Rottweiler Rescue (8 page)

That decision was easy. What to do about last night’s attack was not, and I was still worrying at the problem when I realized the water was cool and my fingers and toes were starting to look like pink prunes.

Clean and dry, I pulled on a baggy T-shirt and cutoffs that ended mid-thigh and didn’t rub on my sore knees. The deep cut under my chin didn’t show unless I lifted my head, but the raw red line that ran across half my throat and behind my right ear before disappearing into my hair was a different matter.

I decided makeup could wait until I was dressing for the client appointment. Searching through my closet, I found a knit blouse with a high neck that would cover most of the wound and decided to dress for my meeting like a Katherine Hepburn wannabe. The damage to my hands was all to the heel of the palm, so I should be able to hide the wounds. Maybe.

Limping around the kitchen starting coffee, I continued thinking over the events of the night before with increasing dismay. For weeks, Jack Sheffield’s murderer had quite rightly ignored me as no threat to him. What had changed his mind? I didn’t like the answer I came up with.

When the doorbell rang, I followed the dogs to the front door and peered out with unusual caution. The man on my doorstep wasn’t tall, masked, or dressed in black. His arrival resolved at least one of my early morning dilemmas and was more of a relief than I wanted to admit. After making all three dogs sit behind me, I opened the door.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” I said.

“Morning, Ms. Brennan. I hear you had an interesting time last night.” Lieutenant Forrester’s perceptive gaze swept over me, taking in the evidence of my interesting time.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorjamb.

“Is my name on some kind of a list?” I asked suspiciously.

“No, but I try to keep an eye on what’s happening in the county, and there was your name staring up at me, spelled right and all, on a report out of Parker. And surprise, surprise, dogs were involved. Are you going to tell me what happened, or can’t you resist the pleasure of slamming the door in my face?”

“Oh, come on in,” I said, moving back out of the doorway. “I’ve been debating whether or not to call you.”

Without thinking, I led him back to the kitchen, poured us both mugs of coffee, and sat down across from him as if he were a friend on a social call. “I didn’t tell the Parker cops it was the same man because I didn’t want to be there all night. I hurt and I wanted to come home.”

“I figured it was something like that, and of course the paramedics wouldn’t have let you take the dogs in the ambulance.”

“Exactly.” I studied his face for any trace of condescension but didn’t find any.

“So it was him.”

“It had to be. He grabbed me from behind when I walked into shadows and had me around the neck right until he shoved me away so hard I fell, but he was the right height, I think, and dressed all in black the same way. It had to be him.”

“Ski mask again?”

“I think so. The way he had hold of me I couldn’t see his face anyway, but there was something, something that gave me the impression of a mask again. He couldn’t risk being seen. He meant to kill me.”

“So why didn’t he?”

“I’ve been sitting here thinking about it, and I think he meant to drag me to his van, kill me there, and maybe dump my body somewhere it wouldn’t be found for a while. He didn’t count on the dogs, and when they came at him he panicked and threw me at them. He took a wild swipe at my throat, but I was already falling, so he missed. Sort of.”

I lifted my head and showed him the deep cut under my chin and gave him a good look at the shallower line running from there into my hair.

Forrester whistled. “He couldn’t have come much closer and not got the job done.”

“No, but he was scared of the dogs.”

“From what I hear any normal human being would have been scared of those dogs. I stopped in Parker and read some of the witness statements.”

Forrester himself showed absolutely no sign of being bothered by the dogs. At that moment, Millie had her head on his thigh, as close to purring as a Rottweiler can get, as he massaged her ears. I got up and pulled out the coffee cake I’d bought the night before, cut two slices and put a plate on the table for each of us, ignoring Forrester’s protest.

“You don’t have to eat it, but I’m hungry,” I told him, sitting back down and starting on my breakfast. After savoring the first buttery, cinnamon-laden bite, I went back to the subject at hand. “He could have just killed me the minute he saw the dogs and still beat them to his van. He made it way ahead of Sophie. The thing is, he shouldn’t have been that scared. He should be a dog person. He has to be.”

Forrester just cocked his head at me and waited.

“It’s been weeks and there’s been no sign that he was worried about me. He knows I only saw his eyes. Then I went to a dog show I wouldn’t usually go to. Everyone there made me tell all about what happened and what I saw over and over. And I heard this one woman exaggerating what I said wildly, making it sound like I might be able to identify the killer. So in about the amount of time it would take someone to decide what to do and plan how to do it.... Well, there he was.”

“So you think it’s someone who was at that show.”

“Or even someone who wasn’t at the show but who heard about it from someone who was. The loudmouth I heard exaggerating probably wasn’t the only one who did it, but why would he care? Why would he do anything? He knows I can’t identify him. If he sits tight, he’s safe. If he comes after me, he might get caught.”

“You’re thinking rationally. If he was rational, he wouldn’t have killed Sheffield.”

“Maybe so.” I got up and refilled our coffee mugs, needing the activity to hide my reaction to his words. My mental picture of the killer as vicious was bad enough. Adding crazy to that picture made my hand tremble slightly as I poured the coffee.

Sympathy was clear on the lieutenant’s face, and I didn’t like it. “You haven’t made any progress in your investigation, have you?” I said.

“We have leads we’re pursuing. We’ve eliminated a few suspects. Warmstead has witnesses. He was out of town.”

“Did he really agree to Jack having a dog in the house?”

“No, you were right about that. He thinks Sheffield was doing it to push him out and keep the house. They bought it together, but they weren’t getting along, and Warmstead admits they were both maneuvering for the best position asset-wise. He says he wouldn’t have let that dog set foot in the house and would have had a fit about it in the yard.”

“He,” I said.

“Yes, he, that’s what I said,” Forrester repeated, puzzled.

“Not he Carl, he Robo. Robo may be neutered, but your sex is in every cell of your body. He’s a he, not an it.”

“Uh huh.” Forrester didn’t quite roll his eyes.

“If a dog like Robo was in the house when he got back from that trip, would he have been able to do anything about it other than move out?” I asked.

“To hear him tell it he’d have grabbed Sheffield and the dog by the scruffs of their respective necks and thrown them both out in the street.” Forrester actually smiled at me as he said this. Then he sobered. “So you think we’re looking for a dog person who’s afraid of dogs, or strange dogs.”

“That’s the hard part,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about it all morning. All I can come up with is that it could be someone who has a different breed and is afraid of big dogs or afraid of Rottweilers. You get that, people who love one breed, but they have a problem with another. Jack showed dogs of other breeds too, you know. Susan told me that most handlers don’t make a living from one breed.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “What?” I asked. “You know something about that, don’t you? What?”

“It’s an active investigation, Ms. Brennan.”

“Oh, so I tell you everything, and you clam up? There’s no law that says I have to share, you know.”

“There are a lot of other dog people I can talk to for background.”

“But I’m the only one who saw him, who now has heard him, and who has a slashed neck to show for it.”

“You’re something else, Ms. Brennan. You know that?”

I didn’t tell him what he was, just met his pale blue gaze steadily.

“Okay.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “He didn’t make a living off the dogs. His grandparents set up a trust for him. Income only, he couldn’t get at the principal, but the income isn’t too shabby. Between the trust and what he made from the dogs, he lived pretty well. We wondered about that as soon as we interviewed another handler. Evidently they usually own their own kennel and live there. They have assistants and kennel help and do a lot of work with the dogs every day.”

“He rented space in a kennel,” I said.

“Yeah, and that means he didn’t make anything for a dog that was just staying with him. He didn’t do the work of keeping it and didn’t get the money either.”

“He did work with his dogs, though.”

“Sure, but it’s not the same.”

We sat thoughtfully for a while, eating the coffee cake and drinking coffee in a fairly companionable silence.

“Well,” he said finally, “I guess we’ll go over the interview reports and look for any sign of clients or business associates who might be afraid of Rottweilers. Maybe talk to some of them again and ask specifically. In the meantime, do you have a boyfriend you could move in with or someone else?”

“Excuse me? Did a ‘boyfriend’ or any man, for that matter, save me at Jack’s place, or last night? Exactly what is a ‘boyfriend’ supposed to do to keep me safe, lock me in his closet?”

“Okay, so you don’t have a boyfriend.” He grinned at me. “You still need to keep yourself safe.”

“I’ll do that, thank you,” I said, standing up to let him know he was leaving. “After all, preventing my murder isn’t your job. You can investigate afterwards — if he kills me in the county.”

He stood too, but didn’t move immediately. The humor was gone from his face.

“I’m serious, Ms. Brennan. He’s going to try again, and the dogs won’t protect you when he decides to switch to a gun. You need to go visit family or friends for a while — out of town, or better yet out of state. I’ll have deputies drive by here as often as they can, but we can’t really protect you. You need to be sensible.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

We parted this time the same way we parted after our first encounter — very unhappy with each other.

My meeting with the prospective
client was a disappointment. The head of the small company would have hired me, I thought, but his office manager couldn’t get over the fact I was a one-woman operation and had neither partners nor employees, just a friend in the same business who covered for me now and then.

Her concern zeroed in on the worst feature of my way of doing business. There was no way to assure them that emergencies with two clients at once never presented a problem, especially since the last frantic scramble was fresh in my mind.

She wanted my cheaper hourly rate, but she also wanted the guarantee of availability only a company with higher rates would provide. I left them to make their decision and wasn’t optimistic about which way they’d jump.

The meeting had been in the Denver Tech Center, where the last of summer’s flowers still bloomed in sculpted beds. Maples along the curving streets were starting to show fall colors, and the day was gorgeous, with just a few puffy white clouds floating across an intense blue sky. The ever-changing Rocky Mountains were a deep blue-black, their small summer snowcaps gleaming.

The temperature was still several degrees below the predicted seventy-eight, so that even in the high-necked white knit blouse I would not normally have worn on such a day, I felt comfortable, in fact gloriously alive.

My navy pantsuit had also been a good choice — the trousers were loose enough that they slid easily over the gauze bandages protecting my knees. All in all, one less client was of no concern whatsoever.

Back in my car, which still had a gaping hole where one window used to be, I decided to stop at Susan’s on the way home and try to talk her into a restaurant lunch. In the middle of the week and the middle of the day even on I-25 traffic was light. I saved the toll by using Lincoln Avenue instead of E-470 to get back to Parker and then to Susan’s. Calling her would only get me her recorder, even if she was home.

Like mine, Susan’s house was in one of the older areas of Parker on one of the five-acre lots that were standard at the time the houses were built. The house was a rambling, pale yellow ranch with white trim.

The garage attached to the house had chainlink kennel runs off of one side, and a second, detached garage housed vehicles. The dogs spent very little time in the kennels, of course, and when Susan answered her door, four black and tan companions greeted me too.

“Come on in,” she said. “You’re in perfect time for lunch. Just tuna fish, but I’ve got some of those scrumptious filled tarts for dessert. Do you want white or wheat?”

So much for my yen for a restaurant meal.

“Are you sure? I was going to take you out to lunch, not mooch off you.”

“If you’d been a few minutes earlier, I’d be delighted, but I’ve already mixed the tuna. White or wheat?”

“Wheat,” I said with resignation. No one who advises stopping to smell the roses — or in my case, to admire petunias — ever mentions that the time lost may mean tuna fish for lunch.

Susan’s kitchen was all light wood and white tile. The design included a built-in eating area that let us chat companionably as she prepared our sandwiches. I sat on a comfortably padded chair, petted the dogs, and let myself relax. Where we ate and what we ate weren’t important. I’d come to Susan for help.

My questions were going to have to wait a while though. As Susan set out our plates and poured us both tall glasses of iced tea, she started telling me about the latest misadventures of her youngest son. Wesley had actually gotten a job again.

“He never should have taken the position in the first place,” Susan said. “I told him he should hold out for something better and I’d help him with this month’s bills, but of course he doesn’t want help, he wants to be responsible.”