Death Scent

by D. L. Keur

  Rearing back at that tirade, Landon wished he’d called in sick and just stayed home. Settling himself against the wall, unable… unwilling to sit when the lady in the room was parked on the floor, he decided to brave the truth to Darby Anderson. “I’ve never yet met the man,” he said. “I’ve only been in office since January before last, you know, and, usually, my undersheriff handles search and rescues and Remmers.”

  “I don’t much know about all that, except how long you’ve been sheriff. I’ll tell you straight out that I didn’t vote for you—too young, too inexperienced. Be that as it may, you’re still the Authority Having Jurisdiction in this county, so Nelson Remmers is your problem as that AHJ, and I’m filing a complaint. Officially. With you. Right now.”

  The man handed over a two-page official complaint form, all neatly filled out …by one of the best lawyers in the county, who was also one of the best in the state.

  Landon glanced it over, saw words that set off warnings in his brain, and said, “Okay. Hang on, would you?”

  Going to his desk, Landon touched on the intercom. “Deputy Somners?”

  “Yes, sir?” she answered

  “Would you please have someone bring another chair to my office—a nice one?”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Moments later, the chair was walked in by Red. “Where should I put— …Oh.”

  Red put the chair down, waited for Jessie to get to her feet, then scooted it forward for her. Once she’d sat, Red left, and Landon gratefully dropped into his desk chair.

  “All right,” he said, pulling out a notepad. “Take it from the top, please.”

  ***

  26 – Nelson Remmers

  By the time the Andersons left, Landon’s head was reeling. Bringing up the local website for Nelson Remmers’ group, he jotted more notes. Then he called his dad for the lowdown on Nelson Remmers. Hearing an earful in no uncertain language, then asking the requisite ‘why’s, only to get more of an earful, he thanked his father, said goodbye, hung up, slammed his hat on his head, and headed out.

  He took Kins with him, why he wasn’t sure. He liked the young deputy, though—somehow trusted him. A fifty-five minute drive later had him pulling into Remmers’ run-down, sad excuse for a home kennel operation—nothing nearly as professional as he’d seen on his two trips out to the Anderson place. It was a common thing for property owners to do, though. Keeping it run-down-looking lowered the appraised value and, therefore, the taxes.

  The man’s dogs went nuts, and Landon felt himself twitch. Kins didn’t just twitch, he unsnapped his holster and palmed his can of mace. “Hope that fencing holds them,” the young man said.

  So did Reid.

  “Ho!” a voice bellowed out. Then, “Shuddup!”

  The dogs instantly went silent, but stayed at the fence, watching. That really made Landon’s neck hairs twitch. It was flat out eerie.

  “Sheriff Reid,” a short, paunchy, fiftyish man said, walking up all smiles. “What can I do you for?”

  Landon wanted to roll his eyes. “Are you Nelson Remmers?”

  “I am he,” the man said, holding out his hand.

  Landon dutifully shook, then got straight to the point. “You know anything about a Jessica Anderson coming out here to see you?”

  The man stared at him vacantly. “Can’t say that I do,” he answered, and Landon swore he was telling it straight.

  “She and her granddad?” Reid prompted.

  Nelson Remmers frowned, took his hat off and scratched his head, put his hat back on, then went squinty eyed. “…Oooooh. The old geezer in the fancy, white, dually pickup and some young gal? …Yeah. They came last night. Only stayed a few minutes. It was already past dark, and we were having a training session.”

  “The meeting you’re supposed to hold at the fairgrounds’ indoor arena?” Landon asked, prompting again.

  The man scuffed his feet. “Well, that. Yeah. Too many looky-loos an’ wannabes show up out there. Besides, I have better facilities here.”

  Landon glanced at the house, then the barn, both with their faded paint, filthy windows, and snow bent metal roofing. “Okay. But it seems they came out to apply, and you sent them on their way rather rudely.”

  Remmers nodded. Then, “Well, I wouldn’t say rudely. Just matter-of-fact. Caught me in the middle of a training session, like I said, and we’re not really taking memberships, right now, anyway. Got a good team—all we need. Keeping the crew I’ve got up on the mark takes a lot of time and work. Plus, a team has to have rapport, y’know. A lot like deputies do.” He grinned as he said it. “You know what I mean, Sheriff.”

  “Mm-hmm. So you’re not taking memberships? Then why does your website say that you are?”

  “Well, they can apply, for sure. Always looking for good people and all. Most, though, they’re not who we’re lookin’ for. They’re just wantin’ to be heroes, an’ all. But we don’t discriminate. Anybody can print out the application and mail it in, along with the fees. Instructions are all right there on the website.”

  “Five-hundred dollars, non-refundable?”

  The man didn’t even blink. “We gotta do a background check before anything else. Do that through your office, in fact.”

  Which doesn’t cost you a thing because of your affiliation with my office.

  “…And then there’s the testin’ if the background check comes back okay. This all takes my time and resources, y’know.”

  “Mm-hmm. Well, I’ll tell you what, Mr. Remmers, you waive the fee, I’ll give you the pertinent background check information that I have on Ms. Jessica Anderson, and you invite her to your next meeting.”

  The man shook his head. “I have to test her first, and, like I already said, that takes a lot of my time and resources. I—”

  “Then test her, but you do it promptly, and you collect no fees,” he said, his voice turning hard, despite his best effort to keep it neutral.

  That stopped Remmers dead in his smirk. The man sobered immediately. “Now, listen here, son—”

  “Watch yourself, Remmers.”

  The man’s eyes hardened. His mouth set. “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll pull my office’s sanction, that’s what.”

  Remmers’ face went slack, then shocked, and he actually stepped back. “You can’t do that!”

  “Yes, I can. Yes, I will.”

  The man’s eyes got flinty, then calculating, then acquiescent. “Okay, Sheriff. Can we sit down and talk about this, maybe? Missus has coffee on, and all.”

  “We have been talking, Mr. Remmers. I’ve told you what you need to do. Now, do it.”

  “All right. I’ll …do what you say, then.” Hands now jammed in his pockets, his arms stiff with tension, he asked, “…Are we good, then?”

  “We’ll see once you’ve ‘tested’ Ms. Jessica Anderson, Mr. Remmers.”

  “So be it.” Then, he squinted at Landon. “…And if she fails?”

  “Then, she fails. But I’ll be here to watch it,” Landon said, his mouth surprising him. He’d had no intention of doing anything of the sort.

  Remmers nodded. “I’ll call you with the time, then. And I’ll get a hold of Miss Anderson as soon as you get me the pertinents.”

  “Got ’em right here.” He turned to Kins. “In my console, you’ll find a print out. Get it, and bring my black indelible marker—the fat one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kins trotted toward the car. Remmers’ dogs instantly exploded, again, and Remmers instantly told them to “shuddup,” again. Reid groaned.

  When Kins came back with the paperwork and the indelible marker, Reid started sorting through which pages he’d let Remmers have, pulling those he wouldn’t and handing them back to Kins. Then, on the remaining three pages, he marked out everything that wasn’t pertinent—pages filled with her dog and search-and-rescue certifications. Reid made sure to obliterate the certification I.D. numbers, something that, at least according to his dad, could be used by
Remmers for his own benefit. Done, he handed those three marked up pages to Remmers.

  “There’s no social security number,” the man said, looking through them. “And no certification I.D. numbers, either.” He looked up squinty-eyed, again. “How do I know this is legit?”

  Reid was barely holding onto his temper. “Look at the page headers. What do they indicate?”

  Remmers grunted.

  “What do they indicate?” Landon repeated.

  “That the information comes from the FBI, something called the National Database, and the Justice Department.”

  “Right. Sent through a secured system directly to my office.”

  “But it’s got no numbers.” The man practically whined the words.

  “You don’t need those,” Reid said, “on anyone. Driver’s License numbers are all you need.”

  “But—”

  “You don’t need that information on anyone, Mr. Remmers. Do I have to repeat myself again, or did you get it, this time?”

  “I got it,” the man said, but he made it very clear that he wasn’t happy. Well, neither was Reid.

  “One more thing,” Reid said. “I want your members list—names, addresses, phone numbers.”

  Now Remmers face got really sullen. “I’ll mail them to you.”

  “I want them now.”

  The man blew out a huge breath, stared Reid in the eye a moment, then said, “Okay. I’ll go print them out. Take me a few minutes.”

  “We’re not going anywhere.”

  Reid watched the man drag his feet toward his house. Once he disappeared inside, Kins said, “I don’t think he’s very happy with us.”

  “Nope. And I’m not very happy with him. I don’t need the legal hassle this guy has potentially instigated. Not only that, he may very well be guilty of fraud and I.D. theft, all felonies, and that’s just a start.”

  “You know he’s related to Denny Warsaw, the county commissioner, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “You going to take him on, too?”

  “If I have to.”

  “You’re definitely a Reid, that’s for sure,” Kins said. “You might be even tougher than your dad was. …Or at least meaner-sounding.”

  “And you know that how?” Reid asked pointedly, rounding on him.

  “He’s the one who vouched for me, despite my record as a juvie, and got me into the academy,” Kins replied. “He had to really do some convincing of some people to get me in. My dad’s a regular in County. …Jail, I mean.”

  “I knew what you meant.” Reid had forgotten those small details, but he remembered reading Kins’ jacket, now. Kins had been caught stealing a candy bar when he was aged six. In Idaho, at that time, that was a felony, though no longer. But they’d been kind and let the kid off with probation and community service. …Six years old. Reid sighed and shook his head. “Right. You were a real bad first grader …and I hope you can see me rolling my eyes, Kins.”

  “Yes, sir. No, sir. Ah….”

  The kid instantly looked flustered. Landon grinned and winked. “Shuddup,” he said, mimicking Remmers, and got Kins to laugh.

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  27 – Respect

  “Sizt!” Jessie said jauntily. Twelve out of thirteen little bottoms plopped themselves down. “Brave Hunde,” she called, handing out treats. Going to the little one who hadn’t responded, she raised his treat just over his head, repeating the command, and he sat to get his nose high enough to reach it, preparing to launch himself upwards, if need be.

  Quickly, she gave it to him before he could, stroking with her other hand, and telling him how good he was to ‘sitz’. Then, backing away out of range, she waited until the bunch began to distract themselves before hiss-whistling. They all looked, and, instantly, she called for attention. Then, she asked for the sit, again: “Sitz.”

  This time, all thirteen bottoms hit the floor.

  “Brav. Ganz brave Hunde!”

  “Jessie, what are you doing?”

  “Hang on,” she said, giving out the last treats and strokes. “Okay, geh spielen. Go play,” she said, giving the signal, which, of course they didn’t quite recognize, yet. They knew ‘geh spielen’, though, and began gamboling after the basketful of yummy smelling stuffed toys Jessie threw out in front of them.

  Turning to her dad, she grinned. “They work better as a group. They learn faster, mimicking each other. They see what gets treats and what they, the ones who didn’t quite get it, have to do to get theirs …which is the same thing the others did before them.”

  “When did you start doing it this way?”

  “Back at the humane society in Blaine.”

  “With young pups?”

  “With all ages. Here, I find that working with litters—first just littermates, then with several litters together—seems to give them all a leg up on learning. Plus, I think there’s a confidence factor at work. They don’t feel singled out or get timid. In a group with dogs they know, they feel confident and not like they’re the prey.” She paused, realized she was bubbling on about it, and took a breath.

  “Go on,” her dad urged.

  Jessie eyed him. “Well, that’s about it. And I don’t have anything to back me up, but it’s definitely more fun for them, and lots more fun for me, too.”

  “How long have you been doing this with our dogs?”

  “Mmm. Since February or thereabouts.”

  He frowned, his eyes following the pups as they tussled with one another. “That’s why, then,” he said, a sudden look of understanding coming over him.

  “What’s ‘why’?”

  His attention shifted to her for a moment. “You did this with Lida’s litter and Gerta’s litter, didn’t you,” he said, his eyes going far away, again, asonce more, he focused on the pups.

  It was Jessie’s turn to frown. Suspicious, she said, “Yeah.”

  “Right.”

  What’s he not telling me? “What’s wrong? Are they not proving out? I need to know if this is counterproductive.”

  He laughed, and, immediately, she felt relief. “Oh, they’re proving out, all right, Jessie, my Jessie. They’re way ahead in bite training, obstacles, and already starting tactical. Way, way ahead.”

  Dragging his eyes away from the puppies, he grinned. “As your granddad would say, ‘solid gold, Jessica Marie. Solid gold’.”

  *

  “Nope. …Nope. …Nope. …Nope.”

  He couldn’t concentrate. The sound was penetrating, persistent, irritating, even with his door closed. Finally, Landon couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “What is that persistent, rhythmic ‘nope’ noise?” he demanded, stalking out of his office into the front. Out here, the ‘nope’s were even more pronounced.

  Red Wheeler looked up from where he was going through some paperwork. So did Deputy Ray Hunt who was on rotation manning the desk.

  “Well? Can’t you hear it?!”

  Red tipped his chin toward the smaller of two work rooms. Its door was closed. “That’s Kenny Buford going through the photos like you asked him to.”

  “Oh.”

  “He’s a patient man,” Red observed. “This is his second time through them.”

  “I’d say Kins deserves a medal,” Ray put in. “He’s having to run the mouse for the guy. Mr. Buford doesn’t know how to use a computer.”

  Landon nodded. Poor Kins. Then, the question that had immediately popped with urgency. “No hits?”

  Red eyeballed him. “Nope.”

  Landon groaned, but quirked a grin just the same at Red’s straight-faced cut-up. “Great. Well, I can’t get any work done until that stops, so I’m heading out to the Anderson’s to pay a visit and try to appease them about their complaint. Call me if we get a ‘yep’.”

  “Yep.”

  *

  Jessie was helping Darby, her dad, and John, who finally had successfully mastered the necessary techniques. Today, they were working the eightee
n month and older dogs on their attack strategies. Darby was sending each animal, in turn, at them to do a lunge, grab, disarm, takedown, and hold. This was one of several types of training they did that Jessie abhorred. But, yes, she now knew that, if and when push came to shove, it was absolutely necessary.

  Teaching a dog how to safely take an armed man down was imperative if the dog was going to be effective, plus have any chance at all of survival. This was especially true with an amped out methhead or somebody with a knife or gun. The dogs had to learn best how to do it. Acer was alive because he had been so trained. Otherwise, no. He’d have been dead on the pavement back in Blaine, and she probably would have been lying dead next to him along with the people they’d been protecting.

  Acer’s actions had given her a fighting chance, and he’d only survived because he knew human fighting styles, tendencies, and vulnerabilities. That’s what they were training today, and would continue to train until these dogs shipped out to their buyers—how to hit the most vulnerable places and apply the leverage needed to best advantage, while avoiding making themselves vulnerable, as much as possible.

  It called for smart dogs—dogs that could quickly analyze human type and temperament, who could adjust their tactics to accommodate situations, and who could calculate effective feints, then hit the most vulnerable target exposed. And, yes, every one of these dogs Darby was sending at her, her dad, and John were smart, canny, quick, and powerful, the big GSDs and the similar but smaller, more agile, and much quicker Belgium Malinois.

  It was hot work, because the suits were made of an almost impenetrable material called ‘French linen’ and heavily padded against the dog’s bite penetrating. The pinch of their jaws, though, still would leave nasty bruises, the crushing power of a GSD’s jaws something like 238psi or pounds per square inch and a Malinois running at 195psi. Contrast that with the wimpy human bite that weighed in at a measly 86psi. Of course, Mastiffs, Rottweilers, and American Bulldogs had even more powerful crushing power, especially the Mastiff at 552psi, but working with any of them, even inside the protective suits built to withstand it still took its toll. That’s why they only did the training every few days—to give her dad, Jessie, and, now, John, time to recover. Having three of them capable, though, made the work go faster with less wear and tear on each of them.