by Jerold Last
She took some more food and another sip of wine. "Lodge is my dark horse candidate. There's nothing damning in the file per se. He's got the computer science degree, which almost certainly makes him knowledgeable about hiding his tracks on the Internet. He's had an amoral, if not immoral, career track, so he could feel above the law. Lodge probably grew up wealthy, going to an expensive private college. Since graduating, he's made a ton of money, giving him the financial resources and status to get away with or buy his way out of crimes that would have given Burnett-Smythe or Rosswell a criminal record. I also have a hunch, or call it intuition, based on my fleeting impressions of him from our dinner.”
Suzanne munched on a piece of garlic bread dipped in the aioli sauce. "Rosswell is third on my list. He had another rotten childhood like Burnett-Smythe. He has a failed marriage too. There's a hint of a drinking problem, but the accident could have been a one-off piece of bad luck.”
She sipped some more wine. "Forrest has the computer skills, but that's about it. His second marriage seems to be pretty stable. He may get along perfectly well with the right woman, seemingly ruling out his fitting the stalker profile.”
Suzanne finished her wine with a big gulp. “You know, this whole thing really pisses me off. We have a misogynistic stalker sending me anonymous threats from that old boys club we had dinner with in New York. Notice there aren’t any women, people of color, or Asians on the Board. Just an old boys club stroking each other’s egos and never being held accountable for what they do. I’d love to just walk in there and beat the crap out of all of them.”
Suzanne stood up, walked around the table, gave me a big kiss on the mouth, and sat down next to me. “OK, I’ve vented and I feel better now. Let’s get back to work.”
I put my fork down for a moment, drank some wine, and faced Suzanne. "Your take is pretty much the way I saw them, for exactly the same reasons, except I had Rosswell ranked #2 and Lodge #3. I've learned to trust your hunches, so we'll tentatively go with your rankings here."
Suzanne took my hand and squeezed it gently. "So, what comes next?"
I finished the last of my wine. "Vincent looks a little deeper at all of the PS group. We try to hack into a few other databases to see if there are any incidents or complaints suggesting harassment or stalking by any of our suspects that didn't make the records. Maybe we can find a friendly cop to talk with back there. I wonder if Carswell knows anything; the AKC must have run background checks on all of the staff before hiring them. I wonder if Vincent could access those AKC personnel files. Or else, I could just call Carswell and ask him directly. That's all in my to-do pile. I have the better part of three weeks in which to get it done. What are you thinking, Suzanne?"
Suzanne got the look she always gets when she’s about to jump into action. "I'm remembering that most stalkers are cowards, but they can be dangerous. Do you remember the serial killer we were able to identify in Chile with the help of a little disinformation? What do you think would happen if I sent thank-you notes for the flowers and plants to each of our four suspects on the PS list?"
I thought about the pros and cons of trying to get the stalker upset enough to take some thoughtless action. "Let's save that strategy for later, if digging around in the suspects' past doesn't get us any closer to the truth. I don't like the risks involved for you if they can be avoided and I certainly don't want to put Robert at risk. OK?"
She thought about my suggestion a bit, and didn’t look too happy with it. "OK with me. I think we have the beginnings of a plan. But I've got to admit I'm getting awfully impatient with just sitting around waiting for things to happen rather than taking the offensive."
Suzanne stood up from her chair, leaned over me, and gave me a very long, lingering kiss. She sat crosswise in my lap and kissed me again. “I think we’ve discussed perverts and stalkers to death. Let’s neck a little bit.”
Chapter18.A break in the competition
Suzanne and I heard about a new dog park about ten minutes drive from our house. The park was fenced and allowed dogs to run around and play together off their leashes within the fenced area. That sounded interesting, so one Sunday morning we drove over there. There was a large parking lot in front of the fenced-in area, which must have been at least 100 feet wide and 750 feet long, an enclosed area of about 1.5 acres. I noticed a blue car I’d seen behind us for most of the short trip pull in behind us and park all the way back near the exit. The driver was just sitting there in his car, apparently in little hurry to start exercising his dog.
Most of the dog play area was grass, with an oval gravel track along the fence ringing the perimeter of the grassy area. There were perhaps two- or three-dozen dogs distributed within the park in different sized groups. The two most popular games being played were the ever-popular “chase me” and “keep away”, the latter usually involving a coveted and well-chewed tennis ball or stick. As we walked into the fenced-in area with Juliet I looked back casually to see the driver stepping out of the blue car and walking in our direction outside of the fence. He was a complete stranger to me, most noticeable because he didn’t have a dog with him. He loitered just outside the fence smoking a cigarette. Alarms were ringing in my head, but he might just be an innocent smoker taking a break to puff on a cigarette, which was pretty impossible to do anywhere indoors in California these days.
We walked through a double safety gated sally port into the grassy area and released Juliet from her leash. She immediately trotted over to a human stranger and rubbed against her leg, a clear request to pet her. After having her ears and head thoroughly scratched, she ran off to play with a group of five dogs all more or less her size---a couple of retriever types of mixed heritage, an Australian herding dog, a German Shepherd puppy who still had some growing to do, and a Vizsla. It was a lot of fun to watch. Juliet made a few puppy-like moves and the race was on. Six dogs, all of which could run, ran. Juliet was the fastest by far, but made sure she stayed in third gear, keeping the pace reasonable.
All of a sudden there was another dog right in front of her and a messy crash seemed inevitable. At the last possible second, Juliet launched herself up and over the other animal, soaring effortlessly above her to land without breaking stride and keep running. Six dogs ran from end to end through the dog park over and over, Juliet in the lead some of the time and following the scrum at other times. We watched and socialized with a few of the other dog owners for ten minutes or so. The oft-asked question was “what kind of dog is that?” when people saw Juliet. Finally, some of the dogs got tired enough to drop out and the game came to an end. Juliet romped over to another group, exchanged polite nose to butt sniffs with a spaniel, and they were off once again. I checked out the parking lot. Our smoker had disappeared, and so had the blue car.
About an hour later, Juliet drank a lot of water from a convenient fountain, squatted to return some of the water to the local aquifer, and let us know it was time to go home. She sat in front of the gate waiting to have her leash returned before leaving the dog park, then navigated the double gates as she led us back to our car. As we returned home, I checked the rear-view mirror frequently. No sign of the blue car. Co-incidence or did he take off after I’d spotted him? I made a mental note to mention the car and the smoker to Bruce so he could keep his eyes open and decided not to worry Suzanne any more than she already was by giving her something else to be concerned about.
Bruce had a saying, or perhaps an aphorism is a better term. He'd tell us over and over, "Idle paws are the devil's plaything. You have to give your dog a job or she'll invent her own entertainment, and that's when shoes and furniture get chewed or she gets into other mischief."
Shortly after Sherry loaned us Juliet, Bruce started her exercise and training regimen. Actually, Juliet's supplemental training began the next day. This deliberately wasn't more conformation show training; Sherry had already done a great job on this and Bruce asked, "Why mess with success?" Rather, he told us that hunting or search, rescue, and tra
cking were useful skills he knew how to train for at the highest levels. The nose work involved in tracking and finding was a lot more convenient to perform in our urban setting and, perhaps, likely to be more useful for us in the future.
So, for 15-30 minutes a day, every day, while Robert took his nap, Juliet and Bruce worked on learning that there were other smells than pheasant and chukar that were worth pointing at. Bruce made sure Suzanne and I were included whenever we were at home, telling us, "There are a few principles and a lot of tricks that go into effective dog training. It's a lot easier with a well-trained and very smart adult animal like Juliet, who wants to please you. You only need her to understand what it is you're asking her to do. At some point we'll be training a new puppy. You might as well learn how just in case I'm not able to do it for you.
"The basic principles are simple. If you're teaching her to do something consistent with her hard-wired instincts, it's easy. For example, she instinctively hunts birds and upland game. She's mainly guided to birds and small game by sight and their scents. Training her to use her nose to find other things is just an extension of what she already knows how to do. Training Juliet to find a specific scent is just about making her understand what you want her to do, and she will. OK so far?"
We both nodded.
He knelt down to pat Juliet and scratched her special spots behind the ears and on her back, just in front of her tail. "It gets a lot harder if you want to train a behavior contrary to her instincts, but you can do that, too. As long as she wants to please her humans like Juliet does, she can learn. There are several breeds of hunting dogs. Some like the spaniels instinctively flush the birds they find. Pointers point at the bird before they flush it. Most pointers will instinctively "flash point". That means they'll point for a few seconds, then try to get the bird. It's a lot easier to hunt pheasant if the dog holds her point until the hunter gets close enough to take an easy shot. It's even easier if she is rock steady on point until you flush the bird yourself to shoot it. Then when you release her from her point, she'll retrieve the bird you've shot and bring it back to you. That's exactly what a well-trained German Shorthaired Pointer should do.”
He played some more with the dog before he continued his explanation. "Most trainers break up complicated tasks into a series of simple ones, then design games and play to reinforce the behaviors you're putting together to complete the complex behavior. For example, I want to train Juliet to point, the same way she’d instinctively point a bird, at a new object or a specific scent I've introduced to her. Step 1 is playing a game of fetch. I'll throw a tennis ball or stick for her to retrieve to me. She knows the game and we'll have fun while she gets some exercise and learns she's supposed to work for me now rather than Sherry. Eventually we'll work on actually pointing the object I’ve introduced and to stay steady on point until I release her to retrieve it, just like hunting a bird."
We watched Bruce and Juliet play fetch for a while in the back yard. The first dozen or so times he threw it, Bruce let her chase the ball and to find it. When she picked it up in her mouth, he gave her a "come" command. When she brought it back to him, he made a big deal of rewarding her with praise and petting, then he took the ball and threw it again. He made sure to say "fetch" each time she started out to retrieve the ball to reinforce the association between word and deed. He was careful to gradually increase the distance of his tosses, eventually making the task more difficult by aiming the ball to land in some bushes behind Robert’s new play structure. The increased distance or having to find the ball in a clump of bushes didn’t faze Juliet, who used her nose to find the ball. The more complex the retrieve, the prouder she was for doing it. Juliet obviously loved this new game. As she returned the ball into Bruce’s waiting hand, she started to do her happy dog prance, eagerly anticipating the next throw and retrieve. That completed our first formal session of dog training.
Bruce threw the ball for the final time and Juliet happily bounded after it. "We'll eventually change the game to my giving her an object to smell and then hiding it. I'll tell her "fetch" or "find" and she'll know she’s supposed to look for it. When she eventually finds it, I'll make a big fuss, with lots of praise and rewards then we'll do it a lot more times. Like I said before, break the complex task into a series of fun and games that make up the complicated behavior. That's what dog training is all about. With this approach, you can do all of the training with positive rewards, making it fun for the dog and fun for the trainer. If she doesn’t get it the first time we’ll do it again some other time, until she eventually does. There’s never punishment for making a mistake or forcing her to keep doing it until she gets it right. It’s more important to have patience and to keep it fun. That’s what gets rewarded in the long run."
Bruce continued Juliet's training whenever we were home. She learned to hold a point when she found the object she was sent to "find". It started with the simple technique of putting a 25-foot long check cord on her collar and "whoa-ing" her when she found the scent she was looking for. Just before she would try to "fetch" the object, Bruce gently pulled on the check cord, saying “whoa” until she learned to stand steady after a “find”. She loved their playtime/training together. Bruce showed us remarkable progress on some complex behaviors coming together. Juliet was smart enough, and motivated enough, to be a quick learner. Bruce had the skills and creativity to be a superb "dog whisperer". The lessons went smoothly with positive reinforcement, praise and love. Negative reinforcement was never involved, keeping the training fun.
We could see Juliet bonding more closely with Bruce every day, and this shared intimacy carried over into success in the show ring. Juliet was not only a very happy little bitch in her new surroundings, but was also an ideal pet from the entire family's point of view. She was affectionate, obeyed commands (or requests if it was Robert) from all of us, and had become a full family member within a few weeks after we received her from Sherry. However, we didn't learn the real value of this additional training until a second dead body, another dog show judge, turned up at the "Woofstock" show.
In the meantime, Vincent had done a more in-depth investigation by computer and telephone of the PS candidates we suspected might be the stalker. We discovered a lot more about each of them, most of it useless trivia. But buried in the trivia were some potentially incriminating bits and pieces.
"We have an interesting problem with regard to your stalker, Suzanne," I said that night as we went to bed. Juliet had finished her late night visit to the back yard and was safely tucked into her crate. "Up until now, the bastard has only sent you flowers and plants. As far as I know there’s no law against bad poetry, even if there ought to be one. When and if we figure out who he or she is, there's not a whole lot we can do about it unless we can somehow frame them for something criminal or catch them committing a crime. It's worth figuring out who the stalker is, but it's also worth giving some thought to what we plan to do about it when we find out their identity."
"I'd vote for capital punishment," she murmured sleepily. "Now hush-up and let me get some sleep, dear!"
Chapter19.Back to the competition
It was time for Bruce, Juliet, and me to return to the dog show circuit. Many of the regulars had stayed in California to compete for a point or two here and there among the smaller shows with smaller entries. Although their class dogs already had their majors, some needed just a few points to get the coveted title of champion in front of their name. They were competing at these smaller shows with puppies or less competitive adult dogs and bitches. The rest of the regulars flew or drove out of state with their dogs, to the big major shows in Arizona or Oregon and Washington. Now it was time for us to rejoin them. We had formulated a plan to check out my current theories regarding the possible sources of skullduggery, both at the dog shows and at the AKC itself. I was beginning to think I had a pretty good handle on what was actually going on, but it was still far too early to report anything back to my client.
Our stop
s this time around began at Vallejo, CA, just off I-80 about halfway between Sacramento and San Francisco, for the four days of shows known collectively as "Woofstock". Three weeks later we’d travel to Sacramento, Suzanne's old home town where she grew up. Then finally, the following week we’d be back to Vallejo again, which would bring us to the end of April and about the 4-month mark on our odyssey towards justice.
"Woofstock" simultaneously paid homage to the 60s and to the aging hippies of that era and was a major happening, as well as an important cluster of dog show competitions. The show was a very big one, one of the largest on the circuit, drawing dogs of all breeds with owners hungry for majors. You could theoretically start a dog in their first show ever on a Thursday, and finish the dog's championship on Sunday by winning Best of Winners or Best Opposite Sex in your breed all four days of the competition. If the turnout was good enough, they could even become champions just by winning on three of those days. Owners and spectators wandered around all day in tie-dyed tee shirts or their best hippie outfits. After their last ring entry, handlers shucked their ties and jackets to join the "I Love Woofstock" tee-shirted crowd.