Killing Trail: A Timber Creek K-9 Mystery

by Margaret Mizushima

  “We don’t necessarily believe she was involved with drugs herself. But we believe her killer may be involved with drugs in some way. In light of that possibility, can you think of anything that might help us with our investigation?”

  Mattie watched Brennaman pause to digest the information. “Not anything that comes to mind immediately, but I may need to ponder that for a while.”

  “Fair enough,” McCoy said. “That brings me to what Deputy Cobb and I would like to talk to you about. We’d like to develop a presence here at the school with our new narcotics detection dog. Did you get a chance to look at the letter I sent about this dog being added to our department?”

  “A few weeks ago, I believe. Perhaps you should brief me.”

  “We’ve already started combating drug traffic on our highways with road blocks and vehicle sweeps, and we’d like to do something similar here at school. We’d like to provide an antinarcotics education program and combine that with occasional unanticipated locker checks. We’re here to offer these services and gain permission to start.”

  Frowning, Brennaman tapped a finger on the table, setting up a muted drum. “Grace Hartman’s death was a tragedy, but this isn’t a police state. The drug education program’s one thing, but I don’t like the idea of a police dog roaming our halls.”

  McCoy sat back in his chair, relaxed and casual. He steepled his fingers against his chin. “A narcotics dog wouldn’t be roaming. He’s on leash and under the control of his handler. Other communities have found the use of a dog very effective, and the animal becomes a mascot for the program. A dog can make inroads with some kids that teachers and law enforcement officers have found difficult to reach.”

  “And this dog’s handler is Deputy Cobb, here?” He looked at Mattie.

  “Yes, sir,” she said.

  Brennaman smiled at her and then shifted his attention to Robo. Mattie quickly checked him, too, and saw that his fur was smooth again, hackles dropped, but he was still staring at the principal.

  It felt like Brennaman was legitimately concerned about having a police dog at school. Or maybe he was afraid of dogs.

  “Robo was raised with kids,” Mattie said. “He acts like a family pet. And he’s completed more obedience training than most other dogs.”

  “I still don’t like the message we’d be sending by having a police dog and an officer here at school, but I’ll consider it. I’m just not convinced drugs are a big problem here at Timber Creek High.”

  “We believe one child lost is one too many,” McCoy said. “We’d like to do what we can to prevent further harm to our community’s children.”

  Brennaman nodded. “We’re in agreement there. The drug education program sounds worth taking a look at, depending on who’s teaching it. We would need to review that individual’s credentials to ensure an appropriate match. We have our standards here for teachers and recognize the kind of influence a good teacher can have on students of this age.”

  Mattie felt anxiety wash through her. Was Brennaman trying to find a way to block the program because she would be involved? Or was she being too sensitive?

  Sheriff McCoy leaned forward in his chair. “Deputy Cobb completed twelve weeks of K-9 Academy training, and she and this dog were at the top of their class. Part of her training included using him in schools and public relations. Her qualifications are impeccable.”

  Brennaman looked at Mattie, giving her another brief smile. “I’m sure they are. It’s good to hear what training you’ve had, Mattie. You’d make a great role model for the students.”

  She lowered her head in a slight nod to acknowledge the compliment. “Thank you. I’m excited about the program. I received a training curriculum and materials at the academy that I’m happy to share with you.”

  He nodded. “That would be good. I’ll have to look them over, talk to the superintendent about this, and then get back to you in a few weeks.”

  “Perhaps Deputy Cobb can drop off the materials on Monday.” McCoy stood and Mattie rose to stand beside him. “It sounds like a good idea to involve the superintendent, but we’d like to move forward with this as quickly as possible. I’ll check with your secretary on my way out to get started on setting up a meeting with the two of you as soon as possible.”

  McCoy extended his hand, and Mattie followed suit, realizing that McCoy had taken hold of the meeting and didn’t plan to let Brennaman delay implementation of the program. She followed the sheriff to the front desk but passed by to go outside when he and Brennaman stopped to talk to the receptionist.

  The air felt clean and fresh, and Mattie drew in a deep breath, feeling a huge sense of relief that the meeting was over. Brennaman appeared to accept her; it was Robo he seemed to have problems with.

  While she was putting Robo back into the cruiser, McCoy exited the building and walked down the sidewalk to join her. “Be sure and get those materials you mentioned over to Mr. Brennaman on Monday.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Spend some time this afternoon writing up a proposal that I can use with the superintendent. Have it on my desk by the end of the day. I’ll set up that meeting with the superintendent and Brennaman next week.” McCoy looked off to the distance, thinking. “We didn’t learn anything useful about Grace here. Right now, Mike Chadron is the best lead we’ve got. If he doesn’t come back to town tonight, I’ll resubmit an affidavit for search in the morning. I’ll take it over to Judge Taylor personally, and we’ll have a little talk. He won’t deny us again.”

  McCoy went to his Jeep and got inside, leaving Mattie to get into her own vehicle. She couldn’t help feeling drained from the stress she’d put on herself prior to the meeting. She’d always known that she would stand a better chance of leaving her past behind if she moved away from Timber Creek, but this was the only place she’d ever called home.

  Besides, she couldn’t help but believe that one day her mother would come back to look for her here. And more than anything, Mattie wanted to be found.

  Before starting up the cruiser’s engine, she turned to Robo, putting her hand into the steel cage to pet him. “Hey, buddy. I know I got a little hyped up in there, and you did, too. But remember I’m in charge, okay? You don’t have to protect me just because I’m a basket case.”

  Chapter 13

  Since writing wasn’t her strong suit, Mattie wrestled with the proposal until her shift ended. After finishing up, she drove over to Crane’s Market to get Robo another bone. Starving after going all day without lunch, she went home to make herself a ham and cheese sandwich for dinner.

  When her cell phone rang, she noticed it was the vet calling.

  “Mattie Cobb.”

  “This is Cole Walker.”

  “Hello. How is Angie feeling tonight?”

  “She’s better, almost recovered from the food poisoning.”

  “And how’s Belle?”

  “She’s not bearing weight on her leg yet, but it’s still early for that. I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to get her down to the house for the night. Neither of the girls will have it any other way.”

  “I’m glad to hear she’ll get some special attention. All three of them have had a tough day. They’ll be good for each other.” Mattie paused, unsure if she should go this next direction. “I hope it’ll be okay with your wife.”

  “What’s that?”

  Her curiosity embarrassed her. “Oh, you mentioned to me yesterday that your wife didn’t allow dogs in the house.”

  “Oh. Oh, yeah. Well, it won’t be a problem.”

  Maybe the rumors around town are true.

  “Thanks for handling the questions with Angie so well today,” Walker said.

  “Sure. Just doing my job.”

  “Well, you seem to do it better than the detective.”

  “Not necessarily. I think I’ve just had more experience talking to kids. I think she’s really quite good at what she does.”

  “I hope so. But the reason I called is I got some
lab results back from Belle that you’ll be interested in.”

  “Oh?”

  “It wasn’t just the foreign bodies that caused the diarrhea. She had salmonella.”

  Mattie’s mind made the connection immediately. “Clucken House.”

  “Yeah.” He paused for a moment. “It got Belle and Angie, both.”

  She also remembered that Mike Chadron cooked at Clucken House. This was more proof that Chadron had been the one to feed Belle the meat after forcing the balloons filled with cocaine down her throat.

  But Walker was the one to say it. “You know that Mike Chadron works as a cook at Clucken House, right?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Have you questioned him yet?”

  “He’s out of town. Supposed to be at a dog show and back home tonight. We’ll visit with him first thing in the morning.”

  “Is he a suspect?”

  “I’d say more a person of interest.”

  “Can you let me know how it turns out?”

  “I’ll keep you informed about what I can.” Mattie paused. “Thanks for calling to let me know about the lab results. It’s important information.”

  She ended the call feeling like they’d both left several things unsaid. Since he seemed to want to be involved, she wished she could bring him more fully into the investigation. She also knew how badly he must want justice for the death of this child. But there was only so much she could say under the circumstances.

  Thinking it over, she grew impatient. She hated to sit around waiting for Mike to turn up, and she began to wonder if there might not be a justifiable reason to do a welfare check on the guy. After all, it was well known that there’d been a salmonella outbreak at his place of employment. Maybe he’d been sick in bed and unable to answer the door when Brody checked earlier in the day. Just maybe she’d better run over there and check on him herself. And she’d keep her eyes wide open for probable cause to get a warrant while she was at it.

  If Mike Chadron killed Grace, he should be considered dangerous, but she rejected the idea of calling in backup. And since she’d be acting unofficially and on her own time, she wouldn’t subject Robo to the risks either. Besides, she’d already set him up in the kitchen on its old linoleum floor with his new bone. She wouldn’t ask him to leave it again. So after tucking her second handgun, a Smith & Wesson .38, into her waistband at the small of her back and pulling on a jacket to cover it, she headed out to her patrol car alone.

  Chadron lived on the west edge of town in a run-down log house with dried adobe in the chinks. Shaped like a cracker box, it might have been built a century ago. There were chain-link dog runs out back attached to an old shed that served as indoor dog shelters and a kennel office. The back of the property sat next to a hay field adjacent to the city boundary, and the lots to each side were empty of houses but filled with junk. Bare dirt beneath towering ponderosas made up the front yard. A path made of flat shale stepping stones that must have been put into place decades ago led to the front door. Most of the stones were all but obscured with dirt. Chadron’s vehicle was still not visible, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t parked in one of the old sheds out back.

  As Mattie approached the house, she went into that hyperalert state associated with going into a risky situation. She could hear a truck gear down out on the highway, a woman call her children down the street, a breeze sigh through the ponderosa. She continuously scanned the house, checking windows, the edge of the building, and the door. As she drew near, she saw it had been left open a few inches.

  Someone must be here. Brody didn’t mention a door being open when he checked the place this morning.

  She knocked on the door jam. After a short wait and no answer, she called inside. “Mike? You home?”

  Mattie listened intently but could hear nothing. She knew she was taking a risk if she entered Mike’s home, and not just a physical risk—she could also threaten the investigation. Any evidence found by entering a suspect’s home illegally couldn’t be used in court, even if she left the premises and tried to get a warrant. But if she could see something to give her probable cause, she could enter.

  She went to the window off to her right and peered in: a messy living room with a big-screen TV. A recliner sat in front of it, the back of the chair toward her. She thought she could see the back of a person’s head at the top of the chair. No movement. Who was it? Sleeping or sick?

  Mattie pushed the door open enough to step inside. “Mike? You in here?”

  She stood in a boxy entryway with log walls and a filthy wood floor. The place smelled musty and unclean. And there was another odor she couldn’t place. She walked farther into the living room, scanning as she went: sparse, worn furniture and glass and wrought iron end tables. Close enough now to tell it was definitely a person’s head she’d seen.

  “Mike?”

  She knew he was dead before she reached him. A bullet hole in his right temple, blood saturating the chair’s back. A handgun in his lap, near his bandaged right hand. No decomposition noticeable. She thought of a hunter’s phrase . . . fresh kill.

  Mattie drew her weapon. Holding it ready, she strained to listen, wanting to hear any movement, any rustle of sound that could tell her if she was alone or not.

  The place sounded dead. Cautiously scanning the room, she checked for a pulse at Mike’s neck. Nothing. She’d known he was dead, but she had to check. Using standard operating procedure, she raised her weapon in both hands and slipped quickly toward an open doorway that led to the next room.

  The kitchen was awful: food-encrusted dishes were piled on counters and the floor and appliances were covered with years of grime. From there, she cleared two bedrooms and a bath, finding no one.

  Once again in the kitchen, her eyes swept the countertop but were riveted by what she spotted toward the back, halfway behind a stack of dirty dishes.

  A box of rodent poison.

  Moving into the living room, Mattie stared at the dead man and felt a moment of regret. Son of a bitch. Her gut told her this was the man who tried to poison her dog . . . and she’d never have the pleasure of kicking his ass.

  Chapter 14

  In the dim evening light, red-and-blue strobes circled from atop three Timber Creek County Sheriff cruisers, throwing a cyclical colored wash on the log walls of the Chadron house. Yellow tape enclosed the crime scene. Despite seven years of police service, the effect still gave Mattie an eerie feeling. She approached from down the street where she’d been knocking on doors, asking neighbors if they’d heard or seen anything unusual that day. Everyone she’d turned up had denied it. Homes were thinly scattered on this edge of town, so it could be possible.

  Detective LoSasso arrived in her silver Honda. After parking her car, LoSasso strode up to Mattie, face rigid with anger, an icy glint in her blue eyes. “What made you decide to come over here tonight?”

  “I learned that our dog victim had salmonella, and I knew Chadron cooked at the restaurant that was shut down yesterday because of the same illness. I thought he might be incapacitated or sick. I did a welfare check.”

  “And you didn’t think of calling me first?”

  The question surprised her. “I knew you’d gone home for the night. There’d be no reason to call you before doing a welfare check.”

  Sheriff McCoy came up to join them. LoSasso narrowed her eyes and stared at Mattie. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Thanks for coming back, Detective,” said McCoy. “From the looks of things, we’ve got a suicide on our hands. I’m eager to see what you think.”

  Still giving Mattie a hard stare, LoSasso paused. She turned away without speaking and walked toward the house with McCoy. Mattie followed behind, keeping her distance. She’d let the detective have a few minutes in the house before requesting what she’d been wanting to do ever since she found the body: sweep the area with Robo.

  Inside, LoSasso appeared to take in the scene. Doctor McGinnis, who also acted as Timber Creek’s coroner
, stood near the body.

  “Good,” the doctor said in lieu of greeting. “You’re finally here. I’d like to get this body transported as soon as possible, but Sheriff McCoy wouldn’t let me move it until you’d seen it.”

  Mattie noticed that LoSasso stiffened. The detective had driven more than one hundred miles this evening just to go home and then turned around and drove back to Timber Creek. The delay was not her fault.

  “Simply following protocol,” McCoy said. He introduced the doctor to the detective.

  Silent, LoSasso squatted down next to the corpse and studied it. The odor assailed Mattie, and now she recognized it for what it was: a cross between raw meat and the ironlike taint of blood.

  “Cause of death is a gunshot wound to the head. Time of death, according to degree of rigor mortis, I’d guess two to six hours ago,” McGinnis said.

  LoSasso glanced at him. “Can you tell me something I don’t know, Doc?”

  McGinnis looked offended. “I’ll leave that up to the medical examiner, Detective. That’s why I want to transport the body as soon as possible.”

  “Is the CSU done with taking pictures?” LoSasso stood to take latex gloves from her pants pocket.

  “Yes,” McCoy said. “They got here about a half hour ago.”

  “Then let’s start bagging this evidence.” She picked up the handgun with gloved fingers, handling it delicately. “We’ve got a neat little Walther P22 here, semiautomatic, uses the same caliber ammo as the casing Robo found.”

  She bagged the handgun and then lightly touched a bandage on the dead man’s hand. “Would you help me take a look at this, Doc?”

  Dr. McGinnis moved forward, gloving up once again. “If you’ll just step aside a moment, Detective,” he said, and he began unwrapping the bandage.

  The wound that he uncovered looked nasty, the fleshy part of the hand torn and bruised and bearing two obvious puncture marks that even Mattie could see.

  “Looks like a dog bite,” McGinnis murmured.

  “Um-hmm,” Stella said, meeting Mattie’s gaze.