Under the Dog Star: A Rachel Goddard Mystery #4 (Rachel Goddard Mysteries)

by Parshall, Sandra

  Willingham hushed him with a motion of one hand. “I won’t be running for reelection, Tom. My health is just too bad, I’m not serving the county the way a sheriff ought to. I hope you’ll run for the office next year. I’ll give you my full backing.”

  Tom was dumbfounded. He’d known the sheriff’s health was failing, he’d known that eventually Willingham would have to step down, but he’d never considered what that might mean for his own future. And he didn’t have time to think about it now. “Sir, I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “One piece of advice, though,” Willingham said. “You know folks around here are pretty conservative. So before you announce you’re going to run, you and Dr. Goddard need to get married.”

  ***

  A few minutes later, Tom addressed the dozen deputies assembled around the conference room table. The sheriff sat in a chair against a wall and kept silent. “If Leo’s wounded,” Tom said, “and we have to assume he is, then he’ll need help, but he’s not likely to show up in the ER. If he’s not at his parents’ place, they’ll know where he is. Before we head out there, we have to be sure what we’re up against. They could all open fire on us.”

  “Even his mom?” Brandon asked with a grin.

  “Maddy Riggs isn’t some harmless little old lady, believe me. She might not give a damn about her half-black grandkids, but she’ll protect her son any way she has to. And she’s a great shot.”

  “So how are we going to manage this?’ Dennis asked. “They’re up on the side of a mountain, and with most of the leaves down, they can see anything that’s coming their way.”

  “We’re not going to try sneaking up on them. We’re not going up on foot. That’s too dangerous.” Tom had a sudden sharp memory of another time, less than a year before, when he and Brandon had approached a suspect’s cabin in the woods and he’d ended up with a bullet in his arm. “We’ll be safer in our vehicles. But be careful. I don’t want to break bad news to anybody’s family today.”

  ***

  Rachel paced the small parking area in front of the county pound, checking her watch every couple of minutes. She was early, Sullivan wasn’t late yet. But would he show up at all? How would she, as his boss, deal with him if he didn’t come?

  She was so close to believing he would stand her up that the sight of his mud-covered van coming down the road startled her. She rushed to her Range Rover, snatched her medical bag from the passenger seat, and waited at the building’s door as if she’d just arrived.

  Looking grim, Sullivan joined her with his bag in hand and pulled open the door. He didn’t speak and he didn’t make eye contact. If he didn’t want to talk, fine. Rachel hadn’t summoned him here to chat with him.

  “Hey, docs,” Joe Dolan said when they entered the small front office of the building. This early in the morning no one was working behind the counter that served as a reception desk. Joe waved them toward the door into the kennel. “They’ve all had breakfast and they seem pretty calm. I guess they’re used to being in cages.”

  Rachel detected no trace of emotion on Sullivan’s face. He seemed distant, as if his mind were elsewhere. He followed Joe and Rachel into the kennel.

  Cages at floor level lined the bright room. In one big cage, four brown puppies slept in a pile, their plump bellies rising and falling with every breath. Joe kept the place immaculate, and usually when Rachel came here the only smell she detected was that of clean dog hair. Today she smelled urine and feces. All eight of the pit bulls, in individual cages against one wall, shrank back, trying to hide as the three people approached.

  Rachel kept her voice quiet to avoid alarming the dogs further. “I’d like to get blood samples from them,” she told Sullivan, “but that’ll have to wait. Examining them and giving them vaccines is probably all we can get done today.”

  Sullivan finally broke his silence. “Blood samples? For what?”

  “For the national database of fighting dogs. It can help police track a dog’s origin.”

  Sullivan frowned, his face pinched, but he didn’t respond.

  Rachel crouched by the first cage. The dog inside looked half-grown, more of a pup than an adult. It watched Rachel with wary eyes from a bed that took up a third of the cage. “I can’t believe an animal this young was going to be forced to fight,” she said.

  Sullivan, standing above her, said nothing.

  “Hey, there,” Rachel crooned to the dog. “We’re not going to hurt you. You’re safe now.”

  The dog cocked his ears forward. When he made eye contact with Rachel, he whimpered softly.

  Rachel pulled a bag of dog treats from her bag and offered one of the sausage-like snacks through the mesh on the cage door. “Want a treat? It smells good, doesn’t it? Come on now, you can have it.”

  “Let me try.” Sullivan crouched beside her.

  Startled by his abrupt willingness, she said, “Oh. Okay, sure.”

  Sullivan took the treat. “Move off a little, would you? Both of you.”

  Rachel and Joe stepped back, against the wall. Rachel wasn’t sure what she expected. She didn’t know what it would take to prove her theory that Sullivan had treated these dogs before.

  Sullivan offered the treat to the dog. “Here you go, boy. Come and get it.”

  The dog began to wag his tail. After a moment he stood and crept toward the mesh that separated him from the man. He took the treat from Sullivan’s fingers and stood in place, chewing, his eyes locked on Sullivan. His tail wagged faster.

  This one knows him, Rachel thought. She felt queasy, revolted, at the same time she was grateful to see evidence that Sullivan had treated the dogs kindly.

  “He wants another one,” Sullivan said.

  Rachel pulled out another fake sausage and handed it to Sullivan. This time, after downing the treat, the dog allowed Sullivan to poke a couple of fingers through the mesh and scratch his head.

  Moving slowly, Sullivan unlatched the door and reached in to pet the dog. After a minute, he gently scooped up the animal. Rachel expected the dog to react to being handled, struggle and perhaps try to bite Sullivan, but the animal remained calm.

  “In here,” Joe said, opening a door into another room.

  Sullivan carried the young pit bull to a steel table and set him down. Rachel followed with Sullivan’s bag and her own. She stood back to watch Sullivan examine the dog. The animal didn’t seem to mind the vet’s hands on him, and when Sullivan stuck the needle into his flanks, the dog barely flinched.

  “All right,” Sullivan said to Joe. “Why don’t you let him out in one of the runs for a potty break and I’ll get the next one.”

  “You’re so good with them,” Rachel said. “I’ll let you handle them, and I’ll step in if you need help.”

  “Whatever,” Sullivan said.

  The other seven dogs, adults with scars from past fights, seemed equally unconcerned about Sullivan handling them. They were all big but underweight, and he carried them easily.

  When he closed the last cage, Rachel said, “Let’s take a look at the alpha dog we caught with the pack.”

  “You don’t need me for that,” Sullivan said. He was already stashing his stethoscope in his medical bag.

  “Yes, I do,” she said, leaving no room for argument.

  Sullivan’s sigh was audible. “After you.”

  Joe led them into the room where the alpha dog had been isolated to keep him from whipping the others into a frenzy. At the sight of Rachel and Joe, the animal leapt to its feet, snarling.

  “Aw, now,” Joe said, “is that any way to act after I gave you that good breakfast?”

  Rachel stepped closer to the cage. The dog bared his teeth and growled.

  “I haven’t been able to clean his cage yet,” Joe said. “I’m afraid he’ll go nuts if I try to shift him to a clean one.”

  Looking around, Rachel saw that Sullivan had stopped just inside the room. “Come here and help me, please,” she said.

  “What are you pl
anning to do?” Sullivan asked. “Didn’t you have the good sense to vaccinate him when he was unconscious?”

  “Of course I did. I just want to get a closer look at him.”

  Shaking his head, Sullivan said, “Don’t let him out of the cage. You don’t know what you’re dealing with here.”

  “Oh? What am I dealing with?”

  “You can see that.” He gestured at the dog.

  But the animal was no longer growling and snarling. He’d fallen silent, his gaze fixed on Sullivan. He looked a little puzzled, and—what? expectant? He whined softly.

  And this one knows him too, Rachel thought. The dog might not have seen Sullivan for weeks or months, but he remembered the vet.

  She dared to say it. “You’ve seen all these dogs before, haven’t you? And they have some kind of positive association with you.”

  “That’s crazy. How would I know any of them?”

  “You’ve been taking care of them.”

  “Good lord,” Joe Dolan exclaimed, staring at Sullivan as if the light had suddenly switched on in his head.

  “What?” Sullivan shot a look at Dolan, then Rachel. “What are you two blathering about?”

  “You take care of the fighting dogs when they’re hurt,” Rachel said, knowing she could be totally off-base but betting that she wasn’t. “You’re the only person who’s ever been kind to them.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, you know that? I’m done here.” Sullivan wheeled around and almost ran from the room.

  He was out of the building, with Rachel right behind him, when he stopped abruptly and rounded on her. Leaning down, he said in a gruff whisper, “You don’t know what you’re sticking your nose into. Back off. For your own good. Just back off.”

  “No. I want some answers. What’s going on? How did you get involved with dogfighting?”

  “You’re making wild guesses—”

  “Do you enjoy it? Do you watch them tear each other apart, then patch them up afterwards?”

  “No!” Sullivan shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then make me understand! Tell me how a vet gets involved in dogfighting.”

  “I’ve got work to do.” Sullivan turned away and yanked open the door of his van.

  Rachel grabbed his arm, her fingers bunching the fabric of his khaki jacket. “Don’t you dare try to blow me off. I want an answer. Why on earth are you working for a dogfighting operation? What do you get out of it? Do you need extra money that badly?”

  For a second his eyes met Rachel’s, then he jerked his head sideways and stared into the distance, his face contorted by anger mixed with shame. “It’s not money. I wouldn’t take money for something like that. It’s filthy work, it’s disgusting, it’s…” He shook his head as if he’d run out of words.

  “Then why?” Rachel demanded.

  He bowed his head. She waited.

  He cleared his throat before he spoke, but his voice was hoarse with emotion. “My son. You know about him?”

  Rachel frowned. “Your son who’s in rehab? You only have one, don’t you?”

  Sullivan nodded. “You raise a kid, you pour everything you’ve got into him—” He paused, blinked, cleared his throat again. “Then he does something stupid and it’s all gone. It’s all for nothing.”

  Rachel placed a hand on Sullivan’s arm and was encouraged when he let it stay. In a quiet voice, she asked, “What happened to your son, Jim?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “What happens to a lot of kids? Drugs. He thought it was fun to get high. They set him up to get to me. They got him hooked on meth, they gave him anything he wanted, said they’d run a tab for him, he could pay when he got the money. More and more and more, until he owed them a small fortune. Then all of a sudden they wanted their money.”

  “Why didn’t you turn them in? Tell the police?”

  “They threatened my son. Threatened my wife and me. They wouldn’t take our money to pay off our son’s debt. Leo Riggs wanted me to make it up in services, tending to the dogs that got hurt.”

  “But still, you could have—”

  “Don’t you understand? These people are dangerous. They mean what they say. I threatened to turn them in, and our son just disappeared one night. We searched for two nights and days and couldn’t find him. We were scared to death he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Then Leo called and said if I’d take care of his dogs, our boy would be home within the hour. My wife was going crazy. Hysterical. I would’ve agreed to anything. And I agreed to that. We got our son into rehab, and my wife left so she could be close to him. I started taking care of the dogs. Now Leo won’t let me stop. He’ll kill me if I do. I’m lucky he didn’t kill me when I let the Halls’ dog go after—”

  Rachel’s cell phone rang and he broke off.

  “Damn it.” She yanked the device from her shirt pocket. “I’m sorry, just let me get rid of whoever—” She glanced at the screen for the caller’s ID. Marcy Hall. “Oh. It’s—I’m sorry, I—”

  “Take it,” Sullivan said. “I need to get going.”

  “No, wait.” Rachel grabbed his arm and held on. “Just wait a minute, please. Don’t go.”

  Sullivan heaved a weary sigh and stayed where he was.

  Still gripping his arm, Rachel punched a button to answer the call. “Marcy? Is something wrong?”

  She could barely hear the girl’s whisper. She caught a few words. “…David… Uncle Leo called…”

  “What? Marcy, I can hardly hear you. Wait—” Rachel adjusted the volume on her phone. “Where are you? What’s wrong? Tell me again.”

  With the volume turned up, she could make out what the girl was whispering. “Our Uncle Leo called David and told him our real daddy wanted him to get us and bring us to him. David made me come. But I don’t think he’s taking us to our daddy. He’s acting crazy, and he’s bleeding. I’m scared, Dr. Goddard.”

  Rachel felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach, and for a moment she couldn’t catch her breath and speak. “Marcy, are you—You’re with Leo now?”

  “I told Leo I had to pee, and I was afraid I might pee in his nice clean car, so he let me out and I came back here in the bushes. He doesn’t know I have a phone.”

  Rachel told herself to stay calm. She had to sound calm for Marcy’s sake. “Where are you right now?”

  “Out on Bald Knob Road,” Marcy whispered, “where it meets Kirby Road.”

  Suddenly Rachel heard a man’s voice in the background. “Come on, girl! What’s takin’ you so damned long?”

  “It’s him, I have to go,” Marcy said in a rush. “Please, Dr. Goddard, please find us and help us.”

  The phone went dead.

  “Oh, no,” Rachel moaned.

  “What is it?” Sullivan asked, suddenly brusque and businesslike again.

  “Leo Riggs has Marcy and David Hall.” She stared at the phone in her trembling hand as if it might come to life again. “He told them he’s taking them to their real father.”

  “Taking them to their real father?” Sullivan said, incredulous. “Like hell he is. He thinks their father’s nigger trash, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

  “I know that!” Rachel cried. Terror rose in her, a drowning flood. “What’s he going to do with them? He’s wounded, anyway. How can he even—”

  “Wounded?” Sullivan said. “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you heard? He took his attack dog to the Rasey house last night and killed Beck Rasey—”

  “Aw, shit.”

  “—and Mrs. Rasey shot him. He’s wounded and the police are looking for him. What does he want with two kids? What’s he going to do with them?”

  Sullivan’s face had gone ashen. “We’ve got to stop this. Where are they?”

  “On Knob Hill Road where it meets Kirby.”

  “That’s close to where he keeps the dogs. Call Tom Bridger and tell him to go out to Leo’s parents’ place. He keeps the dogs in the woods out beyond their house.” S
ullivan opened the door of his van. “I’m going out there.”

  “You’re not leaving me here,” Rachel said. “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you’ll just get hurt.”

  “I’m going with you,” Rachel said. Before Sullivan could stop her, she jogged around the van and climbed into the passenger seat.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  “Oh, for god’s sake, I can’t get through to Tom’s cell phone,” Rachel slapped her phone against the armrest.

  “You keep banging that thing around and you won’t be able to get through to anybody,” Jim Sullivan said.

  “This place drives me crazy. One minute you’re in the twenty-first century and the next you’re totally cut off. We don’t have time for this. Maybe I can get through to dispatch.”

  Rachel tried twice. No luck. She wanted to pitch her useless phone out the window. “It’s these damned mountains blocking the signals. Are we going to be riding in a valley the whole way?”

  “Just hang on a bit,” Sullivan said.

  Five minutes later the van emerged from between mountains onto a stretch of road with open land on one side. Rachel tried Tom’s phone but still couldn’t get through. Next she called the Sheriff’s Department dispatcher, and this time she got a connection. “Oh, thank god, thank god.” When she had the dispatcher on the line she repeated Sullivan’s detailed directions to the spot where Tom should meet them.

  “I’ll pass it on the minute I get in touch with him, Dr. Goddard,” the dispatcher said.

  “Where is he?” Rachel asked. “Where was he headed?”

  “Well, ma’am, I’m sorry, but a dispatcher’s not really at liberty to give out that information. Maybe if you called somebody you know in the department—”

  “Okay, okay, just find Tom,” Rachel said. “Find him now. And tell somebody else what’s going on, any officers you can reach. Call the sheriff. They’ve got to help those kids before Leo Riggs—” Before he did what? She swallowed hard. “He could kill those children. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do understand. I’ll pass it on.”