AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Thank you,” Faith said. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“It’s fine,” Michael interrupted. His tone made it clear that it wasn’t fine and equally clear that he had no intention of discussing the subject further. He emphasized the last part when he said, “I’ll see you at the airport.”
Faith and Turk headed to Faith’s car, a fifteen-year-old Crown Victoria Police Interceptor that recently replaced an even older year of the same model. Turk watched her closely as they started home, sensing the tension in his handler’s body.
Faith did some of the breathing exercises Doctor West had taught her, and by the time she reached her apartment, her knuckles no longer stood out white on her steering wheel. The anxiety didn't quite disappear, however, and it wasn't until she reached the airport and Michael confirmed that Ellie was leaving that night that she was able to relax completely.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You might get good use out of your K9 for this one. I’ve never seen anything like this in twenty-two years of law enforcement. It’s like something out of one of those crime shows.”
Deputy Sheriff Tom Watkins was around Michael’s age, but with considerably less hair and considerably more bulk. He greeted the three special agents with a look that contained the predictable equal helpings of respect and irritation.
More respect than irritation, however. The fear that lurked beneath the surface of his expression told Faith that he was secretly relieved to have this be someone else’s responsibility.
“We’ll help in any way we can,” Faith assured him. “Can you take us to the most recent crime scene, please?”
“You don’t want to get to your hotel first?” Tom asked.
“No, thank you,” she replied. “I like to look at the scene and the bodies as soon as possible while the evidence is still fresh. Once we look at the scene and talk to you and the coroner, we’ll head to the hotel.”
Tom offered asuit yourselfshrug and gestured toward his car, a much newer Ford Police Interceptor, this one based on a midsize SUV. Faith couldn’t recall the name of the model. Her car was the newest model she’d ever driven, and even the utilitarian Crown Vic was a bit too fancy for her tastes.
Tom didn’t seem to share her distaste, quickly engaging his ventilated seats, climate control and satellite radio as the three agents settled into their seats, Michael in the front with Tom and Faith and Turk in the back.
Tom accelerated smoothly out of the airport, flashing his lights to clear a path through the civilian traffic. Faith didn’t approve of that practice and wondered what other rules Tom felt comfortable bending. It was all the same to her whether he was a good person or not, but if he was cavalier with rules, then he would be cavalier with investigations, and that could mean that the sheriffs had already allowed a significant amount of evidence to be compromised.
“Used to live in Detroit when I was in high school,” Tom offered. “My parents split up when I was fourteen, and my Mom left Kentucky and ended up shacking up with a foreman at the Dodge plant out there. We used to see dogs all the time. Mangy little things, but if they caught an animal alone, they were absolutely vicious with it. Themselves too. I saw an old terrier break its ankle trying to leap a fence, and three or four dogs just tore it to pieces while it was still alive. Felt bad for the little guy."
“I take it that’s not something you’ve seen here,” Michael probed.
Tom shook his head. “Not once. The residents have dogs, of course, and a few strays here and there, but nothing like Detroit, nothing that anyone would have to worry about.” He shook his head. “The people here are all freaked out about it. The mayor’s announced a curfew. No one outside after ten o’clock.”eHe
“Have you made any progress on finding the animals responsible?” Faith asked.
Tom shook his head. “Animal control’s looking, but the residents here aren’t much for government prying into their lives. We bleed red here, as the saying goes.”
Faith hadn’t heard that saying before, but she understood his point. “So you’ve ruled out the possibility of wild animals?”
He shrugged. “Couple people suggested coyotes—” he pronounced the word kye-oats, another nod to his southern upbringing—“but I have a hard time believing that. I heard about that nurse who got mauled up in Colorado, but the coyotes here have plenty of wild prey. They don’t need to be looking for humans to eat. I just don’t see them showing up and deciding to maul us out of nowhere.”
That was probably a safe assumption. “And the residents aren’t cooperating with the search?”
“They’re cooperating well enough,” Tom replied. “They’re just not making it easy. They want signed affidavits, warrants, all that stuff. The judge is doing a great job keeping up, but there are thirty-five-thousand people here and damn near every one of them owns dogs. We won’t find our killer in time if we’re grid-searching houses and interrogating every Rottweiler we see.”
His frustration showed in his demeanor and word choice. It was another sign of impatience. Faith could understand impatience, but she knew from personal experience that, understandable or not, impatience could destroy an investigation.
Tom drove them to an industrial neighborhood a few miles from Goldwood’s center. The street was lined on either side with lots in various stages of use ranging from active service to hadn’t been touched in thirty years.
The lot he parked in front of fit somewhere in the middle of those two extremes. It was clearly abandoned, with several of its raw materials plundered through various holes cut into the chainlink fence, but the heavy equipment looked close enough to running order that it must have been used fairly recently, relatively speaking.
“Who owns the lot?” she asked.
"Fremantle Construction," he replied. "They've denied involvement, of course. They're doing their damnedest to deny liability, too, but they'll end up settling with the family."
He led them into the scene and walked them past piles of cinderblocks, red bricks and steel beams that resembled railroad rails. Every now and then, a backhoe or bulldozer would show up in between the raw goods. Faith kept her eye on the ground, looking for a sign of footprints other than their own, but she didn’t find anything until they rounded the corner of a large warehouse that occupied the center of the lot.
Turk growled low in his throat, his sensitive nose picking up the scent of the dogs before Faith saw the footprints. They had degraded considerably, enough that she couldn’t tell much about the dogs by looking at them, but they were clearly dog footprints and clearly more than one.
