questions were reasonable too. There must have been something she could have done to help. Some way to be Joanne Little instead of Patty Hearst. To strike back instead of cooperating. But Joanne Little’s jailer had only had an ice pick. No rifle. No attack dog. She fingered the lump on her forehead absently. How had she got into this ridiculous dilemma? Stupid eagerness to get a story, a dangerous story. Neglecting to take even the tiniest precautions. And then, once here, pushing ahead blindly, asking about Dale Colby, flashing his photo, too dumb to see danger until it had overtaken her—She frowned at the carpet. Damn it, that was a good piece of acting Ernie had done while he looked at that photo—

  Her own name caught her ear. Detective Schreiner, watching the paramedics carry Ernie out on a stretcher, was talking to plump Gabe. Her arms were crossed, her stance relaxed yet ready, talking in her emotionless voice. Pure cop. She’d seemed so much more human talking about Vietnam with Ernie. She was saying, “Olivia Kerr came out here for some reason, haven’t had a chance to ask. The others followed. I didn’t know it was a major scene until I arrived, found the Ryan woman singing a lullaby to her kid down by the road, in her car. She said Kerr’s van had been disabled, and the two men had gone in to check and weren’t back yet. That’s when I radioed for backup.”

  “We got right on it.”

  “Figured you would. I went in and tried to talk him down. Almost did, I think. But that asshole Winks came in with siren screaming and spooked him. That’s when he picked up the rifle for real.”

  “And you shot to stop him.”

  “Yeah.” The sandy-haired detective hesitated a moment, squinting toward the bookcase. “Something else stopped him first, Gabe. I was still fumbling with the goddamn ankle holster when that boot hit him in the face.”

  Olivia followed her gaze. That hunting boot! It lay in the shadows at the foot of the bookcase. But she remembered it now, sailing in to hit the side of Ernie’s head. The shots had come an instant after. One from Ernie, off balance. One from Schreiner. But where had the hunting boot come from?

  “Ahem,” said someone from the door to the bedroom hall. Detective Schreiner looked over, unsurprised. “Should have known,” she said in resignation. “I asked you to stay down by the road.”

  Maggie stood there, big-bellied and listing sideways to balance a sleepy Sarah on her left hip. “Yeah. Well. It was pretty boring down by the road.”

  “Even so,” said Schreiner sternly.

  “Hey, look, this time I didn’t mess with your precious crime scene,” Maggie said defensively. “Except to toss in that boot.”

  “From the bedroom hall?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’d you get in there?”

  “Torn screen in the bedroom. Stuck in a hand and unlatched it. The dog growled but the rest of you people had him pretty well distracted. Besides, I stood behind the door so I could slam it in his face if he moved.”

  “Yeah. And the kid?”

  “She went to sleep in the car so I locked her in. Naptime. Just fetched her this minute.” She shifted the little girl on her hip. “Okay if we sit down?”

  Schreiner made a curt gesture toward the sofa. Maggie carefully deposited Sarah there between Jerry and Nick, kissed Nick’s bald head and grabbed his hand. Still holding it, she perched on the arm of the sofa next to him to listen.

  Gabe peered at his notes and said, “Okay, Holly, I got it about the shooting. You’re all by the sofa, he’s here on this side of the room divider. You’re talking to him, he hears the siren, goes for the rifle, this lady throws the boot, you shoot him, he goes down.”

  “Right. He yells for the dog. By then O’Connor has jumped on the bookcase and is kicking at the rifle, so I turn to check the dog. He’s charging. I fire again.” She looked at the furry heap below the TV and said in a tight voice, “He was a real good dog.”

  The other detective looked at Sarge, then at Detective Schreiner. “So what was it with this guy? Did I hear him say he blew up the congressman’s plane?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nut case? Or did he have a motive?”

  Schreiner clasped her hands behind her, looked at her shoes, and muttered something.

  “What?”

  “I said whoopee.” Schreiner took a deep breath, raised her head to inspect the fractured ceiling. Olivia was shocked at how ravaged she looked. Schreiner said, “He’s no more a nut case then I am.” A dark smile quivered on her lips. “We’ll see if that’s enough to get him acquitted.”

  Olivia saw that Maggie was bolt upright on the sofa arm, still holding Nick’s hand but tense, her attention riveted on Detective Schreiner. Glancing in their direction, Schreiner was caught for a moment by the intensity of Maggie’s gaze. The bitter smile guttered and died. She jerked her eyes away and pulled out her notepad. “Ms. Kerr,” she said briskly, “could you fill us in on what happened?”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Olivia took a deep breath. “I—well, before I start, I just want to say I tried to call you.”

  Schreiner’s expression was flat again. “Yes. I got your messages. Tried to find you at the S-D office.”

  “Yes, uh, I was in and out.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “Well—what I called you about was, I forgot to tell you something last night.” At the twitch of Schreiner’s brow she flared defensively, “I really did forget! I picked it up from the floor in front of Dale’s den while I was knocking on his door. Just stuck it into my pocket. And then a few minutes later we found Dale dead, and it just went out of my head.”

  “What was it?”

  “A paper napkin. I didn’t even look at it, just thought one of the kids had dropped it and it was messing up Donna’s clean house. But after I got home I looked at it. It came from Donovan’s Bar. And I knew it wasn’t there before we left.”

  “And you went off to the bar.”

  “Yes. Late last night. Nick came along.” Olivia glanced at him. “The bartender didn’t recognize Dale Colby’s photo. But he did say that a customer named Ernie Grant had been very interested in the reports about the plane crash in January, because he’d known the pilot. So I came out to ask Ernie Grant about it.”

  “All alone.”

  “Look, I’m a reporter! And this is one hell of a story!” Olivia paused, surprised. She’d been blank with terror for so long that the story’s importance had evaporated. Now, in a rush, she realized she had it. Pages and pages of it. Maybe a ticket to the Washington Post.

  “Maybe so.”
Schreiner sounded weary.

  “Listen, you walked into it too!” Olivia flared. “We’ve all got reasons. And I don’t care how many goddamn patrol rides you try to send me on, sister, you’re going to get good press.”

  That at least brought a flicker of surprise to Schreiner’s flat dark eyes, a twitch of warmth to her mouth. “Long live the First Amendment,” she muttered, and turned to a fresh page. “So you drove out here to talk to Ernie Grant. Then what?”

  “Well, I thought he was Corky Lewis’s friend. But after we’d talked a minute he started insisting that I should wait inside while he made a call, and it finally dawned on me. I knew he’d been at Donovan’s. And if he had one of the napkins in his pocket, it might have fallen out while he was killing Dale Colby.”

  “I see.”

  “I tried to get away but he disabled the van and pulled me inside here.”

  “Is that when he roughed you up?” Schreiner was writing fast.

  Olivia touched her jaw. “No. He was very polite, in a funny way. Forced me into the house but kept explaining politely that it was just till he’d made the phone call, after that he’d help me change the tire if I checked out okay. He just seemed puzzled that I was here. No, um, sexual threat either. He didn’t even seem angry at me. Except once.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We were waiting for his boss to call back and the phone rang. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the right call, it was just some friend. I think he called him Mitch. And the talk was friendly for a minute, then Ernie asked what he was leading up to. And whatever Mitch said got him agitated. He told Mitch not to tell them anything, and then he ran back in here screaming that I’d told the cops about him. That’s when he hit me.”

  Gabe asked, “Didn’t you try to get away while he was on the phone?”

  Jerry burst out angrily, “Are you crazy? The van was disabled, an attack dog was watching her, and that guy had a rifle and two handguns! You expect her to just walk out?”

  Olivia looked at him in pleased surprise.

  Schreiner went on as though the other two hadn’t spoken. “What happened then, Ms. Kerr?”

  “I convinced him that someone else told the cops. He got polite again, offered me some ice for my jaw. Let me fix him some scrambled eggs. And then Jerry and Nick came weaving up the drive. Ernie believed they were drunk.”

  “I can see why,” observed the detective drily. She glanced at Nick. “Thanks for clueing me in that cops were not welcome.”

  He nodded gravely. “I still had some hopes for survival.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were great,” Nick told her. “Calming him, finding out about the plane crash, stopping him at the end.”

  “That’s the job.” She turned to Gabe. “I need to make a call. Keep an eye on Winks so he doesn’t contaminate the evidence.” Gabe nodded and rejoined the uniformed cops clustered beyond the bookcase. Schreiner went into the dining room, flipping through her notebook. In a moment Olivia heard her dialing. She had to strain to hear the quiet voice.

  “Hello, Mitch, this is Detective Schreiner.” She was around the corner, out of sight. “We’ve picked up a guy you know. Ernie Grant… Hey, we didn’t have any choice, he was holding people at gunpoint! Anyway, I just wanted to tell you he’s under guard in Windover Hospital, but maybe we can arrange a visit… Good.” Olivia struggled to hear as Schreiner went on. “Look, help him however you can, that’s why I’m calling you, but he’ll have to stay in custody. We’ve got him three ways. Not just holding the hostages, but also blowing up the plane Corky Lewis was flying, and we’ve got him at the scene of the Colby murder yesterday afternoon… What did you say?” Her voice had become sharper. “One-thirty to six? Are you sure?” A hint of sarcasm crept into her voice. “And I suppose you’ve got an alibi for him for the plane crash too? … Oh. Okay, look, I know you’re not bullshitting me. But we have evidence linking Ernie to a bar and the bar to the scene of the crime… What guy in the bar?’’ She reappeared in the archway, her hand cupped over the receiver, and asked Olivia, “Did Ernie Grant say anything about a drinking buddy?”

  “No.” Olivia shook her head.

  “But the bartender did,” Nick reminded her. “He mentioned someone that Ernie occasionally met there.”

  Schreiner spoke into the receiver again. “Yeah, we got a lead on him. Why? … Yeah, I understand you can’t say any more. We’ll check with Ernie. Thanks for your cooperation, Mitch… Yeah, me too, I want to help the guy too. But I’ve got to make sense of this Colby thing.”

  Schreiner hung up and came slowly back into the front room, frowning at her notes.

  Maggie asked, “Mitch is a friend of Ernie’s?”

  “Veterans’ counselor.”

  “So Ernie has an alibi for yesterday?”

  Schreiner shot her a dark look and crossed the room to murmur something to Gabe.

  Maggie looked down the length of the sofa at Olivia. “I heard her say one-thirty to six, right? So if Ernie did it, and he was at the counselor’s all afternoon, he couldn’t have killed Dale until six-thirty at the earliest.”

  “Seems too late to me,” said Jerry. “Rigor and lividity were several hours advanced when I saw him at nine. But that’s for the medical examiner to decide.”

  “Yeah, but the ME won’t be pinned down yet,” Maggie informed him. “So there must be some kind of evidence for a later time of death. And we have the bar napkin there, from a bar we know Ernie visited. So maybe Ernie was there at six-thirty—”

  Jerry shrugged.

  “But why?” Olivia asked. “Dale hadn’t printed anything.”

  “But apparently he’d found Mike’s photo. A signed photo, to Ernie Grant.”

  “So if Dale knew, and didn’t print it—” Nick said slowly, looking at Maggie. “You’re thinking blackmail?”

  “Maybe.”

  Olivia examined that possibility. “It’s true, Ernie was surprised to hear I was from the Sun-Dispatch.”

  “We know Dale was under pressure from Felicia to get money,” Maggie said. “Maybe he figured he would keep quiet a while and collect from Ernie.”

  “Blackmailing someone like Ernie? Someone who’d blow up a plane? Not very wise,” said Jerry.

  “Dale did need money,” Olivia said. “But it doesn’t seem like a risk he’d take.”

  “No.” Maggie combed her fingers through her curls. “And there are other problems. First, Ernie was at that counselor’s at the most likely time of death. And a brass lamp seems a strange choice of weapon for a guy who’s a walking arsenal.”

  “Wonder who he went drinking with?” mused Nick.

  “Dale?” suggested Jerry. “If Dale was blackmailing him—”

  “Dale got out occasionally,” said Olivia dubiously. “But it was hard for him. He’d make the arrangements by phone, I think. Besides, the bartender didn’t recognize Dale’s photo.”

  “Right,” Nick agreed.

  “For that matter,” added Olivia, “I could have sworn Ernie didn’t recognize it either. But we know Dale found Mike’s photo, don’t we? Oh, God!” She halted in sudden disbelief.

  “You’ve thought of something?” Maggie jumped up and ran to Olivia’s end of the sofa.

  “But it can’t be! But he has a blue Ford—and he was first on the crash scene, he could have picked up the photo—see, Ernie didn’t say Dale found it, he said the reporter found it—oh, God!” Things were beginning to make horrible sense.

  Maggie, perched eagerly on the sofa arm by Olivia, asked, “Who, Liv? Who?”

  “It wasn’t Dale who found the photo. It wasn’t Dale blackmailing Ernie. See, when Ernie phoned to check on me, he called the person Rosie.” Olivia raised her astonished gaze to Maggie’s. “It was Nate,” she said with certainty. “Nate Rosen!”

  20

  Holly had deployed her forces. Winks had been sent to get a search warrant for Nate Rosen’s home, car and office at the Sun-Dispatch. Gabe was on his way to Bo Morgan’s to show the bo
y a set of photos, including Rosen’s, in the hopes that he’d recognize yesterday’s visitor. Afterwards, Gabe would visit the bartender at Donovan’s Bar with the same photos.

  A couple of uniformed cops had accompanied Ernie Grant to surgery. They’d wait for him to wake up and let Holly know so she could get a statement. The next thing on her own agenda was to take Olivia, Maggie, Nick and Jerry to the station house for official statements. Right now the four were changing the tire of the van while Sarah napped in the car, so Holly decided to take a last look around Ernie’s house. She’d leave the place under the care of a couple of patrol officers and come back for a more thorough search tomorrow.

  She started around for one last quick tour. This house was not really Ernie’s, it was his parents’ home still. Their bedroom sat untouched in the front corner of the house, their flowery curtains and bedspread still in place. Ernie’s own room was the only area that gave any sense of the man, and even there the message was split, a boy’s collection of model airplanes on one wall vying with a handsome display case of real firearms on the other. Nothing, unfortunately, that could fire through a keyhole, knock a lamp onto a guy’s head, and then disappear without leaving a trace. She stood looking at the well-oiled weapons for a moment. A lot of them. She could understand his obsession. Nam peeled off your youthful sense of invulnerability pretty damn quick. Left you always watching your back, building psychological bunkers, setting up defensive perimeters even in the so-called safety of home. All those rifles, shotguns, automatics. Attack dogs. She felt bad about the dog. The only creature in the world that Ernie trusted. She closed her eyes. She felt so bad about the dog.

  Cut it out, Schreiner. Don’t get sentimental, this ain’t Benji we’re talking about.

  “You okay?”

  Maggie. Always hovering around like a goddamn guardian angel, equally ready to produce a lost child or a skillfully thrown boot. Holly swiped hastily at her nose with the back of her hand. “Yeah. Just sorry about the dog.”