Split Second (10 page)

M
aggie stared at the bloodied ruffle then slowly walked to the bed.

“Actually she was walking,” she said, keeping the excitement from her voice. “She had a dog with her, a white Lab.”

“We haven’t found any fucking dog,” Manx said. “Unless he’s out in the backyard or the garage.”

Carefully, Maggie got down on one knee. There was blood in the grooves of the hardwood floor, too. Here the intruder must have taken the time to mop it up. Why would he do that, unless some of it was his own?

The room grew silent as the men finally noticed the blood on the hem of the bed ruffle. Maggie felt them standing over her, waiting. Even Manx stood quietly, though out of the corner of her eye she could see the toe of his loafer tapping impatiently.

She lifted the ruffled material, avoiding the bloodied area. Before she could get a closer look underneath, a deep-throated growl caused her to jerk her hand away.

“Shit!” Manx spat, jumping back with such force he sent a nightstand scraping into the wall.

Maggie saw the glint of metal in his hand and realized he had drawn his service revolver.

“Move out of the way.” He was next to her, shoving her shoulder and almost knocking her over.

She grabbed his arm as he recklessly took aim, ready to fire at anything that moved underneath the bed even though he couldn’t see it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled at him.

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

“Calm down, Detective.” The medical examiner took hold of Manx’s other arm and gently pulled him back.

“This dog might be your only witness,” Maggie said, getting down on her knees again but staying back a safe distance.

“Oh right. Like a dog’s gonna tell us what happened.”

“She’s right,” the M.E.’s voice was amazingly calm. “Dogs can tell us a lot. Let’s see if we can get this one under control.”

Then he looked to Maggie as if waiting for her instructions.

“Most likely, he’s wounded,” she said.

“And in shock,” the M.E. added.

She stood and looked around the room. What the hell did she know about dogs, let alone how to subdue one?

“Check the closet and grab a couple of jackets,” she told him. “Preferably thick, something like wool and something that’s been worn and not laundered. Maybe there are some clothes on the floor.”

She found a tennis racket leaning against the wall. She rummaged through the bureau’s drawers then noticed a tie rack on the back of the closet door. She snatched a silk pinstripe and knotted one end of the tie to the handle of the racket. She made a slipknot at the other end.

The medical examiner came back with several jackets.

“Officer Hillguard,” he instructed. “See if you can find some blankets. Detective Manx, get at the end of the bed. We’ll have you lift up the bedspread when we’re ready.

Maggie noticed Manx’s impatience did not extend to the doctor. In fact, he seemed to regard the older man as an authority figure and willingly took his post at the end of the bed.

The medical examiner handed Maggie one of the jackets, an expensive wool tweed. She sniffed the sleeve. Excellent. There was still the faint scent of perfume. She pulled the jacket on backward, pushing the sleeves over her bare arms but keeping enough at the end to ball up in her fists. Then she grabbed the tennis racket and kneeled about two feet from the bed. The doctor kneeled next to her as Officer Hillguard set a quilt and two blankets on the floor beside them.

“Are we ready?” The medical examiner glanced at all of them. “Okay, Detective Manx. Lift the bedspread up, but slowly.”

This time the dog was prepared, his eyes glazed, teeth bared, the growl deep and low. But he didn’t lunge at them. He couldn’t. Underneath the bloody mess of fur that was once white, Maggie spotted the main wound, a gash just above the shoulder and barely missing the throat. The matted fur must have temporarily stopped the bleeding.

“It’s okay, boy,” Maggie told the dog in a quiet, calm voice. “We’re going to help you. Just relax.”

She scooted closer, extending a part of the sleeve and letting it hang beyond her hand. He snapped at it, and Maggie jerked backward, almost losing her balance.

“Jesus!” she muttered. Had she completely lost her mind? She tried not to think of her aversion to needles, yet found herself wondering if the treatment for rabies was still six shots.

Maggie steadied herself. She needed to stay focused. She tried again, more slowly this time. The dog sniffed at the dangling sleeve, possibly recognizing the scent of his owner. His growl turned into a whine and then a whimper.

“It’s okay,” Maggie promised in a hushed tone, uncertain whether she was trying to convince the dog or herself. She inched closer with the tennis racket in her other hand, the tie’s loop hanging down, moving in while the dog watched and continued to whimper. She let the dog sniff the tie. He didn’t resist when she slipped it over his snout. Gently, she tightened the knot.

“How’re we gonna get him out from under there?” Officer Hillguard was now on his knees on the other side of Maggie.

“Let’s unfold one of those blankets and get it next to him.”

But as soon as Officer Hillguard’s hands got close, the dog snapped and snarled, growling and struggling against the makeshift muzzle. He jumped toward the officer, and Maggie used the opportunity to grab the dog’s collar from behind. She yanked him forward onto the blanket, all the while holding the tennis racket and keeping the muzzle tight. The dog yipped, and immediately Maggie worried that she had opened one of the wounds.

“Holy shit,” she heard Detective Manx say, but this time he kept his revolver in its holster.

“We got him.” The medical examiner stood and waved Officer Hillguard over to his side. The two men tugged on the blanket corners and pulled the dog out from under the bed. “We can use my van to transport him to Riley’s Clinic.”

Maggie sat back on her feet, only now noticing that she was soaked with perspiration.

“Shit.” Manx was back to his belligerent mood. “That means all the blood by the door and in the bathtub is probably the fucking dog’s blood, and we don’t have a damn thing.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Maggie said. “Something violent happened here, and the dog’s owner may have suffered the brunt of it.” She watched the doctor and officer cover the trembling dog and secure their blanket stretcher, grateful they were too busy to notice how much effort it took for her to stand.

“I’m guessing this guy—” she pointed to the Lab “—tried to stop whatever happened. He may have gotten in a couple of good bites. There’s a chance some of the blood, especially here by the bed, may be the intruder’s. Your forensics people should be able to get a sampling even though it’s been wiped up.”

“You think you can allow me to do my own investigation?” Manx shot her a look of contempt.

Maggie wiped strands of hair off her forehead. Jesus! Couldn’t this guy give her a break? Just then she realized she had blood on her hands and now had blood on her forehead and in her hair. When she glanced at the medical examiner, he was shaking his head at Manx and giving him a warning look as though he, too, was fed up with Manx’s arrogance.

“Yes, of course, the investigation is all yours,” Maggie finally said, and grabbed a corner of the blanket to help the men move the swaddled dog. “I’m sure the whole neighborhood will sleep soundly tonight, knowing you’re on the case.”

Manx seemed surprised by her sarcasm, then turned red when he noticed the two men would not be coming to his defense. Maggie caught the medical examiner smiling. She didn’t turn to see if Manx had caught it, too.

“Just keep your big FBI badge and your pretty little butt out of my investigation,” he said to her back, determined to get in the last word. “You got that, O’Donnell?”

She didn’t bother to look at him or answer, the ungrateful son of a bitch. He wouldn’t have even found the dog if it wasn’t for her. Now she wondered if he would bother to take blood samples, simply because it had been her suggestion.

She held her corner of the blanket tight and followed Officer Hillguard and the medical examiner. As they reached the landing, Maggie turned to look at Manx, who had stayed in the bedroom’s doorway.

“Oh, Detective Manx,” she called to him. “One more thing. You might want to check out this mud here on the steps. Unless, of course, you’re the one who tracked it in and contaminated your own crime scene.”

Instinctively, Manx lifted his right foot, taking a look at the sole before he realized his defensive reaction. The M.E. laughed out loud. Officer Hillguard knew better and confined himself to a smile. Manx’s face went red again. Maggie simply turned, concentrating on keeping their patient steady and calm while they hauled him down the stairs.

M
aggie stared at the bloodied ruffle then slowly walked to the bed.

“Actually she was walking,” she said, keeping the excitement from her voice. “She had a dog with her, a white Lab.”

“We haven’t found any fucking dog,” Manx said. “Unless he’s out in the backyard or the garage.”

Carefully, Maggie got down on one knee. There was blood in the grooves of the hardwood floor, too. Here the intruder must have taken the time to mop it up. Why would he do that, unless some of it was his own?

The room grew silent as the men finally noticed the blood on the hem of the bed ruffle. Maggie felt them standing over her, waiting. Even Manx stood quietly, though out of the corner of her eye she could see the toe of his loafer tapping impatiently.

She lifted the ruffled material, avoiding the bloodied area. Before she could get a closer look underneath, a deep-throated growl caused her to jerk her hand away.

“Shit!” Manx spat, jumping back with such force he sent a nightstand scraping into the wall.

Maggie saw the glint of metal in his hand and realized he had drawn his service revolver.

“Move out of the way.” He was next to her, shoving her shoulder and almost knocking her over.

She grabbed his arm as he recklessly took aim, ready to fire at anything that moved underneath the bed even though he couldn’t see it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled at him.

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

“Calm down, Detective.” The medical examiner took hold of Manx’s other arm and gently pulled him back.

“This dog might be your only witness,” Maggie said, getting down on her knees again but staying back a safe distance.

“Oh right. Like a dog’s gonna tell us what happened.”

“She’s right,” the M.E.’s voice was amazingly calm. “Dogs can tell us a lot. Let’s see if we can get this one under control.”

Then he looked to Maggie as if waiting for her instructions.

“Most likely, he’s wounded,” she said.

“And in shock,” the M.E. added.

She stood and looked around the room. What the hell did she know about dogs, let alone how to subdue one?

“Check the closet and grab a couple of jackets,” she told him. “Preferably thick, something like wool and something that’s been worn and not laundered. Maybe there are some clothes on the floor.”

She found a tennis racket leaning against the wall. She rummaged through the bureau’s drawers then noticed a tie rack on the back of the closet door. She snatched a silk pinstripe and knotted one end of the tie to the handle of the racket. She made a slipknot at the other end.

The medical examiner came back with several jackets.

“Officer Hillguard,” he instructed. “See if you can find some blankets. Detective Manx, get at the end of the bed. We’ll have you lift up the bedspread when we’re ready.

Maggie noticed Manx’s impatience did not extend to the doctor. In fact, he seemed to regard the older man as an authority figure and willingly took his post at the end of the bed.

The medical examiner handed Maggie one of the jackets, an expensive wool tweed. She sniffed the sleeve. Excellent. There was still the faint scent of perfume. She pulled the jacket on backward, pushing the sleeves over her bare arms but keeping enough at the end to ball up in her fists. Then she grabbed the tennis racket and kneeled about two feet from the bed. The doctor kneeled next to her as Officer Hillguard set a quilt and two blankets on the floor beside them.

“Are we ready?” The medical examiner glanced at all of them. “Okay, Detective Manx. Lift the bedspread up, but slowly.”

This time the dog was prepared, his eyes glazed, teeth bared, the growl deep and low. But he didn’t lunge at them. He couldn’t. Underneath the bloody mess of fur that was once white, Maggie spotted the main wound, a gash just above the shoulder and barely missing the throat. The matted fur must have temporarily stopped the bleeding.

“It’s okay, boy,” Maggie told the dog in a quiet, calm voice. “We’re going to help you. Just relax.”

She scooted closer, extending a part of the sleeve and letting it hang beyond her hand. He snapped at it, and Maggie jerked backward, almost losing her balance.

“Jesus!” she muttered. Had she completely lost her mind? She tried not to think of her aversion to needles, yet found herself wondering if the treatment for rabies was still six shots.

Maggie steadied herself. She needed to stay focused. She tried again, more slowly this time. The dog sniffed at the dangling sleeve, possibly recognizing the scent of his owner. His growl turned into a whine and then a whimper.

“It’s okay,” Maggie promised in a hushed tone, uncertain whether she was trying to convince the dog or herself. She inched closer with the tennis racket in her other hand, the tie’s loop hanging down, moving in while the dog watched and continued to whimper. She let the dog sniff the tie. He didn’t resist when she slipped it over his snout. Gently, she tightened the knot.

“How’re we gonna get him out from under there?” Officer Hillguard was now on his knees on the other side of Maggie.

“Let’s unfold one of those blankets and get it next to him.”

But as soon as Officer Hillguard’s hands got close, the dog snapped and snarled, growling and struggling against the makeshift muzzle. He jumped toward the officer, and Maggie used the opportunity to grab the dog’s collar from behind. She yanked him forward onto the blanket, all the while holding the tennis racket and keeping the muzzle tight. The dog yipped, and immediately Maggie worried that she had opened one of the wounds.

“Holy shit,” she heard Detective Manx say, but this time he kept his revolver in its holster.

“We got him.” The medical examiner stood and waved Officer Hillguard over to his side. The two men tugged on the blanket corners and pulled the dog out from under the bed. “We can use my van to transport him to Riley’s Clinic.”

Maggie sat back on her feet, only now noticing that she was soaked with perspiration.

“Shit.” Manx was back to his belligerent mood. “That means all the blood by the door and in the bathtub is probably the fucking dog’s blood, and we don’t have a damn thing.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Maggie said. “Something violent happened here, and the dog’s owner may have suffered the brunt of it.” She watched the doctor and officer cover the trembling dog and secure their blanket stretcher, grateful they were too busy to notice how much effort it took for her to stand.

“I’m guessing this guy—” she pointed to the Lab “—tried to stop whatever happened. He may have gotten in a couple of good bites. There’s a chance some of the blood, especially here by the bed, may be the intruder’s. Your forensics people should be able to get a sampling even though it’s been wiped up.”

“You think you can allow me to do my own investigation?” Manx shot her a look of contempt.

Maggie wiped strands of hair off her forehead. Jesus! Couldn’t this guy give her a break? Just then she realized she had blood on her hands and now had blood on her forehead and in her hair. When she glanced at the medical examiner, he was shaking his head at Manx and giving him a warning look as though he, too, was fed up with Manx’s arrogance.

“Yes, of course, the investigation is all yours,” Maggie finally said, and grabbed a corner of the blanket to help the men move the swaddled dog. “I’m sure the whole neighborhood will sleep soundly tonight, knowing you’re on the case.”

Manx seemed surprised by her sarcasm, then turned red when he noticed the two men would not be coming to his defense. Maggie caught the medical examiner smiling. She didn’t turn to see if Manx had caught it, too.

“Just keep your big FBI badge and your pretty little butt out of my investigation,” he said to her back, determined to get in the last word. “You got that, O’Donnell?”

She didn’t bother to look at him or answer, the ungrateful son of a bitch. He wouldn’t have even found the dog if it wasn’t for her. Now she wondered if he would bother to take blood samples, simply because it had been her suggestion.

She held her corner of the blanket tight and followed Officer Hillguard and the medical examiner. As they reached the landing, Maggie turned to look at Manx, who had stayed in the bedroom’s doorway.

“Oh, Detective Manx,” she called to him. “One more thing. You might want to check out this mud here on the steps. Unless, of course, you’re the one who tracked it in and contaminated your own crime scene.”

Instinctively, Manx lifted his right foot, taking a look at the sole before he realized his defensive reaction. The M.E. laughed out loud. Officer Hillguard knew better and confined himself to a smile. Manx’s face went red again. Maggie simply turned, concentrating on keeping their patient steady and calm while they hauled him down the stairs.