I took a sharp breath. “Peter died? How?”
“Got hit crossing the street in a crosswalk right off base. Killed him instantly.” Nate shook his head. “Survived two tours and two amputations, only to be taken out by a distracted driver.” He looked at me with those blue eyes. “God’s ways are mysterious indeed.”
Mysterious? I sat frozen, stunned by what Nate told me. The music from the bar behind me suddenly seemed jarring. Nate’s story didn’t match. Peter was all, “Jesus this and Jesus that” and then gets killed crossing the street? C’mon!
I couldn’t imagine a god who would operate that way.
Nate changed the subject. Maybe he sensed my discomfort.
“So what about coming back to SAR?” he said.
I felt my face flush. “I never actually quit.”
He let me have that half-truth.
“But here’s the thing—I don’t want to do human remains. I just don’t want to.”
Nate nodded. “Okay.”
“Live searches—fine. I’m in. But not HRD.”
He leaned forward. “What threw you? Finding that girl?”
I was not going there. “Look, I’ve seen bodies before. I just don’t want to spend my time hunting for them.”
He twisted his mouth like he was chewing on that statement. But he swallowed it. “So we keep you on the live team. We can do that.” Nate put his napkin on the table. “I’m glad you’ll be back. Emily will send you the schedule, or you can get it off the website.”
I nodded, knowing neither one of us said the obvious. Sometimes a live search has a body at the end of it.
10
I have to admit I was relieved to be back doing SAR. I loved working with Luke, loved being out in the fields and woods, and loved watching the other dogs. The team included shepherds, two Malinois, a few border collies, a couple of Labs, and Nate’s little springer.
Luke was okay with all of them, except the Malinois. They’d mouth off at each other once in a while, and I was careful to maintain some distance.
Together, Emily and I mapped out a training plan for Luke, one that could potentially get us operational by spring. It was ambitious, but as I said, once I set my mind on something, I’m all in.
Nate raised his eyebrows when he saw the plan, but he didn’t try to stop us. I guess Luke had won him over.
I started with the agility component. Luke could already jump up on the tailgate of a car. I made a quick trip to Home Depot and snagged a long, twelve-inch wide board and some cinderblocks, then set up the board-walk task in Bruce’s backyard. I also found a collapsible tunnel online. Soon we were practicing for fifteen minutes several times a day.
I started taking the required online courses, things like “Introduction to the Incident Command System” and “National Park Service Basic Search and Rescue,” and a course in “Blood-borne Pathogens.” I signed up for a CPR refresher course at our local hospital and a four-week, first-aid class.
Meanwhile, I was becoming more popular as a private investigator. My Richmond and Charlottesville caseload had grown as my reputation spread. That was fine by me. The more time I spent away from Northern Virginia, the better. Still, the increase in paying jobs and my attention to those courses were keeping me up late at night.
To qualify for SAR, I also had to participate in two searches as a walker, plus spend a night out in an emergency shelter. My first callout came on an icy-cold February day at 2 p.m. A dementia patient had wandered away from a home in an area just outside of Charlottesville. Mrs. Sullivan, 87, used a cane and had heart disease and diabetes along with the dementia. It was just the kind of case I wanted to help with.
When Luke saw me drag out my pack, he went ballistic, jumping around and barking. I shushed him three or four times, then sat him down and told him this search wasn’t for him, and when I got back, I’d take him for a long run.
As I walked out to my car alone, I could hear his loud protest barks. I glanced up and saw the upstairs lights were on—Bruce was home. I could only hope Luke would settle down soon.
Twenty minutes later, I arrived at the search site. The incident commander, a guy named Jim, had assigned me to be Emily’s walker. I was thrilled. I’d get to see Flash work. Nate was there, too, just watching the process. And maybe judging me. I didn’t know.
Within ten minutes, I had my maps, GPS, radio, and a small notebook all set, and we had been briefed on the parameters of the search. I slipped on fingerless gloves, then leather gloves over them. I wouldn’t be much use if I had frostbitten fingers. After adding a hat and checking for my water bottle, I shrugged on my pack and was ready to go.
The search area consisted of rolling hills with modest houses set on an acre or two. Mrs. Sullivan’s house backed up to the woods. To the east was a series of fenced yards and pastures. Family members and neighbors had checked the woods and the road. I wondered about neighbors’ sheds. Had anyone looked in them?
I asked about that and was told all had been cleared.
Emily and I set out following Flash, beginning at Mrs. Sullivan’s back door. At first, he headed into the woods, the logical route for a dementia patient. But then, he took a hard turn to the east. Emily and I looked at each other. Had he picked up the scent of a searcher? No way could an 87-year-old woman clear all the fences Flash was leading us toward.
“I trust my dog,” Emily shouted, answering my unspoken question. All I could do was follow, marking the turns on my GPS, and taking notes.
We crossed three fences and entered a field where a brown-and-white pony stood munching a mound of hay. Flash raced by the pony. I heard him bark, then he came racing back, skidded to a halt in front of Emily, and barked three times.
Exactly three times.
Emily looked back and me and grinned. “Come on!”
We ran over rock-hard ground, down into a gully, and there lay Grandma Sullivan.
At first, I thought she was dead. She wore an oversized man’s coat. She looked pale. But Flash’s barking roused her, and as Emily and I got close, she lifted a hand and touched him.
A miracle in my mind. That is, if I believed in them.
Quickly I called it in. Within five minutes, EMTs were on the scene. Nate came, too, beaming at our success. “You done good,” he told me, grinning.
“She went totally opposite from the way anyone expected!”
“That happens.”
Still pumped from our success, I arrived home an hour and a half later, just as the sun set. I strode into the house, thinking about the run I’d promised Luke. As I opened the door, shock buffeted me.
Luke lay on my bed, right on the sheets, having pawed away the comforter and blanket. He looked up at me, without raising his head, a guilty look on his face.
The guilt was well deserved. He’d ripped up the rug near the door and shredded it. He had chewed doorjamb and pieces of wood lay scattered on the floor. He’d scratched the door. And a book I’d left on the couch had its cover torn off. Half the pages lay on the rug.
“Oh, Luke!”
He thumped his tail. I imagined that was as close to begging for forgiveness as he’d get.
I took pictures on my iPhone. Then I began cleaning up the mess. I wasn’t yet finished when Bruce, my landlord, called to me. “Okay to come down?” he asked.
“Sure.” As soon as he came into view, I began my apologies. “I am so sorry. I’ll replace or repair everything, Bruce. I promise.”
“He was howling and barking for most of the time you were gone.”
“He saw me take my SAR pack. He must have wanted to come with me.”
“I don’t mind the occasional barking, but he can’t eat my house.”
“I know, Bruce, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
In the end, my landlord established some boundaries. Luke had to stay in a crate when I wasn’t there. And I’d fix everything within thirty days.
Fair enough.
I continued cleaning up for the next half hour
, then took Luke on his run and fed him. He, of course, acted like nothing had happened. I was still stunned.
When we got back, I sent the pictures to Emily and Nate, showered, and dropped into bed. I was exhausted and knew I had a big mess to fix. Still, all I could see in my mind’s eye was the old woman reaching up to pet Flash and the smiles on the faces of her family members when we brought her back alive.
The next day Nate texted me, volunteering to help me fix the damage. I didn’t know what to think at first. I was so used to doing everything by myself.
But I didn’t know a thing about fixing doorjambs or laying carpet. I figured the least I could do was have Nate over so he could tell me what needed to be done. As he stood in my apartment, explaining in his soft voice what he’d do, I decided to accept his help.
Over the next week, Nate sanded the door, replaced the doorjamb, and painted them both. Together we replaced the carpet. I grew used to listening to his stories as we worked, even if I did have to ignore all the Jesus talk. I figured it was part of being who he was, a southerner.
Of course, he brought Sprite with him, and soon the two dogs were buddies. When we were done, I invited Bruce down to inspect the repairs. He was super pleased. He and Nate got to talking, and before I knew it, Bruce had told him about the running trails and invited him to use them.
“Thank you, kindly,” Nate said. “I’ll take you up on that.”
Great. Now Jesus will be running in the woods with me. But really, I was pleased. Nate was good company.
On April 15, two weeks later than I’d planned, Luke and I were certified operational. I was ecstatic. Nate created a little ceremony, and afterward, when he asked me if he could take me to dinner to celebrate, I readily agreed.
I enjoyed our friendship. Not a hint of romance. Just two people who loved dogs and had begun to trust one another.
Perfect, in other words.
To no one’s surprise, for our celebratory dinner, we ended up back at Beef ‘n Brew. It was Nate’s go-to place for eating out, and it was quickly becoming mine.
While waiting for our steaks, I asked him questions about searches he’d been on. Nate reminded me of my Uncle Bobby, my father’s brother, the one who gave me Finn. He knew how to tell a good story.
At one point, Nate pulled out his wallet. He wanted to show me a picture of his dog, Maggie. As he pulled the picture out of its plastic sleeve, I saw another picture behind it—a young woman, pretty, with brown-braided hair. “Wait, Nate, who’s that?”
He turned beet red.
I grinned. “Come on, who is it?”
“Somebody I knew once.”
“And her name is …”
His eyes narrowed, like he was trying to figure out the distance to a cliff he was about to step off. “That there,” he said finally, “is Laura O’Brien.”
“And she is…”
“The only woman I ever loved.” Nate slapped his wallet shut and put it back in his pocket. Clearly, he hoped that would end it, but I wasn’t done.
“Where did you know her? What happened to her?”
Nate hesitated. I could see he was trying to get out of telling the story. I wasn’t about to let him. “Come on, Nate!”
He took a deep breath. “She was my high-school sweetheart, the one who liked the pipe.”
“And …”
“And that’s it.”
“No it’s not. You’re still carrying her picture.”
“I musta forgot it was in there.”
“Ha! No way! I’m not buying it. What happened to her? To your relationship?”
“You are a nosy rascal!” He blew out a breath and then fixed his eyes on me. “When Momma died and Daddy got mean, I took off. Joined the Marines. My plan was to send for Laura once-t she graduated.” Nate bit his lip. “It weren’t a good plan. I realized once I was in, she deserved better than I could give her. Then I got hurt, and I wasn’t fit for nobody.”
“So did you go back to see her later when you got out?”
“Heard she was married. And I…I couldn’t face that, her being with another man. I guess I’m a coward for that.”
“No, I get it.” I felt a sudden surge of empathy. “I’m sorry, Nate.”
His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “It’s okay. I’m used to my own company now. And I got my dog. And once in a while, I find someone I don’t mind spending time with.”
Of course, he meant me.
“‘Cept when they ask too many questions.”
Our steaks came, and we switched topics. He told me about Iraq and Afghanistan, the way they trained their dogs, and how he learned to do dog massage to help relieve his dog’s stress. I told him about … well, I stuck to my dad, my dog Finn, and mountain trail races.
The food was so good I barely noticed the bar behind me was getting noisier. But as dinner went on, I noticed Nate’s eyes flick back there several times.
We had just declined the server’s offer of dessert when Nate looked back toward the bar again. This time, his eyes stayed fixed there.
Suddenly, he reached for his wallet. Withdrawing a hundred-dollar bill, he put it on the table. “Pay the bill, will you? And meet me outside?”
What? Before I could respond, he got up, moving purposefully. I turned to see where he was going, and my heart sank. That FBI agent, Scott Cooper, stood toe-to-toe with another bar patron. His red face told the story. He’d been drinking, and he was angry.
11
The server returned with the check, and I handed him the hundred bucks. “Bring me two cups of black coffee to go as well. Quickly.”
I watched Nate walk up to Scott like he was an old friend. He got between him and the other guy, put his arm around Scott, and started ushering him out of the bar. Scott resisted, yelling at the other man behind Nate’s back. In the process, his coat flopped open, revealing his gun. A huge bouncer, probably twice Nate’s weight, appeared. Nate held up his hand as if to say he had the situation under control.
I could hardly stand still, but I had to wait for the change and the coffee. Little jolts of adrenaline sparked through me. I tried to anticipate how the scene would play out. Would the other guy attack from behind? Did he have friends in the bar? My body felt like coiled wire. I was ready to spring.
The bouncer moved in the other guy’s way, blocking him from Scott. I saw Nate muscle the much-larger agent toward the door.
The server came back. I took the change, quickly figured a tip, dropped it on the table, picked up the coffee, and hurried outside.
The spring chill hit me like a slap. Across the parking lot, I saw Nate trying to push Scott Cooper into the front seat of his Tahoe.
I jogged over to them, spilling a little coffee, and slipped into the back seat. Nate glanced over his shoulder at me. I’m not even sure Cooper knew I was there. I handed one cup of coffee to Nate, and for the next fifteen minutes, I sat listening to him as he tried to calm Scott down.
“You get arrested for fightin’, you could lose your job. You know that, man.”
Yes, Cooper did know that, but the SOB he’d been arguing with had made insulting remarks about a woman who was there. On and on Scott raged, slurring his words, until at last the second cup of coffee began to take effect and the real story emerged.
Scott leaned his head back against the headrest. “That girl the dog found—Faith. Back in November.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s another one, found in a wooded area west of there. ‘Bout a year ago.”
“On federal property?”
Scott shook his head. “No. But it seems like there’s a connection. My boss says move on, let it go. But I can’t. It seems like they’re linked somehow.”
Nate rubbed his jaw. “What makes you think they’re linked?”
“Blonde. Same build. Lying on their backs, posed in the same way, in a little clearing in the woods. About the same age.” Scott closed his left hand into a fist and pounded it once into his thigh. He cursed and ranted abo
ut men who abused women.
I was with him on that.
Then he made his story personal. “I got a daughter, thirteen. Her mother took her to live in California after our divorce to punish me.”
“What’d you do?”
Scott remained silent for a minute. “Worked too much. Drank too much. And I, uh, messed up.”
“With another woman?”
I saw Scott give him the slightest nod possible. “Somebody at work.”
“Grace can be hard to come by when that happens.”
Nate, the philosopher. I guessed Scott had no idea what Nate meant. Neither did I. Grace was something church people said before meals.
“So, you got this young ‘un out in California and you’re not there, so you cain’t protect her.”
“Drives me crazy.”
“Cain’t get a transfer?”
“I hate California. But I may have to.”
Nate continued. “So you got these cases, but you don’t have any physical evidence linking the two bodies … no DNA, nothing?”
Cooper exploded. “How can he get away clean like that? No hairs, no semen, blood … what’s he doing, wearing a HazMat suit?” He rubbed his hand over his head.
My mind automatically formed other questions. Tire tracks? Shoe prints? Were either or both victims sexually assaulted? Were they strangled the same way? From where did they disappear? How were they found? How long had they been dead? Were they killed where they were found, or transported after death?
Old habits die hard. I forced myself to stop trying to help solve both cases.
Scott turned to Nate. “Hey, the first girl was found a year ago. Could a dog find a scent this long after?”
“What are you thinking?” Nate asked. “They took the body, right?”
“Yeah. I don’t know. Maybe anything connected to her that the other guys missed. Evidence. A necklace, or a piece of clothing … anything that might carry DNA. Would the scent still be out there a year later?”
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