Three Dog Day (6 page)

Mae went back to her historic farmhouse, which was at last completely renovated after three-plus years of work. She returned some emails and cleaned up her kitchen, then took a quick shower. She dried her willful thick blonde hair and ponytailed it, then applied some lotion and lip balm and got dressed. Going downstairs, she got her cellphone and purse and put on warm hiking boots. She found her hat and gloves and put her barn jacket on over her sweatshirt and jeans. She grabbed a protein bar for her breakfast and went back to the barn to get Lulu.

Her friend and hair-stylist Kim was an avid hiker and had recently told Mae about a nature preserve with some challenging trails. The trail she had told her about ran along the north side of the Little Harpeth River. Mae thought this would be a good day to check it out. Lulu's owner, Ray Crowell, had told her that Lulu was a “highly trained” field dog who didn't need a leash, but Mae brought a stout one anyway. Since this would be a new trail for her, she didn't want to worry about Lulu running off. Her recent experience with getting lost in a snowstorm was
very
fresh in her mind, so she buttoned her fully charged phone into the pocket of her jacket before she even started her car.

Mae looked in her rearview mirror as she was buckling her seatbelt and laughed at the look of excited impatience in Lulu's eyes. The young hound was whining again, and moving back and forth in the cargo area of Mae's SUV.

“
Sit, Lulu.” Mae said in a loud, firm voice.

Lulu sat, and they were on their way. Kim had texted directions to Mae's phone, and she knew it would be a drive of almost half an hour. The outside temperature display on her dashboard read twenty-nine degrees, but the sun was out and everything sparkled. Mae cranked up her radio and enjoyed the ride, alternating between a country station and a Motown and classic soul station she'd recently discovered, singing along at the top of her lungs.

She found the nature preserve parking area with no problem. The gravel lot was deserted.
Good thing I've got a big dog with me.
Lulu wouldn't harm anyone, but she had a look of deceptive ferocity, due to her large size and wild markings. She clipped the heavy duty leash onto Lulu's collar and found the marker for the blue trail, which Kim had said was her favorite. The big dog surged ahead, sniffing and pausing to pee every few yards. They stayed on the path, following the blue arrows every time there was a fork in the trail, and ended up down near the bank of the Little Harpeth River. The sun was beginning to warm the air, and Mae took off her gloves and paused to put them in her pocket with the cellphone. Lulu tugged hard on the leash suddenly and seemed to be headed right to the edge of the dark, fast-moving water.

Mae pulled back on the leash, shouting “Lulu, no!” but she was no match for the strength and determination of the eighty pound dog. Mae stumbled and grabbed a tree to steady herself. The leash slipped out of her grip and Lulu jumped down onto a rock ledge, sniffing at something at the very edge of the water. The hound sat down, threw her head back and howled. Mae got a clear view of what Lulu had been sniffing, let out a scream and jumped down to grab Lulu's leash.

A man lay face down, with one arm trailing in the water. His flannel shirt and brown corduroy pants were wet and covered with debris from the river. His face was turned away, but the skin on his neck and the hand on the side nearest her was a horrible shade of pale blue and dotted with mud. Mae pulled Lulu back and knotted the leash over a branch, then went back to kneel on the rocky ledge by the water. She tentatively touched the man's hand. It was cold and stiff, like a partially defrosted steak. Mae gagged, tasting coffee and the protein bar she'd had earlier.

Standing back up, she swallowed convulsively and shook her head. Mae took several deep breaths. There was nothing she could do for this poor man. No ambulance could save him.
I don't need to call 911, I need Ben
. She went over to Lulu, who had stopped howling and was emitting a low, steady moan.

“
It's all right, Lulu.” Mae retrieved the leash and patted her on the smooth dome of her head. She and the big dog clambered up the bank. They were almost back to the trail when Lulu took off, pulling hard on the leash. Mae slipped on the icy mud and put her left hand down to break her fall. She heard something snap and felt a sharp pang in her wrist. For a minute she lay there, smelling the wet leaves right under her nose. Lulu sat down beside her head and licked Mae's cheek. She heard a low whimpering sound and realized it wasn't the dog. Forcing herself to look at her wrist, she was horrified to see her hand bent at an unnatural angle.
Oh, God, it's broken.

Mae rolled to her right side and used her uninjured hand to push herself to her feet. She walked slowly and carefully the last few steps to the trail and dropped the handle of Lulu's leash. Her owner claimed that Lulu didn't need it anyway.

“
Sit, Lulu. Stay.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and entered Ben's number with her thumb, cradling her bent hand against her chest and standing where she could see the body. The sun was still bright, but she couldn't feel any of its warmth. The water rippled past, and the man's arm floated. Tugged by the current, it was the only part of him that still seemed alive.

“
Hey, beautiful. I was just thinking about you,” Ben responded on the second ring.

“
Ben, I found a man, by the river.” Her words rushed out in a voice that was pitched much higher than normal. “I think he must have drowned.”

“
Hold on. Are you sure he's dead? I can call an ambulance.”

She took a shaky breath. “Yes, he's very cold. And his skin looks sort of … blue. But I might need an ambulance.” She fought back a wave of pain and nausea. “I think my wrist is broken.”

“
What? Why didn't you say so?” Ben's voice got louder in her ear. “Where are you right now? Are you still beside the body?”

“
I'm a little ways off. I can see him from here, but I pulled Lulu away and climbed back up to the trail after I made sure he was dead. That's when I hurt my wrist.”

“
Who's Lulu?”

“
She's a new boarder that came to the kennel yesterday. I was walking her near the river at that nature preserve off North Branch Road.”

“
Okay. You and Lulu stay right where you are. I'm on my way, and I'll have an ambulance and Dr. Estes, our Medical Examiner, meet us there.”

“
Why do you need Dr. Estes?” Mae asked.

“
We need to be sure it was a natural death.”

“
Oh,” Mae replied softly. She cleared her throat. “Will you be able to take Lulu back to my house and stay there tonight if they decide to admit me?”

“
As soon as Dr. Estes is done, I'll give Lulu a ride, and then I'll meet you at the ER. Hang on, Mae. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

Mae put the phone back in her pocket, then lowered herself to the ground and leaned against Lulu. She looked at her hand again. Hanging against her chest, it looked as limp and lifeless as the dead man. She quickly closed her eyes. Strangely enough, her injured wrist was the only place on her body that felt warm. Mae shivered and put her good arm around Lulu. Together, she and the big dog waited for Ben.

T
he sheriff's office had swung into high gear after Ben informed the staff that Mae had found a dead body in the Little Harpeth River and then broken her wrist. After seeing Mae into the ambulance Ben said that it had taken him and Dr. Estes only minutes to determine that the man, as yet unidentified, had been stabbed to death. They now had a murder, and Sheriff Bradley wanted his team working 24/7. Their second major case, the copper theft ring, also required investigation.

Ben asked Dory to release the medical examiner's photographs of the anonymous drowning victim they called John Doe to the Nashville police post. Sheriff Bradley told her he was reluctant to post photographs of a dead man in the media or online, feeling that it raised anxiety in the community. A competent police artist could draw the man as though he were alive, however, and the drawing could potentially be used to identify the victim.

Nashville Police Captain Paula Crawley agreed to have her police artist do a drawing of the man's face and to post it in the incident room in Nashville. The stabbing victim had several tattoos, and these were photographed and posted, along with the drawing of his face. Ben had originally charged their new detective, Rob Fuller, with the copper pipe theft case, but said he wanted him to accompany him to the morgue where John Doe had been taken that morning. He assigned George and Cam to tracking down their victim using public arrest records, background checks, registering with all missing person databases, and calling local hospitals. Obviously their victim wasn't in the hospital, but his attacker might well have sought medical care for knife wounds.

On top of everything else that was happening, it was the day of the ASPCA puppy mill raid. Although Dory offered to stay at the office in case her assistance was needed, Ben told her to go with Mr. Gunderson to investigate the Clifton property.

“
I'll have Cam take phones,” Ben said.

“
Did they keep Mae overnight at the hospital or send her home?” Dory took a close look at the sheriff, who was puffy-eyed and wearing a wrinkled shirt.

“
I took her home around eleven and stayed with her, but neither of us got much sleep.” He shook his head. “She doesn't react well to pain medication, and they just splinted her wrist for now. They're waiting for the swelling to go down to see if she needs surgery.”

“
I was hoping she could go with me today, but I guess not.” Dory was struck by a sudden thought. “Do you think finding a murdered man in the river close to the Clifton property and a puppy mill on the grounds means there's a connection?”

“
It's circumstantial, but I'm suspicious.” He looked at Dory, squinting his blue eyes in a small frown. “That's why I want you on site.”

She smiled at her young boss.

Miss Dory Clarkson, wearing tight jeans, boots and a fitted wool jacket with a faux fur collar, met a small crew of ASPCA employees and volunteers at the property of Jerrod Clifton early that morning. Mr. Clifton had not responded to either the Sheriff's citations or the notices from the ASPCA. However, the severe weather coupled with
the report by the
teenager
named
Ray that Clifton had been gone for over a week, gave the ASPCA the right to intervene.

The crew walked through icy patches of grass, ducking their heads against the wind until they reached the double doors of a padlocked barn. A large sign on the building read, “Pit Bull Puppies for Sale. Good bloodlines.” The lead ASPCA investigator, a man named Larry Gunderson, had a pair of bolt cutters in his hand.

“
Are you Miss Dory?” A hand tugged at her sleeve.

“
What is it?” She looked down.

“
It's me, Ray Fenton. I'm the one who called you about the dogs.” The short skinny kid had scruffy brown hair, light hazel eyes, and a bruise on his right cheek. He was unremarkable physically, but Dory knew this boy had the right stuff. “When you left me the message that the raid was going to be today, I thought I should come. The dogs know me. The mother dogs are used to me handling their puppies. I didn't want anybody to get bit.”

“
Glad to meet you at last, Ray,” Dory said, smiling. She turned toward the ASPCA crew and called, “Mr. Gunderson, could you wait a moment?”

The large, square-jawed man turned toward them. He had a five o'clock shadow already, even though it was only eight in the morning.

“
Mr. Gunderson, I'm Dory Clarkson, an investigator from the sheriff's office.” She said the word “investigator” with a touch of pride. “I'm the one who filed the report. This here's Ray Fenton. He's the one who alerted the sheriff's office to the problems at this facility. He's volunteered to help today. He says he can get the puppies out of their cages without anyone being bitten.”

“
Thank you, Ray. We'll get the puppies out first. Let me introduce you to my assistant, Allison Ware. You two can work together.” Gunderson looked back toward the driveway where Dory saw a white panel van with a large parabolic mic on the top of it. A reporter was getting out of the car.

“
Those damn reporters are here. They better not get in the way,” Gunderson said.

Mr. Gunderson snapped the padlock on the barn and swung the barn door to the side. The large man and slight teenager walked in. Dory followed. Stopping outside the dark open doorway, she stood alone in the icy barnyard for a moment. She could hear the fearful and enraged barking of frightened animals—a chorus of desperation from being confined for so long. Soon these dogs would be in clean cages at the ASPCA facility. They would be bathed, fed, and examined by the volunteer vets. It was going to be a good day. She had to follow every step of this operation she had mentally labeled, “Save the baby pits.” After that, she owed Sheriff Ben Bradley a comprehensive report. Dory walked quickly into the darkened barn.

One of the staff members turned on the lights. Another was backing up the big truck, through the gate toward the barn door. The beeping of the truck, signaling people standing nearby to get out of the way, sounded loud and clear in the cold air. When the truck's engine was turned off, staffers brought cages and long poles with circular wire hoops at the ends into the barn. If an adult dog made a break for it, they would encircle the dog's neck and hold the dog until it could be crated. The smell of the place was making Dory's eyes water.