Three Dog Day (16 page)

“
I know it's hard, sweetheart. When I lost my old basset hound, Buttercup, I cried like a baby. I was a twenty-eight-year-old police officer and still I cried. I didn't shed a tear when Katie left me, but losing that dog was rough.” Mae looked at him and sniffled as he went on, “I'm going to tell you what my mom told me then. She said, when you lose a dog, they take all the bad things in your life away with them when they go. That's how you know it's time to move on to a new phase of your life. You have a lot of memories tied to Thoreau, but we'll be making new memories together.”

He held his hand out to Mae. She took it and got out of her chair, giving him a trace of a smile. “I guess today is the first of many three-dog days around here.”

Ben gave her a smile in return. “Have you ever heard the expression, ‘three dog night'?”

“
No, I haven't.” Mae shook her head.

“
It's an Alaskan night that's so cold you need to sleep with three of your sled dogs just to survive. So I guess it's a three dog day all right. But by my count you actually have nine dogs on the premises—three sets of three.”

“
You're right, I do. And at least Titan, Tallulah, and the Tater are all young enough that they'll be around for years to come.” She took a deep breath. “Let me get my coat, and I'll come with you to say goodbye.”

Mae was quiet after they laid Thoreau to rest. Ben helped her with kennel chores and scrambled some eggs for both of them. When breakfast was over, he gave her a hug and she clung to him, her face turned into his shoulder.

“
You need to go to work. As you know, I've usually jumped in to getting information about your cases, and we've had our differences of opinion about it. But this time, when I really could help, I'm just so worn out from my wrist, and things keep happening to stop me. But I don't want you to worry about me. I'll be fine.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt.

“
I probably can't put it off much longer,” he agreed. “But I will be thinking about you. It takes a lot of energy to heal a broken bone, you know. And you're right; my cases have come between us. Wayne's taking some time off, though, so it's a little different working on this one. I'll call you later.” Ben brushed Mae's hair off her face, kissed her gently, and walked out to his truck in the frosty morning light.

On his way to the office, Ben called Detective Fuller's cellphone. “Good morning, Rob. Have you uncovered anything new on the copper pipe case?”

“
I've been checking out contractors and flippers, and there are several of them that have had copper pipe go missing. There's this one flipper I talked to named Cliff Newcomb. According to Cliff, he isn't making as much money as he did.”

“
Why is that?” Ben asked. A wintry mix of sleet and rain had begun to fall, and sheets of it skidded nearly horizontally across the road in front of him. It was taking Rob a while to get to the point, but Ben forced himself to be patient. Rob was new to this detective business.

“
This all happened right around Christmas time. The thefts happen just after the auctions and before the keys are handed over the next day. Cliff would purchase a house at auction, but he wouldn't get the keys until the following day. When he got inside the house, he often found a lot of copper pipe and antique fireplace surrounds that were visible in the photographs of the interiors, had gone missing. Replacing the plumbing was expensive and added to the total cost of the renovation. That ate into the profits for the flippers. So Cliff decided to get permission from the auction firms to put video cameras in the houses. When the cameras detect motion, they're wired to call the Mont Blanc cops. I went over to Captain John Granger's shop and looked at the footage. It's two guys. They always run like hell as soon as they hear the sirens, and nobody's been caught so far.”

“
Good work, Rob. So nothing has happened since then? No thefts since the first of the year? We got the first call from Logan Yancey on January fifth, but he didn't know how long his materials, including the pipes, had been missing.”

“
Right, which makes me think it could be Jerrod Clifton who's doing this.”

“
It's strong circumstantial evidence, for sure. I've been looking into how copper pipe is fenced,” Ben told him. “It's usually sold for drug money, cocaine or meth. The drug dealers who buy the copper pipe sell it to exporters. Ultimately the pipe ends up in India or China, where they're doing an enormous amount of building.”

“
What would you think about a stakeout?” Rob asked. “There's a historic home auction coming up.”

“
Good idea. I'm wondering if Jerrod Clifton is involved in the pipe theft, because Mae found copper pipes in his garage. Whether he's involved or not, we've got to crack this case. I'll talk to John Granger over at Mont Blanc, see if he's willing to let you take the lead on this. If I can get John's agreement, who would you like to do the stakeout with you, George or Cam?”

“
What do you think I'd like better, Sheriff?” Rob laughed. “A stakeout in the company of the divine Miss Gomez or the farting George Phelps?”

“
Okay, but watch yourself, man. No putting the moves on Deputy Gomez. Remember the no-fraternizing rule? I'll get the necessary permissions going.”

Ben called Captain Granger. After summarizing Detective Rob Fuller's information to date, Ben asked about a stakeout using his people.

“
Normally, I'd tell you to butt out, Ben,” John Granger said. “However, since Rob Fuller is now a detective, he actually works for both of us, just as Wayne Nichols does.” He was referring to the practice of sharing detectives in the case of serious crimes. “I can assign him this stakeout without pissing off any of my other officers.”

“
Thanks, John.”

“
No problem. How are you coming on that floater your girlfriend found in the Little Harpeth River?”

Ben sighed heavily. “We finally got a probable on a first name. Mike Clifton thinks his name is Web, but we're still looking for a last name. We found the body near Jerrod Clifton's place. We think Jerrod did it, but we haven't found him yet. We're sort of at a standstill.”

They said goodbye, and Ben drove the rest of the way to the office, deep in thought. The murder had to be connected to the puppy mill.
I hope Wayne makes it in this morning. We could sure use his help.

D
etective Wayne Nichols sat in his car for a moment before going into the office. He had arrived back home from Michigan late on the evening before. Lights were on in the reception area of the sheriff's office, but the staff offices were still dark. He felt anxiety rise in his gut as he thought about the questions he was going to face. He twisted his neck and tapped a curled knuckle against his mouth. His immediate reaction was to clamp down on giving the staff any information, but on the drive he had made a decision to be more open about his life with people he cared about. He got out of the car and walked up to the office door, stomach churning.

Cam Gomez, the good-looking young Hispanic woman Ben had recently hired as his new deputy, was sitting at the desk. She looked up alertly as he came in.

“
Good morning,” Wayne smiled at her. “Anyone else around?”

“
Not yet, sir, but Sheriff Bradley will be in soon and so will Detective Fuller.”

“
Right, it's Detective Fuller now.” He would have to negotiate a new relationship with Rob now that there were two detectives in the office.

“
Yes, sir. Sheriff Bradley left some papers for you on your desk. Could I get you some coffee? Just put on a fresh pot.”

Such solicitude
. He was more accustomed to Dory's steel hand in a velvet glove approach. “Thank you, Deputy Gomez.”

“
Just Cam is fine, sir.” She gave him a bright smile. “How do you take your coffee?”

“
Black. Thanks.”

Wayne took the coffee she handed him and walked down the hallway to his office. Quite a stack of papers awaited him in his in-basket. He opened the window a crack and felt a welcome cold breeze. Sitting down at his desk, he sipped his surprisingly excellent coffee and started to go through the backlog.

Detective Rob Fuller had collared Jacko in a seedy bar and poured coffee into him until he sobered up. Jacko thought some of the copper pipes might be stored in a barn in Rose County. He wouldn't say anything more without money. It was common practice to pay snitches. Usually it was only a couple of twenties, but this time Jacko held out for five hundred dollars, which Rob had negotiated down to two-fifty. Wayne frowned. It didn't seem like Jacko had given Rob enough information to justify such a big payment. Some things never changed in the criminal world. Snitches always wanted more for their info than it was really worth.

Then he picked up Ben's report, labeled “John Doe.” Their new murder case. Ben had called him several times about Mae's finding the body and the lack of an ID. His blood quickened. It would be the perfect thing to move the focus of the staff away from him and onto the job at hand. He felt a quick jab of shame that he had no pity for the dead man, only considered him a puzzle to solve and a way to divert attention from his own story.

He settled down to a careful perusal of Dr. Estes' report on the victim. He noticed, as Ben had mentioned earlier, that the window in which the murder could have occurred was fairly large. The ME had listed the time of death as somewhere between January first and January sixth. That was going to make it more difficult to solve this murder, although finding the body dumped near the Clifton property, combined with Jerrod Clifton being in the wind, made it look like a slam dunk. He assumed Ben had asked Dr. Estes for further studies that might pin the date down tighter. He saw that the BOLO hadn't turned anything up. He wondered whether they had gotten a search warrant for the Clifton house.

After nine, Wayne heard the noises of people entering the office—Ben's voice, Dory's throaty, amused contralto, and George's sulky tone. He heard Rob say, “So the great investigator, Eudora Clarkson, is actually sitting at her desk this morning.” He didn't hear Dory's response, but Wayne could tell from the sound of her voice that she was not pleased. He heard Ben say that the staff meeting would start in fifteen minutes.

“
Hey, Wayne.” Ben stood in the doorway of Wayne's office a few minutes later. “Cam just told me you were back.” His boss was pale, with dark circles under his eyes.

“
Are you all right, Ben? You look a little peaked this morning.”

Sheriff Bradley ran a hand through his curly, light brown hair. “Yeah, I'm okay. It was kind of a rough morning. Thoreau—that sweet old Rottweiler of Mae's—died last night while we were over at her parents' for dinner. We found him on the kitchen floor when we got home, and I buried him in her backyard before I came in this morning.”

“
I'm sorry to hear that.”

“
Thanks. Glad you made it back from Michigan in one piece. How'd it go?”

“
I'll tell you in the meeting. I'd rather say it once than tell everyone separately.”

Ben gave him a half-smile. “Sure, I understand. Did you read the reports I put on your desk yet?”

Wayne nodded. “I did. I'm ready for the staff meeting.”

Ben led the way to the conference room and he and Wayne took their usual places. When everyone else was seated and the donut box had been passed, Ben turned to Wayne. “Do you want to lead off this morning, tell us what happened on your trip to the Huron Valley Prison?”

Taking a deep breath, Wayne looked around the table at the faces of his work family. “I'm not sure everyone knew why I went there,” he began, trying to find the words. “I was in the foster care system as a kid.” Wayne paused and Cam Gomez leaned forward, concern etched on her sweet features.

“
My foster mother murdered my foster father after years of abuse. I located her in Huron Valley Prison in Michigan, serving life for his murder,” Wayne looked around at everyone's unblinking attention. It was pin-drop quiet. He cleared his throat. “I started looking for her after we closed the Tom Ferris case at the end of last summer, but it took me a while to find her since she was serving time under her Native American name. Anyway, once I located her, I went to see her. She's elderly now and very sick. Since the murder was committed in self-defense, there's a possibility she could get her sentence commuted by the governor. An attorney at the capitol in Lansing is working on it.”

“
That's it?” Dory asked, frowning. “No more to that story? Sounds like there must be. Were you living with her when she killed her husband?”

Wayne raised his hands, feeling ripped open like a gutted fish. “No. I ran away when I was seventeen. I went back to my foster family's house when I was twenty, shortly after she killed him. I tried to get my foster mother to turn herself in. She wouldn't go to the authorities that night, but later on she did.”

“
So,” Rob's voice was quiet and intent, “didn't that make you an accomplice to murder?” His intensity was unsettling. “Abetting a murderer, obstruction of justice?”