by Vella Munn
The female responded with an even deeper growl that put him more on edge. The fishing pole was hardly what he needed in the way of a weapon, but if he swung it at the dog’s nose, it might do the trick.
“Go back where you came from.”
Lobo had stopped his attack on the fence and was watching him and the gray. Wayde had forgotten he was holding the flashlight. Now the weight drew his attention to it. Aiming the fishing pole as if it were a spear, he shined the light in the gray’s eyes.
Fury and warning glittered back at him. The huge beast was more than some stray that had wandered onto his property. Not only did she appear well fed and cared for, she lacked the skittish quality most homeless dogs had.
Her eyes held a single message. If he wanted to live, he’d go inside.
Sweat broke out on him as he backed inside and slammed the door shut. His arms shook, so he dropped the fishing pole and flashlight.
What if she jumped the fence? Would she attack his pets? Change them somehow?
He gave serious thought to calling nine-one-one, but damn it, he should be able to handle this. Besides, he needed to continue to keep a low profile. One thing he did know, he couldn’t let things go on the way they were, because the howls would upset his handful of neighbors. He hurried into the bedroom and grabbed the shotgun he used on the rats that lived in the barn.
Some area residents engaged in target practice. Maybe no one would think much of it if they heard a shot even in the middle of the night—either that or they’d figure he’d done what he had to, to shut up the animals.
Done with justifying his decision, he went back outside with the already loaded shotgun, turning on the porch light as he did.
The wolf-dogs were still up in arms, all except for Lobo running around. Lobo stood like a bird dog on point. The gray hadn’t moved from where he’d last seen her. It was as if she’d been waiting for him to return.
“Last chance.” He was surprised by how calm he sounded. He aimed. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve never hurt a dog in my life but if you won’t leave…”
She gave his warning no heed.
“Go. Just the hell go.” He waved the shotgun.
One of the wolf-dogs, maybe Lobo, howled. The big newcomer stared at them, then again fastened her attention on him. The flashlight had given her eyes an unnatural and unearthly cast. They seemed more normal now, but if he didn’t know better, he’d say she had intellect. Reasoning.
“Do you know what this is?” He sighted down the barrel at her. “Believe me, hoping Lobo will knock you up isn’t worth it. Go home.”
She’d cocked her head to the side while he was making his speech. Now she started walking toward him. She was in essence ambling in his direction, but that could change any moment and if she attacked—
“Last chance.”
She kept coming.
He deliberately aimed so the buckshot would hit the ground in front of her. The sound stopped her in mid stride. Her ears went down, and she tucked her tail between her legs. The wolf-dogs howled.
“That’s your warning. Now just—”
She pulled back her lips, revealing large white fangs. Her chest muscles bunched.
“Ah shit!”
As he fired, his only thought was to stop her from attacking him. She yipped and jumped a good foot off the ground. Astonishment and shock replaced her earlier determination. She started to arch her neck as if trying to see her chest. Then she spun around and sped into the night.
“I’m sorry,” he said even though he knew she couldn’t hear for the howls. “I’m so sorry.”
Chapter Fifteen
Douglas had told Nate to come in the sheriff’s department’s back door. The moment he entered, the deputy ended his conversation with another officer and waved Nate over. “Sorry to get you out in the middle of the night.”
Nate glanced at the wall clock. Technically it was morning, if that’s what five a.m. qualified as. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he admitted.
“That doesn’t surprise me. I wanted to call you the moment we got word about the latest attack, but I was busy.”
“Yeah. The sheriff contacted my manager. Crosby called me hours ago.”
“Which is why you weren’t sleeping.”
Nate chided himself for not expressing sympathy for his friend. Douglas looked like hell. “I don’t know much,” he admitted. “Just that there’s been another fatal animal attack. Does the press know?”
“Hopefully not yet. We kept it away from the scanners. We’re still pulling things together but hopefully what’s going on right now will give us some clarity.”
“What’s going on?”
Douglas jerked his head toward the hall. “Detectives are talking to the witness. Before you go in, I want you to understand why I suggested you be the one to listen in. It’s not that my department has a problem with your coworkers, but you were there right after the first attack. We’re looking for as much consistency as possible.”
Unable to smile, Nate settled for a nod. “Also this way if there are any leaks they’ll know who to come after.”
Douglas shook his head. “I know you. It won’t happen. The kid’s a mess. I don’t know if Sarito and Sherborn are going to be able to get anything useful out of him.”
The middle of the night call from Crosby had been terse. A man had been attacked and killed on pasture land. The terrified witness, the victim’s son, had lost his cell phone so it had taken him a while to reach help. Apparently the kid was practically catatonic.
“If he isn’t talking,” Nate said, “how can you be sure it was dogs that attacked his father?” Douglas hadn’t told him much, but why else would he have been called in?
“I saw the father.”
“As bad as the brothers?”
“At least. The poor kid’s going to have to live with that all his life.”
Fingers clenched, Nate nodded. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Douglas led the way down a short hall and stopped at an unmarked door.
Douglas rapped on it. A few seconds later the door opened and Detective Sarito, who Nate had worked with before, peered out. Sarito’s thick black hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in days.
“Come on in,” Sarito said. “The kid’s warming up to my partner. Right now it’s best if you and I mostly listen.”
The interview room was pretty much what he’d seen on TV, complete with stark walls and a battered table. What he hadn’t expected was the smell of sweat, urine, stale cigarette smoke and other things he didn’t want to think about. He’d expected the witness to be a boy, but his cheeks sported stubble and he had a man’s shoulders. He wasn’t particularly muscular, but neither did he look like a couch potato.
The teenager was leaning forward and staring at Detective Sherborn, who sat near the table with his arms on it as if offering himself should the kid need something to hold onto.
“West?” Sarito said. “I brought Nate Chee in because he’s a dog expert. We’re going to sit here and let you talk, but is it all right if Nate occasionally asks a question?”
“You know dogs?” West asked.
“I believe I do. How about you?”
The teen put his head in his hands. Nate listened for the sound of crying but heard nothing. “I’ve always wanted one, but I can’t.”
“Why not?” Nate asked. “Maybe your family lives where—”
“It’s not that. My sister is allergic to them.” West straightened. Tears filmed pale-blue eyes. “My mom—has anyone…”
Sarito covered West’s hands with his own. “There’s someone with her right now. I specifically asked one of our female officers to break the news. The officer will tell her where you are and what you’re doing. I’m sure you’ll see her soon.”
“Mom…”
“What about your mother?” Sarito asked.
“I don’t know what she’s going to do. Dad—he didn’t always work but he—” West faced each detective in turn. “Life kic
ked him. He could have tried harder, but at least he always put his family first. He didn’t deserve to…”
“No one is judging you or your father,” Sarito said. “My partner and I saw where the attack took place. We saw a dead fawn that had been shot, but that isn’t what this is about. You know there was another dog attack recently.”
As West nodded, Nate turned his attention to Sherborn. This was the first he’d heard about a dead fawn. Putting one and one together, he concluded the deer had been the victim of illegal hunting.
Had West’s father been killed in an act of revenge? By Joe’s dogs?
Joe’s grays? Damn it, he knew better than to jump to conclusions.
“Why were you in that pasture?” Sarito asked. “You’re what, a senior? Maybe you saw deer around the high school and told your dad—”
“I dropped out last year.”
Which meant West wasn’t Rachelle’s student. The thought of her knocked Nate a little off balance. He wondered how she’d react to this. One thing he had no doubt of, she’d defend her stepfather and the grays. Fortunately his relationship with her was strictly professional. Doing his job was easier this way.
Wasn’t it?
“I don’t want anyone getting in trouble,” West said. “But—please believe me—Dad and I had permission to be on the property.”
“We’re still trying to get in touch with the owner,” Sherborn said. “Looks like you were right about Albee being out of town. Nate, the killing took place within spitting distance of the high school. Once parents hear that—”
“The owner wouldn’t happen to be Jake Albee?” Nate asked.
The detectives exchanged a glance. Even West took note. “You know him?” Sarito asked.
“I was out there in early July. Neighbors were concerned his cattle weren’t getting enough water.” Technically he shouldn’t be sharing this information with West, but he didn’t want to wait to give the detectives this information. “He tried to brush me off, saying he knew how to care for his cattle. Then I dropped by a couple of weeks later and found two calves down. They were dehydrated but alive. That got his attention. He’s a man with a lot on his plate, most of it self-imposed.”
Silence followed his comment, giving him time he didn’t want to mentally replay the urgency that had gone with getting water into the calves in time.
What if the dogs had known what had happened there?
“I remember something,” West said. “One day when I was still going to school, I heard about a cow that had gotten a leg stuck in the fence. A couple of girls managed to free it but they said its leg was pretty torn up. My friends and I talked about how would the owner like it if the same thing happened to him.”
Nate was pleased to see the teen a little more animated, he just didn’t like the reason. He had no intention of telling West he’d seen worse than that during his years on the job.
“West,” Sarito said, “I know this is hard, but we need you to tell us as much as you can about what happened. We aren’t interested in pursuing a deer poaching charge. The sooner we finish here, the sooner we can get you back with your mother and sisters.”
“Mom—I was hoping to enlist in the army. Now I’m going to have to stay here and help her pay the bills.”
Someone who didn’t know him might see West as little more than a dropout, but he was mature for his age. Later, hopefully, Nate would be able to talk to him about finishing his education and maybe learning a trade.
His own father had given him essential guidance. It was the least he could do for a kid who’d just lost his.
“I know reuniting with your family is what you want to do,” Sarito said. “The important thing is for you to tell us everything you remember.”
West wiped his eyes. “It was awfully dark in the trees. When—all the time Dad and I were walking, I kept thinking this was crazy, that we should have at least waited until the moon was all the way out, but Dad said this was better.”
Because there was less chance they’d be spotted?
The deeper West got into his story, the stronger his voice became and the more his hands shook. Sarito occasionally asked him to elaborate on a point but for the most part he let the boy talk. Nate kept reminding himself that they were sitting in a well-secured sheriff’s department building. Just the same, his imagination fed off images of two people whose only intention had been to do some father-son bonding. Granted, what they’d been doing was illegal, but they were outside getting some exercise, together.
Nate became tense as West started describing the attack. If this was a movie he’d be tempted to cover his eyes or walk out. Memories of what was left of the brothers at the puppy mill had a lot to do with what he was feeling.
“I heard—mostly I heard.” West stood and walked the short distance to the closed door. He turned around and pressed his back against it. “I knew what was happening, but I couldn’t see much.”
Thank goodness.
“Do you have an idea how far you were from your father?” Sarito asked.
“I’m not sure.” West’s hand went to his throat. “Close enough that I could smell when he—Dad’s screams were—I couldn’t move.”
Sarito pointed at the chair West had vacated. “It’s probably a good thing you didn’t. They might have run you down. Come sit, please.”
“I can’t. The dog—it kept snarling. It was as if it didn’t take a breath the whole time.”
“One dog?” Nate asked. “You think only one attacked your dad?”
“Yes. No. I can’t remember.” He released his throat and pressed his hands against his ears. “Oh God, those sounds—I’m never going to be able to sleep again.”
He would, eventually, but his peaceful nights were behind him. Nate hoped West would get counseling and that it would do some good.
“I’m confused,” Sherborn said. “When the police first got to you, you mentioned dogs. Plural.”
“You’re right. It’s just that—at different times…”
The explanation came in fits and starts. In between telling his story, West fought demons Nate could only imagine. The crowded room wasn’t enough to keep the scene at bay. In Nate’s mind, he took every step the teen had, heard the same things, felt identical disbelief and terror.
One dog had wanted to kill West, but the other two had stopped their companion. The two had herded West to the pickup, giving him no choice but to leave his father. He’d sped to the high school and pounded on the door until the maintenance staff responded. They’d called nine-one-one.
Three large dogs.
“I know it was dark, and you had a lot to deal with,” Nate said, “but we’re hoping you can give us a description beyond big.”
“I want to.” West started to reach for his crotch, only to pull his hand back. “I pissed myself.”
“I would have too,” Nate said. “Were they all about the same size? Maybe the more aggressive one was larger than the others?” Don’t lead him.
West had sat down. Now he propped his elbows on the table, rested his chin in his palm and closed his eyes. A moment later they sprang open. “I can’t do that! Every time I shut my eyes I see…”
“Easy.” Sarito patted his shoulder. “Take your time.”
Much as Nate agreed with the detective, he needed more to go on. “You said one of them knocked you down. Do you think you might have been off balance? You weigh what, maybe one-seventy?”
“About that.”
“Then it would take a good-sized dog to win that battle.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it would.” West met Nate’s gaze. Too much white showed, and his pupils were small, almost as if he was trying to keep something out. “My dad’s—my dad was no lightweight. He had a beer belly.”
The poor kid was reaching his emotional limits. “So the dogs could have weighed in the neighborhood of a hundred pounds?”
“More than that. One-fifty at least.”
Like Joe’s grays. “Do you recall whether they had
long hair or short?”
West again closed his eyes. This time they remained shut a little longer, but when he opened them the horror was as intense as before. “Short. They didn’t have any extra meat on them. Lots of muscle.”
Do it. Ask the damn question. “How about their color?”
“Gray. I know because I saw them in the truck headlights. They made me think of storm clouds.”
Chapter Sixteen
Joe wished Rach wasn’t going to stop by on her way to work. They’d barely spoken since she’d expressed disapproval about him continuing to let the dogs out. Maybe she wouldn’t bring it up. She’d focus on the research she’d been doing about the Hopi. He didn’t know what difference learning about the Native Americans who lived where he’d found the dogs would make, but she was a teacher so maybe that’s how her thinking always went. What he knew about the Hopi wouldn’t take more than a minute to tell and he might be wrong. Why so many of them chose to live on such arid land was beyond him. The reservation was starkly beautiful and peaceful appearing, but it was also remote and, to his way of thinking, stuck in the past.
He’d been sitting in his recliner with his feet up, unable to summon interest in fixing breakfast. Smoke still wasn’t back. No way Rachelle wouldn’t notice, and when she did she’d undoubtedly tell him he was asking for trouble.
Maybe, but tell that to the grays. They needed freedom of movement. That’s what made them feel alive. They’d told him so. He couldn’t deny them what was so important to them. He couldn’t even bring himself to make them wear collars. Also, he knew what it felt like to be caged.
Why did he keep coming up with excuses? Even though he couldn’t deny what the grays had done to two men the other night, he’d let them leave again.
Hadn’t been able to stop them.
Gun and Stone sat on opposite sides of his chair, facing the front door as if they knew a visitor was expected. They’d been wet when they showed up, leading him to believe they’d been in a creek. Their coats were dry now but they still had that wet dog smell. He wanted to believe they’d spent the night playing in water.