Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones (11 page)

“Dr. Evans. Thank you for coming. Can you tell us what’s going on?” Megan asked.

“They’re taking her to the hospital,” Sam said. “I’m going with her. In the ambulance.” He rushed away.

“Wait,” Megan called, but Sam was gone. She turned to her friends. “What are we waiting for?”

Chapter 12

Gordon stood back as Justin and Megan demanded answers from Doc Evans. If nothing else, the elderly doctor knew how to put people at ease, unlike the woman who had come in earlier. Angie slipped her hand in his. Until he felt the comforting warmth, he hadn’t realized how worried he was. He moved closer, so he could hear what Doc Evans was saying.

“I’ll explain what I know,” Doc Evans said. He took a seat in an empty chair and indicated that Justin and Megan should sit. Justin complied, but Megan remained standing, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, clenching and unclenching her fists.

“Sam’s description of Rose’s symptoms presented themselves as typical for influenza. Rose had a flu shot, so I didn’t think she needed more than bed rest and fluids. However, Dr. Cantwell discovered Rose was having difficulty breathing, which could be indicative of pneumonia, and thought she’d get better care in the hospital.”

“Wait,” Justin said. “Aren’t there shots for pneumonia, too? Didn’t Oma have one?”

“Yes. That’s why she’s going to the hospital,” Doc Evans said. “In patients her age, sometimes the immunization isn’t fully effective. Unfortunately, the pneumonia immunization carries the same risks as the flu shot. Neither gives a one hundred percent guarantee a patient won’t contract either disease. We only hope the severity will be lessened.”

“She’s not going to die, is she?” Megan’s voice cracked.

Doc Evans looked as though he wanted to pat Megan on the head. “I strongly doubt it. As I said, we’re taking precautionary measures. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the hospital.”

“So do we.” Megan looked at Justin. “You have Sam’s keys?”

Justin patted his pocket. “Yep.”

“I want to go, too,” Angie said, with a questioning glance at Gordon.

“Why don’t you ride with Megan and Justin. I’ll follow.”

Angie seemed to understand that she’d do more good supporting Megan than sticking with him. With her arm around Megan’s waist, she urged her friend toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

Gordon stepped across the parking lot to his car, wishing he had his official vehicle, with its lights and sirens. Of course, running with them was against regulations, but then again, he
was
the chief. Who would question him?

As he drove, he remembered Rose visiting him every day when he was nine and laid up with a broken leg. How much he owed her, sitting there with him, helping him with his schoolwork, reading to him, making him understand how important it was to be able to read. If he hadn’t fallen out of that tree, he might very well be one of the scumbags he now spent his days trying to catch.

At the hospital, he found everyone but Sam in the hospital lobby. Justin had his arms around Megan, who had her face buried in his chest. Gordon’s pulse kicked up a notch. Had something gone wrong?

Angie stared expectantly at Gordon. Did she expect a hug, too? Or was he supposed to comfort Megan? He waited, a technique he’d found worked well with suspects, who usually filled the void. Angie broke away.

“We’re not allowed upstairs yet. Only Sam,” Angie said. “We haven’t heard anything.”

Gordon sat, waiting, as endless minutes ticked by. Finally, the elevator dinged, and everyone’s eyes shifted in that direction. Sam, looking ten years older than when Gordon had last seen him, shuffled toward them.

Megan rushed to his side. “How is she?”

Sam rested his hand on Megan’s shoulder. “She is on a breathing machine and awake. She would rather be alone—she doesn’t want to be seen this way. She said to tell you to go home.”

Over Megan and Justin’s protests, Sam insisted they do as Rose requested. “Wait for me in the car. I need to use the men’s room and will be right there.”

When Megan and Justin left, Sam pulled Gordon aside. Angie got the hint and moved farther away, giving them some privacy. Sam lowered his voice. “Rose, she isn’t speaking clearly. Her fever, I think. I didn’t want to upset the children. But she has been muttering about bones. I think your earlier visit upset her. Perhaps, when the doctors permit it, you could reassure her that we’re not in danger.”

Gordon squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “Understood. Call when I can see Rose. Any time. I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Gordon.” Sam, who’d apparently mentioned the men’s room only as a ruse to speak privately, shuffled toward the exit.

“What was that about?” Angie asked.

“Nothing.” Gordon wrapped an arm around Angie’s waist, searching for an answer that wouldn’t alarm Angie, because he knew she’d never be able to keep it from Megan. “Sam told me he’d be spending the night with Rose. I told him I’d have the night patrol keep an eye on things at his house.”

“Ah. The bone thing.”

“Yep. The bone thing.” He wondered what Rose had thought was important. Or, if it was nothing more than a fever induced dream, triggered by having a coroner tell her human bones were in the woods behind her house. “I’ll drive you home.”

* * * * *

The next morning, Gordon parked up the street from the Kretzers’ house. Last night, Angie had insisted on sticking with Megan, and Gordon had spent his time puttering around his house, catching up on long-neglected laundry, even vacuuming. Sleep hadn’t come easy, and now he waited in his SUV for the deputy with the cadaver dog, sipping from a travel mug filled with station house coffee. Sam hadn’t called, although Gordon doubted he’d hear anything until after visiting hours began.

His cell rang. “Chief, this is Davey Gilman.”

“Got something for me?”

Last night, he’d talked to Davey, one of the local paramedics. Although Davey hadn’t transported Rose to the hospital, he’d promised to check with his contacts there and let Gordon know whatever he could find about Rose’s condition.

“Rose is in a regular room, which is good news. Bad news is the chest x-ray indicates pneumonia. Her fever’s still high. They’ve got her on oxygen and IV antibiotics, waiting for lab work to make sure there are no surprises. Cultures might take 2 or 3 days.”

“But, all things considered—”

“She’s getting good care. I wouldn’t count on showing up for her apple cake for a while, though.”

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.” Gordon disconnected as a county vehicle with K-9 emblazoned on its side pulled up. He got out of his SUV and went to greet the deputy.

A slight, mahogany-skinned man stepped out of the car. “Carlos Quintana. Call me Quinn. Understand you’re looking for some old bones.”

“I am.” Gordon shook Quinn’s extended hand. “How does this work?”

“Any chance we’re looking at an active crime scene?”

“Coroner estimates the bones were in the ground thirty years. Nothing looked disturbed when we found them, other than a dog digging, so I’d say highly unlikely.”

“That makes life
much
easier.” Quinn smiled. “Tell me where you want Lucy to start looking. Then we turn her loose and follow.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Gordon said.

Quinn released the lock on his vehicle and opened the door, revealing a sleek black Lab. She sat on the backseat, quivering. “Ready to work, Luce?” Quinn said. He helped her into a red harness.

She whined and gave a quick, sharp bark.

“Wish some of my officers were that enthusiastic,” Gordon said.

“Lucy’s a pro.” Quinn clipped a leash to the harness. “Let’s go.”

Gordon led the way down the block toward the edge of the woods. They stopped, and the dog sat, gazing at her handler. “We found a couple of bones in there already,” Gordon said, “but they’re at the lab. Should I take you to where they were?”

“Not necessary. She’ll find any evidence of decomp. She does better when she does her own thing. Part of her training includes knowing how to search an area.” Quinn leaned down, scratched the dog behind her ears, and unclipped her leash. “Lucy. Reap.”

“Reap?” Gordon asked.

Quinn grinned. “As in Grim Reaper. My trainer used it, and I thought it was—”

“Macabre?”

Quinn’s grin widened. “Lucy doesn’t seem to care.” The dog darted off. Quinn watched for a moment.

“Shouldn’t we be going after her?” Gordon asked, wondering why Quinn wasn’t running behind the dog, the way he’d seen Solomon and Buster work, and why the dog seemed to be running in a zigzag pattern instead of zeroing in on the scent.

“We will. Bring a field kit.” He strolled in the general direction Lucy had gone. “She’s going to be checking out everything. She’s not trying to follow a specific person’s scent the way a tracking dog would.”

Gordon grabbed his gear and caught up to Quinn. “So, how do you know when she’s found something?”

“If I’m too far away, she’ll come back and tell me. Then she’ll lead me to it.”

“Like Lassie telling everyone Timmy fell in the well?”

Quinn chortled. “More or less. Only Lucy does it for real.”

Gordon noted that despite Quinn’s assertion that Lucy was running the show, the deputy was watching her, occasionally nodding, and clearly taking note of the surroundings.

About five minutes later, Lucy appeared from out of the woods and sat at Quinn’s feet. She lifted a paw and barked.

“She’s got something,” Quinn said, shaking her paw. “Good girl. Go
reap
.” He accentuated the word, clearly making it a command.

The dog loped into the trees. This time Quinn was jogging, not strolling. Gordon trotted after them again, his field kit thumping against his hip as he ran.

Lucy brought Gordon and Quinn to the same place Artemus had shown them. “She didn’t use the tape as a clue, did she?” Gordon said, only half-kidding. If the dog had experience at crime scenes, maybe she’d learned to recognize the tape.

Quinn laughed. “Hardly.” He walked to Lucy, who was sitting at the edge of the taped-off area, and rubbed her ears. “Good girl.” He took a small red ball out of his pocket and tossed it into the trees. “Give her a few minutes of reward time, and she’ll be ready to go.” Lucy barked and took off after the ball.

“Okay, so we know there were bones here,” Gordon said. “What we want to know is if there are
other
bones anywhere in the vicinity.”

“No problem. But we need to move upwind of this spot, or she’ll just find it again. She’s good, but she’s working for the reward.” He strode away. When Lucy brought the ball back, Quinn pocketed it and looked back toward the original site. “This is far enough. Lucy, reap.”

Lucy went back to work, and the men walked at a brisk pace, keeping her in sight. “You have any idea who we’re looking for?” Quintana asked.

“Wish I knew. So far, we have what looks like the bones of one human arm, adult, buried for decades. If there are others out here, we might have more luck identifying the victim, which might lead us to whoever buried it.”

Quinn paused. “You thinking homicide?”

“I’m not thinking anything. Right now, it’s a matter of playing CYA so the mayor doesn’t take a bite out of mine. Not that it matters. I’m screwed no matter what I do. The only thing he’d be happy about would be if I found a way to generate income out of this.”

“I hear you. I imagine justifying what it’s costing to bring me and Lucy here would help your cause with your mayor.”

Gordon snorted. “The only way that’s going to happen would be if Lucy finds the remains of Jimmy Hoffa, or D.B. Cooper, or someone else who will bring fame—and tourist dollars—to Mapleton.”

“Sounds like a left-handed claim to fame.”

“As long as the tourists speed in or out of town, and get parking tickets, he’ll be happy. And spreading the name of Martin Alexander, Mapleton Mayor extraordinaire, wouldn’t hurt.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.” Time to stop thinking about that side of his job. “You like handling a cadaver dog? Doesn’t it get depressing, finding bodies? I’d think search and rescue would be more rewarding.”

“Lucy doesn’t understand the difference. She’s trained to the scent of decomp, so when she finds it, she’s done her job, and gets rewarded. The problem is usually with the handlers. If
I
get depressed, she’ll know it. If that happens, like in a disaster situation with lots of bodies, I make sure to find some happy things to do with her.” He paused. “And her enthusiasm helps me, more than I help her in those situations.”

“Sounds like a good partnership.”

Quinn smiled. “A lot better than some of the two-legged partners I’ve had.”

Gordon wondered if training as a dog-handler might be a good career backup plan. He’d rather deal with a dog like Lucy than the mayor any day.

“Ah,” Quinn said. “That’s my girl.”

“She’s sitting there,” Gordon said. “Is she waiting for us?”

“In a manner of speaking. That’s her alert signal. She’s found something.”

“That’s it. She just sits there?” Gordon recalled the way Lucy sat at the first site. He hadn’t thought about it at the time, simply assuming Quinn had told her to sit. Gordon set the field kit down and popped the latch, then pulled out the camera and a roll of crime scene tape. He tried to discern some evidence that something was buried near where Lucy sat, but the ground looked exactly like it did everywhere else.

“Most of the time, we’re looking for potential crime scenes,” Quinn said. “Cadaver dogs are trained to give passive alerts. Cops don’t like it when a dog tramples evidence. If she’d found trace evidence of a body—and she can zero in on tiny amounts of blood or body fluids—it wouldn’t do to have her paw them.”

Gordon snapped pictures of what looked like normal forest ground cover. He also noted the GPS coordinates. After the wandering around they’d done, he wasn’t sure if he was still on the Kretzers’ property. Quinn leaned against a tree, writing in a small spiral notebook.

Quinn shoved the notebook into his pocket. “Want to keep looking or dig here?”

Gordon thought of Fred, burying his garbage. “You sure we’re not going to find leftovers from someone’s picnic, or something a coyote buried?”