McCoy fixed his stare on Ed, and his deep voice rumbled. “Darting a canine officer with a sedative is a serious offense, never mind that this drug might have been meant to kill. I plan to find the person who did it, and I’ll follow every potential lead to get information.”
Ed appeared reluctant, but he turned to cross through the living room, going toward the hallway. “It’s in my phone. I’ll go get it.”
The cat leapt from where she crouched and scampered into the hallway in front of him.
The sheriff hadn’t yet mentioned that Mattie was missing, and Cole guessed he had his reasons. He followed McCoy’s lead and remained silent, noticing the worry lines etched on the sheriff’s face as he studied his surroundings.
Ed returned, his cell phone in hand. He read off York’s number while both McCoy and Cole plugged it into their phones.
McCoy’s dark eyes burned as he fixed his stare on Ed. “Do you have a wildlife dart gun here on your premises?”
“Actually I do. I have an old one from a project a few years ago.”
“Can I see it?”
“Geez, Sheriff. It’s buried in the closet in my bedroom. I’ll have to go back there now to get it.” He sighed and turned, starting to lumber away as if the thirty feet he had to walk was a marathon.
McCoy spoke to Ed’s retreating backside. “Do you have any darts?”
Ed stopped and turned. “I think so. Some old, used ones.”
“Bring those, too. Show me whatever you’ve got. Actually, I’ll come with you.”
Ed made a noise that sounded like protest, but he threw up his hands in surrender and headed back toward his bedroom. Cole followed the sheriff, entering a room that looked like it had been struck by a tornado: clothing scattered everywhere, shotgun shells and bullets scattered on top of the dresser among other collectibles such as pocket knives and loose change.
Ed dug into the closet, tossing coats, sweatshirts, pants, down vests, and other clothing out onto the floor. Back in the nether region of the far corner, he found what he’d buried there—the dart gun and a bag full of darts, similar to the one found in Mattie’s back yard, only these had plastic feathers on the ends instead of the daisy shape.
“Is there anything significant about how the dart is made? I’ve seen one with a flowerlike pattern on the end instead of these feathers,” McCoy said.
“That end part just stabilizes the projectile. There’s nothing special about it,” Ed said.
“Have you ever used the other type in your department—the one with the daisy?”
“Sure. These are just the ones I happen to have.”
McCoy nodded.
“Here’s how the projector works,” Ed said, as he demonstrated unlocking a lever-type bolt on the gun that resembled a smaller version of a rifle. He pointed to the opening used for ammo. “You load the dart in here, lock the bolt, pump it with this lever, aim, and fire.”
“How loud is the report when it’s shot?” McCoy asked.
“It’s powered by a carbon dioxide cartridge instead of gunpowder. It sounds like an air gun or a kid’s pellet gun.”
McCoy withdrew a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. “I need to take these with me, Ed.”
“All right. Can I ask why?”
“We suspect this type of equipment was used on our patrol dog. Even if this isn’t the exact equipment, it will give us a better understanding of what the gun looks like and how it functions. We’ll return it to you as soon as we’re done with it.”
“I haven’t used it for years. We have newer projectors we’ll be using on the sheep project, so I won’t need it back right away.”
McCoy seemed to be turning that over in his head as he put on a glove and picked up the gun. “Do you have those newer projectors here at your local office?”
“Nah. Tucker has them at his office.”
“Who else is involved with this sheep project?”
“Oh, let’s see. The southwest regional manager will be coming in, and we’ll have several wildlife technicians and another district wildlife manager like myself. Probably at least one biologist will be on the team. Cole will be our vet.”
“Do you have the names of these people?”
“Sure.”
“Who has access to the darts and the guns?”
“Well, I suppose any of us might. I mean, the equipment isn’t exactly kept locked up like the drugs are. Tucker stores the new equipment, but some of the older stuff could be anywhere.”
“I’ll need a list of names and phone numbers for the project team members.”
A furrow appeared between Ed’s eyebrows. “I can get that together for you when I go into the office in the morning.”
“Sorry, Ed, but I need it now.”
“Gol-durnit, Sheriff. I thought you were gonna say that.”
“Get me everyone’s home and cell phone numbers if you can. It’s imperative that I start contacting these people tonight.”
“Give me a few minutes to get dressed, and then I’ll go.” Ed grumbled under his breath as he bent to grab a pair of jeans off the floor, saying something about all this hoopla over a dang dog.
McCoy drilled the man with his eyes, his face set in a grim frown.
“I’ll tell you something in confidence as a wildlife officer of the state,” McCoy said. “This is about more than the attack on my K-9. My K-9 handler is missing and unaccounted for now, too.”
Ed looked back at the sheriff, and the surprise in his eyes appeared genuine. “You mean Mattie?”
McCoy nodded, and Cole was glad that the seriousness of the matter had finally been emphasized.
“Geez, Sheriff.” Ed stepped briskly into his pants, pulled them on, and grabbed a shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? Let’s go see what I can find out at the office.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Pain danced along every nerve ending of Mattie’s body, shooting from one extremity to another. Her head pounded, and shards of shale bit into her cheek.
She lay on her side, slack-jawed, taking slow breaths through her mouth. She could see nothing, but she heard the occasional shuffle of a small animal in the night and the footsteps of her captor as he came and went. Whenever he approached, she pretended to be unconscious.
In the air she could smell the scent of a horse, the smoke from a campfire, the pine of the forest, and the earthiness of the hard stone beneath her. When the man drew near, she caught the musky odor of his body along with some type of cologne. Was that a hint of cinnamon? She wracked her brain, trying to recall if she’d ever smelled that scent before on anyone.
After he left, she tried to wiggle her toes and this time felt a tiny sensation of them pressing against her boot leather. Now, fingers. Her head told them to flex, but they refused to budge.
At least her brain seemed to be thinking more clearly. Robo came into her mind. Her brave dog, willing to tear into someone to protect her, yet willing to do anything she asked of him. Tears sprang to her eyes.
She couldn’t allow herself to think of Robo. It would be her weakness. And if there was one thing she knew, it was this—she needed to remain strong, because she was going to be in for the fight of her life.
After retrieving a list of the sheep project team members from Lovejoy, Cole rode shotgun as McCoy drove back toward Mattie’s house. “Do you think Ed had anything to do with this?” Cole asked.
McCoy remained tight-lipped. “What’s your opinion?”
Cole thought it over. Lovejoy’s reactions, both when he’d called earlier and when he and the sheriff made him open his door, seemed genuine. “I don’t think so.”