Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (79 page)

25

Alena pulled her truck over to the side of the road and shifted into neutral. “There it is,” she said, pointing out the passenger window. “Dogleg Lake.”

Nick looked out his window; beyond the railing and down a steep slope he saw the glimmer of moonlight on water through the pines.

“You're sure that's the one?”

“How many lakes shaped like a dog's leg do you think we have? It's been called that as long as I can remember.”

“Let's take a look. Can you get us down there?”

“I'm still not sure I get this. Why are we looking for a graveyard here? What does this have to do with the Patriot Center?”

“It has to do with Marge,” Nick said. “She did that interview—she said she found all those graves—and
then
she disappeared.”

“So?”

“Let's assume that someone killed her. Why would they do that?”

“Like you said, to keep her from finding any more graves.”

“Yes, but she already found all the graves—she said so in the interview. Why would someone kill her after she was already finished? They wouldn't—unless there was something else she still might find.”

“Unless there was something
I
might find.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“But—in a different graveyard?”

“It's the only thing that makes sense to me. The killer used the same double-grave technique three times; it worked for him, so why would he change? He apparently learned the technique from someone who used it a long time ago—maybe an ancestor who left a little ‘oral history' of his own. He decided to use a historical graveyard because no one would ever look there—it was already forgotten. But would he bury all of his victims in the same graveyard, or would he diversify a little—spread out his risk of discovery? I think that's what he did; I think that's why he went after Marge. He saw what she could do, and he was afraid she might do it again—somewhere else.”

“But you don't even know if there are any more victims.”

“No—and if it wasn't for Marge, I wouldn't even be looking. That was the killer's big mistake: He didn't have to do anything—he played a card when he didn't have to. C'mon, let's see what we can find. We need to get you home before daybreak.”

The truck shifted back into gear with a
thunk
. There was a gap in the railing where a narrow gravel path left the road at a precarious angle. Alena jerked the wheel hard and steered the truck onto it. The right front wheel dropped suddenly, throwing Nick against the passenger door.

“Do you know where this road goes?” Nick asked.

“Down.”

“Thanks.” He twisted around and looked through the grating into the camper shell; he saw Trygg standing calmly in the center of the truck bed, with her three limbs smoothly absorbing the shocks like the legs of a photographer's tripod.

“Incredible,” Nick said. “How does she do that with only three legs?”

“That's one more than you've got.”

Alena showed no signs of slowing down, though the road whipped back and forth like a kite's tail. The well-worn gravel rolled under the tires, causing the tail of the truck to spin out on every curve with a shuddering crunch.

“I was just wondering,” Nick said. “If you've been on your own since you were ten, who taught you how to drive?”

“I taught myself.”

The truck skidded to the right; Nick stuck his head out the window and found himself staring over the edge of a fifty-foot overhang.

“I want to
find
a graveyard,” he said. “I don't want to be buried in it.”

“Do you want to drive?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it's my truck, so shut up.”

To Nick's relief the road gradually leveled out and began a wide arc around the edge of the water.

“Now where?” she asked. “This is a big lake.”

“The western side.”

“How do you know that?”

“The history said, ‘Sara watches the sunrise over the waters of the dog's leg'—you can only see the sunrise
over the water
from the western side. It said there was a ‘great oak' there; we could look for one, but I doubt we'll find it. That was two hundred years ago—a lot of great oaks could have come and gone since then.”

“Should we look for a clearing?”

“Hard to say. The graveyard would have been in a clearing originally, but that was a long time ago. It depends on how long it's been forgotten. I'll tell you where to stop; just drive along the shoreline—
slowly
.”

Nick watched the trees as they passed; he wasn't sure there would be any trace of the graveyard at all after all these years. He searched for a spot where the trees were less dense or the pattern of growth seemed different. He made his best guess and told Alena to pull over.

She opened the back of the camper shell; Trygg stepped onto the tailgate and smoothly jumped down.

“How did she lose that leg?” Nick asked.

“It was chewed off, just above the paw. Some moron down in Chester Gap left her staked out in the yard when she was in season. I found her in a shelter there; she asked me to help her, so I did.”

“What happened to the rest of her leg?”

“I took it off.”

“
You
took it off ?”

“You have to, or the dog will keep trying to walk on the stump.”

Nick made a low whistle. “Never mess with a witch.”

“That's what I've been trying to tell you.”

He was about to lift the tailgate when a second dog stepped out of the darkness. It was a tiny dog with pink mottled skin and just a few twisted wisps of fine gray hair. It was more skin than Nick had ever seen on a dog, and he couldn't help sneering—it looked like a ninety-year-old man in a bathtub. Its jaw stuck out to one side and its tongue stuck out on the other; the effect was comical. “What is that thing?” he asked. “It looks like Yoda on a bad hair day.”

Alena glared at him. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Sorry—he just caught me a little off guard. What did you bring him along for?”

“Protection.”

Nick almost laughed, but he caught himself just in time. “Does he have a name?”

“Of course.”

Nick waited. “I could ask him myself, but I don't speak Dog.”

“His name is Ruckus.”

Nick held out the back of his hand but the dog showed no interest. “Is he friendly?”

“Unless I tell him not to be.”

“What happens then? Don't tell me—he raises a ruckus.”

“He can tear your sock off without removing your shoe.”

“You're joking.”

“Would you like a demonstration?”

“No, I believe you—besides, if something went wrong I wouldn't want you giving me first aid.”

Ruckus bounced down from the tailgate and the four of them walked to the edge of the trees.

“Might as well start here,” Nick said. “How do you want to do this?”

“Just give us some room,” she said, summoning Trygg to her side.

Alena began just as she had done at the Patriot Center—by lifting both arms in the air and walking in slow circles.

“What are you doing?” Nick asked.

“Lessons are extra,” she said.

“Fine—put it on my bill.”

She glanced over at him. “I'm testing the air—the temperature, the humidity.”

“Why?”

“A dog can work longer in cooler temperatures; humidity will keep the scent down low.”

She held out her arms and gently shook them; she squatted down a little and straightened again.

“Why are you doing that?”

“I'm feeling my joints. No rain tomorrow.”

Nick had read about people who could predict the weather with uncanny accuracy due to their ability to sense changes in barometric pressure. It was more than folklore; there was a scientific basis for it. It was like putting a balloon in a vacuum chamber: When the pressure goes down, the balloon expands—and so do the tissues that surround human joints.
Remarkable woman
, Nick thought again.

Alena lowered her head and dangled her long hair in front of her face. She shook it.

“You're checking the direction of the wind,” Nick said.

“The wind will move the scent away from the actual source—you have to allow for that.”

When she completed her assessment she called Trygg to face her, then took one of the three bandannas from around her neck and showed it to the dog.

“What's the bandanna for?”

“It's her uniform,” she said, slipping the bandanna over the dog's head. “It tells her that she's in work mode now; it reminds her to stay focused.”

“Like the orange vest that Bosco wore. I guess he needed a cap and trousers too.”

“It also serves to remind her what she's looking for. She was trained to detect three different kinds of remains, remember? Putrefying, post-putrefying, and submerged.”

“What about ‘distressed body'?”

“We're not looking for a living person—I left that one at home. Each bandanna has a distinct pattern; this one tells her we're searching for older remains. Now are we going to talk all night or can we get to work?”

“Wait a minute,” Nick said. “We're not just looking for an old graveyard here, we're looking for double graves. Is there any way to tell your dog to search for the most recent remains she can find?”

“No—but she'll respond more confidently to a stronger scent, and that might indicate a more recent grave. I'll ask her about it—maybe she'll help.”

“Ask politely,” Nick said. “Tell her it would be a real time-saver for us—I'd hate to have to excavate another whole graveyard.”

Alena squinted at him. “Do you have permission to excavate these graves if we find them?”

Nick shrugged. “Are we going to talk all night or can we get to work?”

Alena moved to a position downwind and began to work back toward the trees; it wasn't long before Trygg zeroed in on a section of ground and lay down.

Nick looked at Alena. “Bingo?”

“Bingo.”

He pulled a flag from his back pocket and marked the spot.

Alena and Trygg worked quickly, systematically covering and recovering the area, narrowing their focus and eliminating sections of ground that yielded no results. Nick sat on the ground beside Ruckus and watched.
Gunner was right
, he thought. There was an almost psychic connection between Alena and this dog. She seemed to be able to look at the dog and know what it was thinking. As Nick watched the dog, he began to pick up things too—at least he thought he did. He noticed that the dog had a kind of body language that changed from time to time: the way she carried herself, the way she moved her tail, the way she pricked her ears or laid them back. He could see each change, but he had no idea what meaning to assign to it; it was like watching a man use sign language without knowing what each signal conveyed. Somehow, Alena had figured it out—and so had the dog.

Nick looked down at Ruckus. “Come here often?”

Ruckus stared straight ahead.

“It would take a lot of beer before you started to look good.”

“I heard that,” Alena called over. “You're about to lose your socks.”

“We were just talking,” Nick called back. “He says his real name is ‘Eduardo,' but he was too ashamed to tell you.”

Alena finally let out a laugh.

Bingo
, Nick thought.

When Alena and Trygg had exhausted the area in front of the trees, they began to work their way deeper into the woods; by five o'clock they had finished. There were a total of seventeen graves in the old forgotten graveyard beside Dogleg Lake—but only one of them interested Nick.

“You're sure this is the most recent one?”

“That's what Trygg told me.”

“No offense, but—exactly how did she tell you that?”

“By how fast she found it—by the look she gave me—by how pleased she was with herself. If this one isn't recent then they're all old, because she treated the rest of them the same.”

Nick looked around the area: Little red flags dotted the open ground and gradually disappeared into the woods as if they were tiny creatures crawling off to hide. “I still can't believe that dog of yours. She's absolutely amazing.” He looked at Alena. “You know, you're amazing too.”

She brushed the hair back from her face. “Thank you—Nick.”

“It sounded better that time. Now that didn't hurt, did it?”