“Will you stay with us tonight for dinner?”
After finding the body of a teenage girl, Mattie craved the quiet solitude of her own place. “Sorry, I can’t. It’s been a long day, and I’ve got Robo in the car. I need to take him home and feed him.”
“I’ll send some green chili pork home with you, then.”
The aroma coming from the pot made Mattie’s mouth water. She realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “I’d love some.”
Mama T ladled up some of the thick soup, sealed it into a plastic container, and then packed several homemade corn tortillas in aluminum foil. She placed the food in a paper bag, gave Mattie a kiss on the cheek, and sent her on her way.
Once home, Mattie showered and changed into denim shorts and a black tee. The shower refreshed her, but her knee still throbbed. A bright-red strawberry with purple bruising colored her kneecap.
She grabbed a beer out of the ancient refrigerator that sat hunched in her kitchen like a little old person with rounded shoulders. She twisted off the bottle cap and put the beer to her lips, welcoming the tang. The first swallow tasted so good that she had to keep herself from chugging it. She’d allow only one tonight. Not like before.
Gathering up her bag of food, a pen, and her training journal, Mattie stepped out onto her back porch, a concrete slab attached to the small adobe house she rented on the west edge of town. State Highway 12 divided Timber Creek into two halves. On the east side, well-manicured lawns spread in front of modern houses, each with a freshly painted fence, colorful flower beds, and a shiny car parked in the driveway. On the west, adobe houses were small, built eighty to a hundred years ago, and had barely any lawns to speak of, let alone shiny cars.
Mattie sat down on the concrete step and stretched her sore leg out in front of her. In the backyard, Robo was gnawing on the knucklebone she’d bought for him on the way home. He lay stretched out among tufts of buffalo grass and weeds that she kept whacked down with an old push mower the landlord supplied. Six-foot chain link surrounded her small backyard, provided by Timber Creek County in anticipation of Robo’s arrival. A huge blue spruce towered in the corner, casting a long shadow in the early evening light. Yucca, agave, and cholla—the only plants that Mattie set out in a “flower bed”—lined the back part of the fence.
Mattie liked prickly things; they suited her.
She ate her meal, savoring the spicy chili and dipping the soft corn tortillas in its broth. She thought of Grace Hartman, her parents, and what this young girl’s death would mean for the community. Was her death an accident? Had the killer panicked and tried to cover it up? Or had someone killed the girl on purpose—and if so, why?
When she finished eating, she uncapped her pen and focused on what she should record in her training journal, one of a K-9 officer’s most important tools. By recording a police dog’s successes and problems, as well as training methods to remedy problems, a handler enhanced the dog’s credibility in court when it came to submitting evidence that the dog found.
And today Robo had certainly scored a number one success. Mattie was so proud of him that it was difficult to know what to write in her log. She knew she needed to be objective, but to her, Robo’s performance was nothing short of miraculous. After all, he hadn’t even been trained in cadaver work. It was amazing he’d found a body like that.
After recording some notes, she sat for a moment savoring her beer and watching Robo enjoy his bone. Their bond was growing, and today she’d crossed a bridge in her ability to trust her partner. She hoped this success would be the first among many.
Her cell phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket, noting the caller and connecting at once. “Deputy Cobb.”
“It’s Sheriff McCoy, Deputy. Our victim is Grace Hartman. Her parents identified the body.” He paused for a moment. “This is important, and we need to handle this investigation by the book. I posted Deputy Garcia up there to guard the crime scene, and he’ll stay through the night. I’m calling in a detective and a crime scene unit from Byers County. They’ll arrive early tomorrow morning. I’ve set up a meeting at seven o’clock and I want you to be there.”
“Yes, sir. The vet told me that his daughter is one of the girl’s friends. We need to notify him as soon as possible and set up an interview with her.”
“Agreed. Do you want me to do it, or can you handle that?”
Mattie hated even the idea of it. “I can do it.”
“All right, you’re authorized to tell him about the death. Give him as few details as possible, but I know Cole Walker, and he’s a man who can keep things confidential. Tell him we’ll call in the morning and set up an appointment for his daughter to talk with the detective. At least one of her parents should be with her for the interview.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You did a great job today, Deputy. If it wasn’t for our K-9 unit, this girl’s body might have never been found.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m glad we were in place to do it.”
Mattie ended the call. Glancing at the time, she decided to wait another half hour to let Dr. Walker enjoy time with his daughters before she called and destroyed his evening.
Chapter 6
Cole hurried to finish up at the clinic so he could join his family at Clucken House, but when he started to drive past his home, he saw that they’d already returned. The divorce and when to tell the kids still weighed on him, but he struggled to keep his game face on while he ate the burger they’d brought home for him. Soon, he glanced at the clock and, with more than a little relief, suggested that the girls watch television for a while before bed.
Sophie reacted to the idea of bedtime with sadness, something Cole had grown used to over the summer.
“Who’s going to read me a story?” she asked, her voice quavering.
Cole looked at Jessie, who gazed back at him, saying nothing. “I have to check on two sick animals,” he said.
Jessie gave him an intense we’ll-talk-later glare and then turned to Sophie with a cheerful smile that Cole thought looked slightly forced. “I’ll read you a story, honey. Just like we did at my house.”
Glad to leave his children in his sister’s capable hands, Cole climbed into his pickup truck and drove away from the two-story log home that he and Liv had designed together. Liv had decorated it with a western motif—heavy leather furniture, Navaho rugs, western art—and made it a comfortable place to return to at night. Without her, it felt awfully empty. A dull ache filled his chest.
At the clinic, he turned on the lights in the shed and made his way out to check the mare. She was down. He paused outside her pen, watching her roll onto her side and grind her head against the hard-packed dirt floor. Discouraged, he opened the gate and moved toward her, murmuring softly, trying to soothe her with his voice. Sweat darkened her gray coat, and when he listened to her heart, it was racing in rapid, uneven beats.
He needed to recommend they put her down. She wasn’t going to make it much longer, and it was cruel to let her suffer.
With boots dragging against the concrete pad outside the building, Cole unlocked the clinic door to let himself in. Immediately, a terrible stench assailed him. Flipping on the light switch, he went into the kennel room to find Belle lying in her run surrounded by viscous, liquid feces.
Cole was so tired that his thoughts were sluggish inside his head. Obviously, Belle was sick with diarrhea. But why? A bullet wouldn’t cause this.
“Belle?”