Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection

by Gordon Kessler

  “Dispatch, this is Parker. Go ahead,” he puffed, leaning in the driver’s side door.

  “Looks like another dog attack, Top Dog, but this one’s in progress.”

  “Where, Tyrone?” he asked, opening the door.

  “11503 W. Kennedy.”

  “Okay, we’re on our way.” He passed the handset around the window frame. “Is it a black Great Dane?”

  “Don’t know, man. The caller was just a kid, all he said was that a dog was hurting some girl named Cindy.”

  “All right, we’re about three minutes away.” Parker jumped into the Jimmy. Hill trotted up on the other side. “Call Lt. Simpson and get him out there. Remind him we’d like to take this one alive,” Parker said, pulling the truck door shut.

  “Gotcha, Top Dog.”

  “I hope it’s Jezebel!” Parker said to Hill as she climbed in. He hung up the handset, started the truck and turned on the lights.

  “Are you kidding?” Hill said. Her voice was strained. “I pray it isn’t!”

  CHAPTER 16

  Sarah Hill was quiet on the way to the call. Parker took a quick glance at her as he steered out of a corner. She had fixed her blouse back to where it looked surprisingly good, considering it was missing two buttons, and she proceeded to touch up her makeup and lipstick as the truck jostled and swayed down the streets. Except for her unusual silence, it was as if nothing had happened. He was glad his bite had not been bad enough to cause blood to soak through her bra and blouse. Still, he knew the damage he’d caused was more than superficial. When Parker understood, himself, what had come over him, he’d be better able to apologize.

  Parker stood on the brake in front of the caller’s house and jumped out, immediately running to the tailgate and opening it. Hill climbed up on one knee and grabbed the control stick, a pole with a thin rope attached to slip over an uncooperative animal’s neck, and she handed it to Parker. She pulled the tranquilizer rifle off a rack on the side and hopped out.

  “You back me up,” Parker said, and turned to run up to the chalk white, saltbox house.

  Just then, a small boy of about seven came running out from the side, screaming as if death were his shadow. His face was flushed and dirty and streaked with tears.

  Parker could see the boy was apparently unharmed as he ran to him. He knelt down and grabbed him by the arms.

  “Where’s the dog? Is Cindy all right?”

  “They’re back there,” the boy cried, pointing to the back yard. “He’s hurting her!”

  “Stay here, kid. Come on!” Parker snapped to Hill. “Get that thing ready.”

  Hill cocked the rifle and clicked the safety off.

  There was whining as they came around the corner. Parker stopped short when he saw what was happening, and Hill ran into the back of him. Two dogs stood tail to tail, locked together: a female collie and a large male cur, who was whining in obvious discomfort. The dogs seemed startled by their intrusion and looked up at them in surprise.

  “Cindy, you run-a-round bitch!” Hill said, relaxing the tension in her body and putting one hand on her hip. “Well, now that you got your man, don’t let him go.”

  “Shit!” Parker said, lowering the stick.

  “Do something, do something, he’s hurting her!” the boy screamed at them, coming up from behind.

  Parker cringed. “In the position they’re in, I’d say he’s the one being hurt.”

  “You better explain it to him, Tony,” Hill said.

  “Why don’t you? You seem to know more about this kind of thing.”

  Parker’s sharp words apparently cut deep, and he wished he could take them back, especially considering what had just happened at the blind man’s house.

  “Me?” she said. “What is it with you, Tony?”

  Hill glared and then turned to the boy, bending down and holding his arms. “It’s okay. Cindy’s just playing with her boyfriend.”

  The boy looked at his dog, tears still rolling down his cheeks. Hill pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his tears. “Sometimes when they play like this, the girl dog has puppies a couple of months later,” she added.

  “Wow, really?” the boy said in glee. He ran over to hug the collie.

  “You’d better leave them alone for a while, son,” Parker said. “They’ll be done playing after a bit.” He turned to the male. “You got yourself into this, you get yourself out.”

  The male whined back.

  “Hey, young man, why aren’t you in school?” Parker asked.

  “I missed the bus because of Cindy,” the boy answered. “Mom and Dad are at work.”

  A blaring siren and a screech from around the front of the house indicated Simpson had arrived. Hill and Parker walked up to meet him as he ran into the yard. Parker smiled at Simpson, but Hill jumped in to comment first.

  “Hey, Simpson, you heard the one about the young Indian brave that went to his father one day and asked how he and his brothers got their names?”

  “Huh, what’s going on?” he said, trying to get around Hill.

  “The father said, ‘Uhg, when first brother born, I look out teepee and see eagle soaring in sky. I name him Soaring Eagle,’” Hill said in a deep voice, backing up with her arms blocking Simpson’s advance.

  “Come on, what’s going on?” Simpson said, frustrated.

  “‘When next brother born, I look out and see elk leaping over bush. I name him Leaping Elk.’”

  “Come on, Sarah, let me by! What the hell is going on?” He broke away from her and ran frantically around the corner of the house and stopped wide-eyed, mouth agape, hand on his holstered revolver.

  Hill continued, “Then the old Indian looks to his son and asks, ‘Why you ask.…’”

  “Two Dogs Screwing!” Simpson finished the punch line.

  Hill raised her eyebrows. “Oh, did Doc White Cloud already tell you that one?” she asked.

  It was like Hill to relieve a tense situation with humor.

  “Did Doc really tell you that?” Parker asked, somewhat surprised that Doc would be so crass with a woman.

  “Yeah, but I had to tell him a couple real juicy ones of my own, first.”

  Hill seemed to have at least temporarily forgiven Parker. She was the type that bounced back quick. Parker could imagine what kind of jokes she’d told Doc.

  “I think we’ve had a couple too many false alarms, ol’ buddy,” Parker said putting his arm around Simpson’s shoulders.

  “You ain’t a shittin’,” Simpson agreed as they walked back to the curb.

  “Anything new?” Parker asked.

  “Nothing except ol’ man MacGreggor’s nephew is in town, and I’m supposed to meet him at the house in twenty minutes to let him inside.”

  “Let’s go!” Parker said anxiously. “Sarah, have the dispatcher call the kid’s mother and tell her what happened. Then take him to school, will you?” He jumped into the front seat of Simpson’s car and waved without looking back.

  When Simpson and Parker arrived at the MacGreggor place, MacGreggor’s nephew, Daryl Bailey, was already there, waiting. He appeared around thirty years old and had a shock of red hair and ears that stuck out like cup handles. Parker couldn’t help but think of how the man had an uncanny resemblance to an old television personality. He looked eager to get into the house—maybe too eager. The next-door neighbor, Mrs. Crane, had told them MacGreggor and his nephew weren’t on the best of terms, and there wasn’t anything in the house of any value except the stereo system.

  After being warned not to touch anything because of the possibility of rabies, the man rushed inside and straight for the basement steps. Simpson and Parker waited outside the door.

  Simpson waved to two cops in a patrol car across the street, then looked back in the house.

  “Shit, Tony, look at that!” Simpson exclaimed, pointing to the back door thirty-five feet away.

  New wood was exposed on the door of the dog port and on the sides. It had been broken. Parker and Simpson h
ustled inside and to the back of the house.

  “Tony,” Simpson said, standing beside Parker and looking around the house cautiously, “do you think she’s in here?”

  “Easy Jack, this was broken going out. Anyway, if she were still here, our new Howdy-Doody-looking friend would have been screaming by now.”

  “Probably just some kid—you think?”

  “Yeah, well, don’t count on it,” Parker said. He pinched hair from the splintered wood and brought it up to Simpson’s face. “Unless that kid has short black hair.”

  Simpson stared at the dog fur between Parker’s fingers. “And we’ve had this place under surveillance the whole time.”

  “Well, you’d better have the port fixed. A little stronger. Maybe some bigger screws. And make sure your men have their shit together this time.”

  Simpson frowned back as the nephew came up the stairs with the shoebox lid in his hand and a sour look on his face.

  “What happened to the box?” the man asked.

  “What was in the box?” Parker asked.

  “Don’t play games with me. It’s rightfully mine. I’m the only heir,” Bailey said back.

  “The box was gone when we got here,” Simpson said. “Now what was in it?”

  “Over five hundred thousand, last I counted. But that was more than five years ago,” he said, looking down at the box lid. “I want to talk to the first bastard cop on the scene. He’s probably the thieving son-of-a-bitch that took it.”

  “You’re speaking to him,” Simpson said.

  “You?”

  “Yeah, I was the first ‘thieving son-of-a-bitch’ at the scene—that lived, that is.”

  “Where’d the money come from?” Parker asked.

  “Life insurance on Aunt Rose.”

  “How’d you know about it?”

  “I found it one day when he told me to feed the dogs. He caught me counting it.”

  “Before you could take it?” Parker asked, his stare cold, his voice flat.

  “What do ya mean by that?” Bailey said, throwing the lid to the floor and drawing his fingers to a fist.

  Parker could feel the hair on the back of his neck raise and a breath-taking rush of adrenaline shot through his body. A nervous, broad grin forced itself across his face.

  “I mean,” Parker answered, his hands also balling to fists, “I don’t know you, but for some reason, I already don’t like you. As far as I’m concerned, you could in some way be involved in your uncle’s death!”

  Bailey turned to Simpson. “What in the hell is this dog catcher doing, accusing me? Is he some kind of undercover cop or something? Because if he isn’t, you’d better get him the hell out of my face!”

  Parker stepped closer to him, nearly nose to nose, his jaw clenched.

  “Back off, Tony,” Simpson said, wedging between the two and shoving them apart. “Now, let’s cool down. What can you tell us about the dogs?”

  Bailey backed up two steps. He took a deep breath and glanced out of the corner of his eyes at Parker before looking to Simpson. “What can you say about dogs?” he said. “I hated them. I guess they knew it, too. They growled whenever I got near them. They were like any other dogs as far as I know, just a hell of a lot bigger.”

  “You were afraid of them?” Simpson asked.

  “No, not really. I knew they wouldn’t bite me or anything. They never acted aggressive like that. They just got off growling at me, like my uncle did.”

  “We’ll let you know if any money comes up,” Simpson said.

  “It’d better,” Bailey said. He looked toward the back of the house. “I’m sure there’s no reason for me looking through the rest of the place. You bastards probably ransacked everything. Every loose dime is most likely in some cop’s pocket.” He turned and walked out the door, shaking his head.

  Simpson and Parker followed him out and watched until he got into his car.

  “What the hell got into you?” Simpson asked.

  “You saw the jerk,” Parker said, as they walked to the car. “He didn’t care a bit about his uncle. All he wanted was his money. Then he did everything but accuse you of stealing it. He’s the most likely suspect for that.”

  “You know that doesn’t make sense. He was hundreds of miles away. And if he had stolen it, he wouldn’t have said anything about it, or even showed up here for that matter.”

  “Okay, you’re right. But this changes everything, don’t you see? Two dogs, probably not rabid, attack and kill three men for no apparent reason. One dog is missing and so is half a million dollars! Doesn’t that sound a little suspicious to you?”

  “Come on, Tony, don’t jump to conclusions. The old man probably spent it over the past five years,” Simpson said, getting into the car. “Get in. I’ll take you to your office.”

  “Spent it on what, dog food and CDs? And now, we have another man dead and one dying. And what about that pack of dogs in the park? There’s human involvement somehow. This TP thing means something.” Parker looked at Simpson with a scowl. “Now don’t start on me about it somehow meaning me. It doesn’t.” Parker opened the passenger’s side of Simpson’s car and slipped in. “Somewhere out there is a murderer and thief, and a very dangerous dog!”

  CHAPTER 17

  In Sand Creek, Tricia Carpenter sat on the wooden seat of an ancient homemade swing set in the backyard of her grandparent’s home. Her thin smile and dimples seemed permanent on her face. She didn’t mind the baking sun so much under the protective branches of the old walnut tree with a light breeze from the south.

  Pearl and Eldon Bumfield were inside, trying to stay cool with open windows and seven fans of various types circulating the stale air. Every five minutes, Grammy Pearl would appear in the kitchen window and wave, and Tricia would wave back.

  She sat on the swing with both arms looped around the side chains, holding her most prized possession, Raggedy Ann, by the hands. She swung back and forth, toeing the dust with well-worn, white sneakers.

  She had spent hours in that same swing this past summer, discussing important issues with her little homemade friend. Grammy Pearl and Grandy Eldon were nice, and she loved them very much, but they didn’t seem to understand her quite like Raggedy Ann did.

  The little girl felt a belch coming on and opened her mouth wide. A burp that could have come as easily from a hamster came out. It was nothing like the window rattling one that exploded from Grandy’s gullet during lunch not thirty minutes earlier.

  With her best Shirley Temple, Good Ship Lollipop, deep voice she reported, “Not bad manners, just good beer!”

  Raggedy Ann and Tricia had been talking about a lot of things today. They had talked about how well Tricia had helped Grammy fix lunch. They had talked about that silly Jimmy Lawrence, who lived next door and was always showing off. They had talked about Tony Parker, the nice man who came and got rid of the bad skunk, rescued the kitten and called her cutie and Raggedy Ann pretty. They had talked about Tricia’s mama and what it would be like to live in Denver when she finally found a job and sent for her. They had talked about Tricia’s father and how much fun they had when she saw him last, more than two months ago, and they went to a Kansas City Royals ball game, and how great the cotton candy was. And they had even talked about Dawg and how he acted much happier since Grandy brought him back from the Doctor’s office and how he wasn’t itchin’ as much as he was before.

  As Tricia looked up to see Grammy wave from the kitchen window for the fifth time, she noticed a white van driving into town. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence to see someone drive into town but neither was it something that happened without notice in a town the size of Sand Creek. She waved back to her grandmother then broke out in song.

  “Ring around the rosy,” she started singing and made Raggedy Ann dance on her knees as she watched the white van drive past the first house. “Pocket full of posies. Ashes, ashes, all fall down!” The last part of the song made Tricia frown as she remembered playing ring around the
rosy with Jimmy Lawrence. When they came to the all fall down part, Jimmy had pushed her down hard, and it had hurt. It had jarred her teeth and hurt her bottom. She’d cried and run away from him, screaming that she would never play with him again.

  Tricia stopped singing. Something about the van driving down the street gave her goose bumps. She didn’t know what it was, but something made her feel uneasy. But it wasn’t really the van; it was the driver. He had rolled his window down and leaned his head out as he drove very slowly. He was a dark man with black hair, and he had a patch covering one eye like a pirate.

  Tricia shivered. The man who looked like a pirate had something in his mouth. It was shiny, and he made his cheeks puff out as if he blew a whistle, but there was no whistle sound.

  Dogs started barking.

  The dogs in Sand Creek always barked. They barked during the day and in the middle of the night. They barked when they saw a rabbit or a cat. They barked when they thought they saw a rabbit or a cat. They barked when they wanted to see a rabbit or a cat. One would start barking, then they would all join in like a small church’s choir where few had the talent to sing, but all had the enthusiasm.

  Within a minute, there wasn’t only barking, but also growling. Screams and shouts filled the air. People cried.

  She began to worry. Something was wrong.

  She slipped from the swing and started toward the back door of the house. The barking and yelling and growling and screaming continued, now, seeming to come from all eight of the small town’s houses.

  When she realized screaming even came from Grammy and Grandy’s house, she stopped. They yelled and cussed. She couldn’t understand what they said, but they sounded upset. She had heard similar voices when her daddy and mommy were still married. It had gotten especially bad just before she and her mommy had moved out. It had been nearly as bad as what came from Grammy and Grandy’s right now.

  Tricia decided not to go in the back way but, instead, go around to the front. She was curious about what the pirate in the white van was doing, anyway. She tiptoed as if someone might be able to hear tiny soft footsteps in the Bermuda grass over the commotion going on all over town. She walked between her grandparent’s house and the five-foot, dog-eared cedar fence that surrounded the Lawrence’s yard.