Reed Ferguson 1-3

by Renee Pawlish

  “Not funny,” I said.

  “It kind of was,” Cal laughed, but stopped when I didn’t join him. “Maybe it’s time to involve the police,” he suggested.

  “Maybe I should,” I said, feeling a little like I was admitting defeat. I got onto the Internet and searched for the sheriff’s office nearest to Deer Trail. “I can go to the sheriff in Strasburg.”

  “How far is that from Deer Trail?”

  “It’s about twenty miles west.” I thought for a moment. “I’ll show the sheriff the pictures. That ought to convince them to go out to Jack’s place and at least talk to them.”

  “And if they don’t do anything?” Cal asked.

  “I’ll go get the dog myself.”

  “I figured you’d say that. You want help?” Cal offered.

  I thought about Deuce. “No,” I said, not wanting anyone else to get hurt because of my profession. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Suits me,” Cal said. “You’re the detective, not me.”

  “Right,” I said and we hung up.

  I spent a few minutes printing the best pictures of the dognapping. I put them in a manila envelope and then printed the directions to the sheriff’s office in Strasburg. I packed up the camera and then dragged myself into the bedroom and changed clothes, fighting exhaustion. Once I’d dressed, I took a small box from a shelf in the closet. In it was my Glock pistol. After my first investigation, when I’d been shot in the ass, I decided it was time to buy a gun. Up to this point, all I’d done was shoot it at the firing range. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to use it, it was that I preferred TV detective Jim Rockford’s reason for not carrying a gun: “Because I don’t want to shoot anybody.” But right now, I also didn’t relish going up against Jack and Marv without some protection. I got the camera bag and the envelope and headed out to the living room.

  Knuckles rapped on the door and Willie let herself in.

  “Here’s the phone,” she said, holding up a bag.

  I put my hand with the gun behind my back, but it was too late.

  “I hope you –” she stopped as she spied the gun. “Reed?”

  “It’s no big deal,” I said, setting the gun and camera bag down. “After what’s happened, I want to be careful. Can I see the phone?”

  Willie handed me the bag. Her eyes flashed a mix of annoyance and concern.

  I sat down on the couch and fiddled with the phone. “This is great, thanks. Looks like it needs to be charged. I can do that in the car.”

  “Reed.”

  I looked up. “What?”

  “Why don’t you let the police handle this?”

  “I am. I’m going to visit the sheriff in Strasburg and show them the pictures.”

  “Then why the gun?”

  I shrugged.

  Willie threw up her hands. “If they don’t help, you’re going to go it on your own, aren’t you?”

  I stood up, threw on my coat, shoved the gun in a pocket, and snatched up the camera bag.

  “It’s my job.”

  Willie bit her lip. “Great. I’m falling for a guy who’s going to get himself killed.”

  All I heard was that she was falling for me. That made my day. Clint Eastwood couldn’t have said it better. I limped toward the door.

  “You need to stay off that ankle,” Willie said.

  “I will, soon enough.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Nothing’s going to happen. I’ll go out there, report them, and get the dog back.”

  “Just take the pictures to the police,” Willie said. She made a motion like she was wiping her hands. “Leave it at that. Case closed.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  I opened the door, waiting for Willie.

  “Fine, don’t take my advice.” She stomped out past me. “Don’t call me when you get into trouble again.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I murmured as I followed her down the stairs.

  She stormed across the street to her place and I hurried around back to the garage, wishing she weren’t mad at me. But I didn’t have time to think about that now. If everything went according to plan, I’d be home safe in a few hours, and Willie would realize she’d been anxious for nothing. I hoped the sheriff’s office would let me bring Aesop back to the Johnsons. That would be a nice ending to the case.

  Too bad it didn’t turn out like that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  About forty-five minutes later I exited off I-70 onto Wagner Street in Strasburg. I followed the directions I’d printed out and turned east on Colfax and then north on Monroe Street. From there it didn’t take long before I spotted the Arapahoe County Sheriff’s Office. I parked, grabbed the manila envelope with the dognapping pictures and hurried in the building.

  A uniformed officer sat at a desk behind a counter. When I entered, he stared up at me and his eyes narrowed. Not the reception I wanted, but I’m sure the fact that I looked like I’d been in a bar fight didn’t help. I tried not to limp as I strolled up to the counter.

  “Can I help you?” he asked in a gruff voice. He was built like a boxer, with a thick chest and large hands. The buttons of his shirt threatened to pop off. His nameplate said, “E. Myers.”

  “I’m Reed Ferguson,” I introduced myself. “I’m a private investigator from Denver. I was hired to find stolen show dogs. In the course of my investigation, I followed some dognappers and I’ve got pictures of these men stealing a dog.”

  “You…what?” Myers struggled to keep a straight face.

  I shook my head wearily. Of course, with that introduction I sounded like a crackpot. “Good move, Reed,” I thought. Where was Bogie when I needed him? No cop would question Bogie.

  Myers glanced into the cracked door of an inner office. I wondered if whoever was in that room was laughing at me.

  I pulled the pictures from the envelope. “I’ve got pictures of these men stealing a dog. Look.”

  I spread the pictures on the counter. Myers picked one up in his beefy hand and gazed at it. “He’s got a dog but who’s to say that isn’t his dog?”

  “It’s not,” I said. “You can check with the couple who own the dog. The owner of that truck is named Jack Porter. He lives outside of Deer Trail. That dog belongs to Matt and Leslie Johnson who live in Denver.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. He still wasn’t taking me seriously.

  A small radio fastened to his left shoulder clicked, emitting voices covered in static.

  “Hold on,” he held up a hand and listened.

  I tapped my fingers on the counter, waiting.

  Myers pressed a button on the radio and spoke in a low voice.

  “I’ve got to handle this,” he said when he’d finished. He set the picture down. “If you want to wait, I’ll fill out a report when I’m through.”

  “How long will that be?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, brushing me off. “Have a seat.”

  “For how long?” I asked again.

  His radio squawked again, something about a crash out on I-70.

  “I’ll get to you,” he said more forcefully. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Thanks,” I said, reluctant to leave. He glared at me and I realized I didn’t have a choice. I sat down in a hard plastic chair near the door and waited. And waited.

  I finally called Gail.

  “Have the Johnsons heard anything?” I asked when she answered.

  “No. They’re worried sick.”

  “I wonder if the dognappers are purposely waiting a long time so the Johnsons will pay anything to get their dog back.”

  “That’s terrible,” Gail said.

  “Tell them I’m working on it,” I said. “And make sure you call me when they hear something.”

  I hung up and glanced over the counter. Myers was on the phone.

  What if I couldn’t get him to take me seriously? What if Marv and Jack sped things up and tried to get the ransom money tonight? If they returned Aesop before the sheriff showed up, it’d be ha
rd to prove Marv and Jack broke the law, especially since Myers didn’t seem to believe me. I decided there was only one thing for me to do.

  I left.

  I hobbled back to the 4-Runner, ignoring the soreness in my ankle, and drove to Deer Trail. I flew past the Phillips 66 and, in short order, I turned east on 34, my gut tightening at the memory of last night’s debacle.

  It wouldn’t be hard to find Jack’s place because he lived right on 34, four miles from Deer Trail. My palms grew sweaty as I thought about confronting Jack. To calm myself down, I hummed along with Echo And The Bunnymen as they sang Lips Like Sugar, a favorite song of mine. A few miles later, I slowed as a small farmhouse on the north side of the road came into view. A locked red iron gate blocked the entrance to the property. An old tan Lincoln Town Car was parked in front of the house. About a hundred feet behind the house sat a weathered old barn. Jack’s blue Ram truck was parked in a covered space next to the house.

  I continued down the road until the house disappeared. Then I flipped a U-turn and stopped on the side of the road. What to do?

  The sun sat low in the western sky. It would soon be dark. If I was going to be able to see anything, I’d better go now.

  I got out, stuffed my camera in my coat pocket, tucked my gun in the small of my back, and locked the 4-Runner. It was chilly, but not nearly as cold as the night before. I trudged along the side of the road, prepared to duck into the ditch if anyone came along. No one did.

  A few minutes later I approached Jack’s house. A hundred feet from the house I paused behind a leafless tree and watched the property. I pulled out the camera and zoomed in on the house. Through a side window I spotted the figure of a woman moving around. Then Jack passed by the window.

  “Where’s the dog?” I muttered.

  I panned around the house but didn’t see any evidence of dogs. I had to know where Aesop was being kept. That meant getting closer to the house.

  I shoved the camera back in my coat pocket, crouched down and trekked through a field toward the east side of the house. On the other side of a barb-wire fence a wide lane led to the barn. Beyond that were a large yard and the house. I couldn’t see anyone in the window. I glanced around, then stepped on one wire, pulled up another, and ducked through. Then I dashed across the lane, through the yard, and up to the side of the house.

  I pressed myself against the wall and listened. No one ran out of the house with guns trained on me. Conclusion: I hadn’t been spotted. I slid along the wall to the back side of the house. I peered around. A few rickety chairs sat around a picnic table and a huge iron smoke grill stood out in the open between the house and barn. I hoped that Aesop might be tied up outside, but I didn’t see him.

  The front door opened and the hum of voices broke the stillness. I hit the ground and crawled around the corner of the house. I pulled myself into a crouch and peeked back toward the front of the house.

  “You drive,” Jack was saying.

  Marv was walking to the Lincoln, followed by Jack and a tall reed-thin woman with long dark hair.

  “I want to go to Longhorn’s,” the woman said as she slid into the passenger side.

  “I ain’t driving to Byers, Connie,” Marv said, getting into the driver’s seat. “We’re eating at Brick Oven in town.”

  “Whatever,” the woman’s irritated voice drifted out of the car.

  “Jack, you gotta get the gate,” Marv said.

  That would be good, I thought. Once I found Aesop, I could go back and get the car, and retrieve him. That would save me having to carry the dog back to my car.

  Jack strolled to the red gate, unlocked it and swung it open. Marv drove through and waited for Jack to close and lock the gate. Then Jack hopped into the back, and the car peeled out onto 34. So much for being able to drive through the gate.

  But I was still elated. I figured I had at least an hour before they returned from dinner. Three quick steps and I was at the back door. I listened but heard nothing. I tried the handle and it turned. I breathed a sigh of relief and stepped into the kitchen.

  A miniscule round table with four chairs sat in one corner. Old metal cupboards dominated part of one wall, a sink, more cupboards and a refrigerator sat against another wall. I didn’t see any dog dishes or other indications that Aesop might be around. I noticed a tall pantry door by the refrigerator. I opened it but saw no dog and no dog food.

  I shut the pantry door and hurried through the rest of the house. The living room had a worn white couch and love seat against the walls, a large flat screen TV across from them, and a fake oak coffee table. Down a hallway were two bedrooms and a bathroom. The master bedroom was a mess, with an unmade bed and clothes strewn about. The other room consisted of office furniture and boxes. If they kept Aesop in here, I saw no evidence of it.

  Maybe Aesop was in the barn. I hurried back through the kitchen and let myself out. The sound of car tires on the driveway split the air. I froze. Were they back already?

  I flattened myself against the side of the house.

  A horn beeped, then a car door opened. “Jack? Connie? You there?” a low voice called.

  “Leave it on the steps,” another male voice said. “They’ll get it when they come home.”

  “Maybe I should take it around back.”

  I looked around frantically. Where could I go?

  “It’s just the supplies,” the second voice said. “Leave it and let’s go.”

  “Okay.” A crinkling of paper drifted through the air, then a car door slammed. A second later, the car drove away.

  I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. I let it out slowly. I hurried around to the front and opened the bag that they’d left on the porch. Some dog brushes, unmarked bottles with liquid in them, and some syringes. Whoever that was, they’d left dog supplies. But what were Jack and Marv doing to the dogs they stole? I shrugged. Regardless, I was definitely in the right place. Now if I could just find the damn dog and get out of here.

  I ran to the back of the house and through the yard, past the smoke grill and to the barn. As I pushed open the heavy door, it creaked loudly. Inside was a beat-up Chevy truck, a tractor, and other farm equipment thrown in the stalls. I saw no livestock. Then, in one of the stalls I found stacks of cheap dog food. But still no sign of Aesop.

  “Where the hell is he?” I asked myself. “Think, Reed. Think!”

  I didn’t like the feel of this. Why hide one dog so carefully? There was more to this. But what? And where were they keeping Aesop?

  I eased back out of the barn and closed the door. I looked toward the other side of the house, but didn’t see a dog house or any other place where a dog might be, so I walked around behind the barn. A stark field ran as far as I could see. I gazed west and squinted into the setting sun. I had about thirty minutes of light.

  Where to look? I chewed my lower lip, thinking. Then Alan’s words came to me, when he’d given me a lift in his truck. “Those old boys know how to camouflage themselves.”

  I took out my camera and trained it out into the fields, zooming in. I carefully fanned from left to right. There! I looked over the camera, then back into the lens. Off in the distance was a rise in the ground. Thick undergrowth appeared to be blocking something, but I couldn’t tell what.

  I put the camera back and traipsed across the field, stepping carefully so I wouldn’t twist my already injured foot. Fifty yards out I neared the clump of shrubs and now I could see what they were blocking. A long structure on stilts about five feet high and twenty feet long sat tucked into the rise in the hill. Heavy tarps covered the sides and dirt was strewn on top of the structure.

  I stepped around the brush and pulled back one of the tarps. My jaw dropped. Dozens of small dogs sat locked in small cages. These looked nothing like the pampered show dogs I’d seen just a day ago. Among the breeds I recognized were Shih Tzu and terriers. A powerful urine smell almost overwhelmed me. I took a couple of hesitant steps, my mind not processing the horror I wa
s seeing. Many of the dogs were filthy, with matted hair and sickly eyes. Most shook with the cold. Some were pregnant. None made any noise.

  “Oh my…” I lost my voice. One poor dog gazed at me with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen.

  So this is why Jack and Marv were so intent on stopping me. I didn’t know a lot about puppy mills, but I wasn’t immune to the fact that there was huge money to be made breeding and selling puppy-mill dogs to pet stores.

  My eyes scanned the cages. I saw a couple of Parson Russell Terriers with unkempt fur, and then I spotted Aesop. He stuck out amongst the others because he was cleaned and well-groomed. “That wouldn’t last long,” I thought.

  I strode over to his cage. He cowered in the back corner.

  “Hey, boy,” I whispered to him. He hesitated, his little body quaking. Then he took a few uncertain steps to the edge of the cage. I stuck my finger between the cage wires and petted him.

  “I’ll get you out,” I said. I glanced at the other dogs. “I’ll get you all out.”

  A silver padlock secured the cage door. I’d have to find a key. I searched all around but didn’t see any hanging nearby. They were probably in the house, or maybe the barn.

  I reached back in Aesop’s cage and patted him on the head. “I’ll be back.”

  I stepped back, took out my camera, and snapped a bunch of shots of the cages. The camera’s flash lit up the enclosed space, capturing the wretched conditions the dogs lived in. I shook my head in disgust as I crept back through the shrubs.

  The sun had set, leaving everything in a gray haze. I started across the field, my eyes trying to adjust to the dimness. I fell once, twisting my ankle. “Damn it,” I groaned, clutching my leg. I stood up and hurried on.

  I was about twenty feet from the barn when Marv’s car turned onto the property. I ducked down, not sure if they could see me walking in the field. I stayed in a squat and moved to my right, using the barn as a shield. I waited a moment to see if anyone came running. When no one did, I stood up and ran to the barn, gritting my teeth against the pain in my ankle. I reached the barn and paused, then peeked around the side. Lights blinked on in the house but I didn’t see anyone through the back windows. A bluish winking hue told me the television had been turned on.