Rottweiler Rescue (27 page)

An early morning phone call from the contractor, assuring me that demolition would start on schedule next week had a lot to do with my upbeat mood. His call was only the latest piece of good news in a series that had started with another phone call — from Owen Turner, letting me know that the county attorney had decided not to prosecute me for shooting Erich Kohler. And that decision had been a turning point. After that, the many demands for interviews from sheriff’s officers, prosecutors, defense attorneys, investigators, and reporters dwindled, then stopped.

Sophie and Robo had no appreciation for scenery through a windshield. They wanted out, out to stretch their legs in a yard bigger than a postage stamp, out where the wind carried a slight tang of Canada and far northern places and no trace of exhaust.

I positioned a knit band over my ears, zipped my parka all the way up, and let the dogs out of the truck and into the yard. They destroyed the pristine surface at a dead run, zigzagging back and forth, chasing each other, stopping only to catch their breath that plumed in the air around them and to taste the snow, plowing their muzzles through it, then taking off again.

Robo rolled, leaving a Rottweiler angel in the snow. I threw loosely packed snowballs at them, laughing at the look on Sophie’s face when she caught one and it dissolved in her mouth.

Seeing Sophie strong again, running without a limp even in frigid air and wet snow, made me think back to the day after the fire. When I told Susan that Owen Turner was in court all day and couldn’t see me until the next morning and that I needed to avoid giving any official statement until after talking to him, her solution had been simple.

“Then let’s go get Sophie,” she said. “When you called they said she was better this morning, right? If we’re on the road and not here, no one can corner you to ask questions you don’t want to answer. The emergency vet right here in Parker has around the clock staffing and intensive care. If that’s what she still needs, Dr. Hunsaker will be happy to transfer her and get a good night’s sleep.”

“Maybe we could just visit her, Maybe she shouldn’t be moved yet.” And how could she be moved safely anyway?

Susan acted as if she hadn’t heard me. “Before we start to the vet’s we can stop at Motor Vehicle and get you a new driver’s license. And at the bank for temporary checks. Have you called your insurance company yet?”

“Yes, I called them, but I’m not so sure about moving Sophie. They only said she was a little better. She’s not out of danger yet.”

Susan didn’t debate degrees of improvement with me. She called the emergency vet and extracted a promise to consult with Dr. Hunsaker immediately. By the time we finished another cup of coffee, the vet was on the phone again. My vague objections and fussing worries gradually faded as I talked to both Dr. Hunsaker and the emergency vet. The vets weren’t just going along with Susan, they genuinely agreed that Sophie would be better off in a critical care ward.

So Susan turned her van into a well padded, cozy canine ambulance, and we transported Sophie, drawn and weak, to the local hospital. That was only the first of the many kindnesses Susan and her family showed me in the following weeks. Even Wesley tried so hard to help I vowed to listen in the future to Susan’s endless Wesley stories with a more open mind. Backsliding on that vow was a constant problem, but I tried.

A silver SUV slowed in the road and turned into the driveway, its engine so quiet the only sound was of snow crunching under tires. Sophie came to my side, and together we studied the approaching vehicle. Recognizing first the Lexus symbol on the shining hood, then the tall, angular man in the driver’s seat, I relaxed but only a little.

Time spent with Owen Turner meant attorney’s fees. Yet now that the county attorney had made his decision, wasn’t all that supposed to stop? And why was Owen tracking me down here instead of calling and setting up an appointment at his office?

As he pulled up beside Susan’s truck and parked, two heads popped up in the backseat. Narrow, elegant heads that I knew would match narrow, elegant bodies. Greyhounds.

Slipping through the gate, I left Sophie and Robo in the yard and walked over to the car.

“Good morning,” Owen said as he stepped out into the snow. Somehow, dressed in boots, parka, and a woolen hat, he looked more like a lawyer than ever. “Susan told me you were here and that bringing Barry and Misha along would be okay.”

He studied me for a moment, sun flashing off the gold rims of his glasses, then added, “You can stop looking so worried. My schedule was turned upside down today when a hearing was continued, so I’m taking the morning off. This is strictly a social call.”

His words let me give him a genuine smile of greeting, but the little cautionary voice inside me didn’t turn off completely. Somehow I suspected that when a criminal attorney had a court hearing canceled, he usually headed straight back to his office and tackled other work. Owen had never struck me as whimsical enough to just load his dogs in the car one morning and visit a client whose problems he had solved weeks ago.

Seemingly unaware of my skepticism, Owen introduced me to Barry and Misha. Neither greyhound was gray. Barry was fawn with a bit of white on his chest. Misha had stripes and patches of dark hair swirling over his fawn coat — brindle. We introduced the greyhounds to Sophie and Robo first through the fence.

When that went well, I held the gate and Owen led his dogs into the yard. After a few moments of polite doggy sniffing, the greyhounds took off along the fence line. Recognizing almost instantly they couldn’t begin to keep up with the racing dogs, Sophie and Robo gave up the chase and went back to their own games.

“Thank you for letting them have this,” Owen said. “We take them to Chatfield Reservoir and dog parks as much as possible, but it’s hard in the winter. This is a treat for them.”

“It’s my pleasure,” I said, watching in awe as the dogs’ long strides carried them to the far end of the five acres at amazing speed. “Misha and Barry. Would someone in your house be a Barishnikov fan?”

Owen gave his familiar small controlled smile. “My wife. Not many pick up on it.” He pulled his hat down as far as he could, turned up his collar, and hunched against the cold. “So how are your canine hero and heroine doing?”

“Fine,” I said. “They’re both themselves again. The only problem is that means Robo’s back in his shell. I keep trying to lure him out again, but so far no luck.”

The cold was beginning to get to me too, just standing there as we were. In the tangled mess Erich Kohler had made of my life, only one thread seemed to be the kind a lawyer might think he could knit neatly into place. Wanting him to admit the real purpose of his visit, I tried teasing it out of him. “So are you working for Joyce Richerson now? Is that why you’re here?”

To my surprise, for the first time since I’d known him, Owen’s response was not controlled. “Of course not!” he said sharply. “You’re my client! It wouldn’t be ethical for me to represent her.”

“Owen, I’m sorry. I was joking. I didn’t realize that, and after all, I’m really an ex-client now.”

“That’s irrelevant,” he said, calm again. “To represent someone else involved in the Kohler case, there would be... procedures. And I wouldn’t do it.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “But you’re here to tell me to let her have what she wants, aren’t you? It’s bad enough she’s already interfering behind my back and has Susan nagging at me. Now you’re here, and you’re here to get me to go along with Joyce, aren’t you?”

The greyhounds were no longer running but were at our feet, starting to shiver.

“They don’t have enough fur to stay out in the cold,” Owen said. “And my feet are getting numb. Let’s get in the car. We can finish this discussion while we thaw out.”

Sophie and Robo were still nosing through the snow with enthusiasm, so we left them to it. Owen toweled the snow off Barry and Misha and settled them on a wool blanket in the backseat of his SUV. He and I got in the front and pushed our feet close to the heater outlets.

“What do you mean by Ms. Richerson has been going behind your back?” he said as the heat began to rise.

“For one thing, this marvelous rental house Susan just happened to hear about. Fenced yard, dogs are welcome, almost unbelievably reasonable rent. And the neighbors tell me it was sold just last month and it was never a rental before. The property management company that owns it is brand new, and when I looked into the ownership of the company....”

Owen held up a hand. “So Ms. Richerson arranged for you to have an affordable rental where you could keep the dogs. Is that bad?”

“I didn’t say it was bad. I said it was interfering. And she bought off Erich somehow too. You know she did.”

“No one can buy another person’s basic rights,” Owen said primly.

“Pfft.” I didn’t apologize for the rude sound or for my disbelief. “She wasn’t letting him have a penny. He had to make do with a public defender, and he was making new threats about suing me every day. Then all of a sudden he’s got a first-rate defense attorney, and what do you know, no more threats. Tell me she didn’t arrange that.”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Owen said. “But if you’re right, she’s done you a favor.”

“She has, and I’m grateful, but enough’s enough. The insurance adjuster called yesterday going on about ‘contributions from Ms. Richerson.’ I told him to forget it in no uncertain terms, and lo and behold, here you are today. I don’t want to hear whatever Joyce, the adjuster, or anyone else sent you out here to talk me into,” I said, opening the car door. “Your dogs are beautiful. You can bring them out and let them run here any time you want to. It was good to see you again, Owen.”

With that, I got out of the car, and whistled for Sophie and Robo. The Lexus sat there, idling, as the dogs jumped into Susan’s old truck without the benefit of a towel to dry their wet legs and bellies.

I got in myself and turned the key, ignoring the sight of Owen trudging around the front of his car through the snow toward me.

He knocked on the window. I rolled it down part way.

“I have many clients who ignore my advice,” he said, “but you are the first who has paid my admittedly high fees and refused to even listen to me.”

I shut my eyes for a second, then met his. “If I hear you out, will you accept my decision and leave it at that?”

“Of course. Are you going to make me stand out here and freeze so that I’ll talk faster?”

He emphasized his statement by hopping from one foot to the other, making me smile.

Two Rottweilers and one human are all that can fit on the seat of an ordinary pickup. I followed Owen back to his car and got in.

He might be out of the cold now, but Owen was past finessing. “Are you too angry at Ms. Richerson to allow her to... atone for the harm she’s caused you?”

Sometimes I thought about Joyce, so eager to hear every detail of my first encounter with Jack’s killer. And of me, stubbornly refusing to give her those details. Had she already heard about the killer’s strange, cold eyes from someone like Marjorie Cleavinger? Was she wondering about Erich then, or was she really just looking for a vicarious thrill?

I’d never know and wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“I’m not angry at Joyce at all.” Hearing the lack of conviction in my own voice, I tried harder to convince myself and Owen. “None of this is her fault. She had nothing to do with any of it, and everyone knows it.”

I’d forgotten how brutally frank Owen could be. He proceeded to remind me.

“Joyce Richerson was so arrogant that she thought she could buy a handsome young man and control him with her wealth. She compounded that incredible foolishness by neglecting what should be ordinary precautions for a woman in her position. She should have had a background check done on him, which would have revealed several brushes with the law in Germany and an arrest in Austria.”

As he spoke, Owen dug around in his pockets, brought out two small dog biscuits, and gave one to each of his dogs. “So she brought him here, where he killed Sheffield and almost killed you. She feels guilty and humiliated, and nothing is going to stop her from trying to make things right the only way she knows how. And if you refuse to deal with her, the only beneficiary will be your insurance company.”

The adjuster’s babbling had made no sense to me. Not only would Owen make the situation clear, focusing on insurance let me skip over my feelings about Joyce, guilt, and atonement.

“Why is the insurance company even involved?”

“Your insurance company will use any monies Ms. Richerson pays to offset what it is obligated to pay you. Ms. Richerson, of course, wants you to benefit by a higher settlement from the insurance company because of her payment. However, if you refuse to take part in negotiations, your insurance company will settle with her. She’ll pay them, but they won’t pay you an extra cent.”

“They can’t do that,” I protested. “I don’t want her to pay anything.”

“They can do it, and they’re going to. Ms. Richerson is married to a man whose criminal acts are costing your insurance company a large amount. Even if she weren’t eager to pay, they’d go after her.”

“That’s not fair,” I protested. “She’s divorcing him, and it’s not her fault. She shouldn’t have to pay anyone anything.”

“As many people have observed, life is not fair,” Owen said dryly. “The fact is if you take part in the negotiations, you and the insurance company will benefit. If you don’t, the insurance company will celebrate.”

My only reply was short and vulgar.

“Indeed,” Owen said. “Does that mean I can negotiate with the insurance company and Ms. Richerson on your behalf?”

“It means I’ll think about it.”

I did appreciate Owen, for what he had already done for me and what he was trying to do, and I told him so. “Thanks for making me listen,” I added. “I didn’t know about the insurance, and I will think it over and let you know, I promise.”

“Good,” he said. “Now I think Barry and Misha might be ready for another go round. What do you think?”

“Sure,” I said, smiling at him. Asking if any of his Douglas County cases had caused him to run into the man Susan insisted on calling “my lieutenant,” ran through my mind, but I pushed it away. If there was anything to tell, Owen would have mentioned it.