The Flock (11 page)

Before he could answer they had arrived at their destination. He pulled the pickup into the driveway of the Brill residence. The home, a big five-bedroom brick ranch, was built on the highest point of land in the neighborhood. It stood on a rise a full ten feet or so above most of the other homes. In terrain as flat as that around Salutations, the small rise looked impressive. Ron was sure the retired couple had paid a premium for the lot.

“Nice house,” Mary said as they climbed out of the truck.

“They're
all
nice,” Ron replied.

Both turned to see if the Buick was still following. In fact, it had pulled onto the shoulder of the street half a block away. They still could not see into the car, which sat there, its motor running. “Yep. That guy sucks for someone trying to keep an eye on us,” Mary commented.

“To heck with him. Let's get down to business.” Ron started up the drive and headed for the door, Mary right behind him. But before they could get to the front stoop, the door opened and out stepped Mr. Brill.

“Hello, son,” Brill said, extending his hand. Brill was a retired executive for Exxon. He and his wife had wanted to retire to Florida and had chosen Salutations as the place. They hadn't counted on something eating their dogs, and the couple was pretty upset about it. Brill's pale features were prone to redden either in the sun or whenever he was angry. Just then, the great bush of white eyebrow that made a single line across his forehead accentuated his emotion-ruddied skin.

Ron took Brill's hand and indicated Mary who had come up beside him. “This is Mary Niccols, Mr. Brill. She's an expert on capturing problem animals, and I thought you might want to talk to her and let her take a look around. She has quite a bit more experience in these matters than I do.”

Brill grasped Mary's hand, winced at the quick pressure of the gator trapper, and reclaimed his fingers. “Hello, Ms. Niccols. You're more than welcome to look around, if you think it'll help you figure out what's happened. But first, I want to show you two something.”

“What is that, Mr. Brill?”

Brill had a finger to his lips. “Shh,” he admonished. “Keep it down. I'll show you, but I don't want my wife to see. She was really attached to Sarah. That was our Airedale,” he added. “I haven't told her about it, and was really happy when you called this morning. Don't know how long something like this would keep before I'd have to throw it in the freezer, and I sure didn't want to do that.”

“What are you talking about?”

Brill had started around the house. Riggs and Niccols were following him through a covered breezeway that connected his garage to his house, and through which one could access his large back yard. Beyond the yard was the forest against which Salutations was waiting to encroach; sixty species of trees waited just beyond Brill's yard, waiting to be left alone, or to be felled.

In the back yard Brill led them over to a very nice brick building almost as large as Mary's own house. It was merely a workroom and storage structure for the retired executive. Both of the wage slaves were growing more impressed by the expression of wealth around them. “I put it back here,” Brill told them as he got out his keys and unlocked the door. “I have a little refrigerator in here, where I keep drinks when I'm working here in the shed.” They went in, greeted by a rush of cool air.

“Some shed,” Mary muttered. The room was large: fourteen feet on a side, a neat one fourth of the building. The trapper wondered what was in the other rooms. This one was full of woodworking equipment. Fine stuff, she noted. Strictly top-of-the-line.

The older man went over to a tabletop attached to the far wall. He opened the door of the dorm-sized refrigerator and reached in, producing a bundle about the same dimensions as a big hardback book. His guests noted that it was a white towel, folded neatly to contain something. Brill laid it on the tabletop as the pair came to him, and he unwrapped it.

“What do you have?” Ron asked, looking.

Brill said nothing. Inside the towel was a plastic bag, which he gingerly opened. He spilled the contents out on the towel.

Unmistakably, what was there was the paw of a large dog, and a section of leash composed of a fine linked chrome chain. The paw had been very neatly sheared off. The chain, too, appeared to have been cut.

Mary and Ron crowded in close. Without any hesitation, Mary reached out and picked up the portion of the dog's front leg and looked at it. The insects and maggots had been at it, but there was still flesh attached to the bone. The stench, even from such a small piece of matter, was very powerful. Riggs and Brill flinched back. “Ugh,” Mary said. Her voice seemed loud in the quiet workroom. “Where did you find this?”

“Well, I was inspecting the back yard after the maintenance crew left when they finished mowing yesterday. And I noticed a line of black ants cutting across the corner of my fence at the very back of the lot. That was where Sarah had been tied up when we last saw her. We had been letting her run on a line back there stretched between two poles…like a clothesline. You know the type?” Both nodded at Brill.

“I saw the ants. So many of them. So I crawled through the split rails to see what was there. I could smell something rotting. And in the broom sedge growing over there I found the foot and the bit of chain.”

“Find anything else?” Mary asked.

“Nope. That was all. I got a big stick and poked around in there just to make sure. Searched an area roughly fifty feet on a side. Didn't find anything else like that. Didn't see any more ants, either.”

Ron had reached over and picked up the chain. There was only about six inches of the leash remaining, and it looked as if it had been cut cleanly with some kind of shear. He held it in the palm of his hand and examined it, looking for patterns where the metal had been cut. “Hunh,” he grunted, seeing only a smooth surface.

“Look at this,” Mary said, holding the dead animal's paw out to Ron, wrist side up. She pointed at the exposed bone with her left index finger.

“Jesus.”

“What is it?” Brill asked. “What did this?”

“Well.” Ron stopped. He and Mary exchanged glances.

“
Well,
what,” Brill asked again.

“What do
you
make of it, Mary?”

Mary took another long look at the bit of flesh and bone and put it down. “You got somewhere we can wash up back here?”

“Yes. Certainly. Right over there,” the homeowner said, indicating a door on the far side of the room. Mary and Ron retreated to it, went into the bathroom, which was far larger than they had thought. They turned on the hot water, got down a bottle of anti-bacterial cleanser they found on a shelf above the big, tub-like sink. And they closed the door, blocking them off from their host.

“What do you say, Ron?”

“Well. We ain't looking for a snake, I'd say.”

“What does that to bone?”

“
And
to metal.”

Mary stuck her hands into the hot stream of water and lathered them up. Ron stood beside her and soaped up his own hands. They were silent. Ron felt uncomfortable, being this close to her after having ended the physical side of their relationship.

“Some sick bastard killed his dog,” Ron finally said.

“Looks that way,” Mary admitted. “Looks like I'm out of an assignment.”

Ron let the hot water run over his skin, washing off the soap. He immediately poured another dollop of cleanser into his palm and repeated the lathering process. Mary followed his lead, pausing only to sniff at her hands.

“Well, let's not be too hasty. Let's say it is a sick bastard killing the dogs around here. The cops will have to take over. But maybe something else took off that paw. Maybe something bit it off.”

“Nothing
I
know of bites clean through like that. You saw it. That paw looks like a surgeon sliced through it with a fine-toothed bone saw. What the hell cuts like that other than a scalpel or some kind of blade?”

“A big cat, maybe? You know some of the reintroduced panthers have wandered north out of the Everglades. Could be a panther. Certainly enough habitat for it around here.”

“No, no, no. You know as well as I do that panthers don't hunt down dogs. Especially not a dog like an Airedale. Hell. Those dogs are bred to hunt big cats. No way.”

“Looks like Salutations has some kind of slasher loose in it. Maybe one who just does dogs, but still a crazy.” Ron doused his hands with water again and reached for a towel hanging from a rack to the left of the sink. He patted his hands dry and passed it to Mary.

“I wonder if the Buick is still parked out there.” Mary looked at Ron. For a moment, they were silent. “Let's go talk to Mr. Brill,” she said. “And then we can go see if it's still out there. Let's have a talk with whoever's driving it.”

Ron thought for a moment, considering the danger of messing around with someone who'd cut up a dog on site. But then he thought of Mary's considerable physical strength and her reputation as a scrapper. “Let's do it,” he agreed. They went back into Brill's woodworking shop.

“Can I take this back with me to the lab?” Ron asked, pointing to the grisly bits in the plastic bag.

“Sure. You can wrap it back up in the towel and take it all away.” Brill shrugged. “And what did that, anyway? What bites clean through a dog's leg like that?”

“Not an animal, Mr. Brill. Probably some kind of knife.” Ron stood back where the paw and chain were, and he gingerly rolled the bagged mess up in the towel.

“A
knife?
You're saying a
man
did this? Why? How?” Brill's face was growing crimson, even in the cool workroom.

“Your guess is as good as mine, sir. I'm going to report this back to Bill Tatum in security. After that, it's his project. He'll probably want to talk to you about it all.”

Brill stood there, his hands clenched into fists, his face practically glowing blood red. “Damn. Beth and I moved down here to get
away
from this kind of thing.
Damn
.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Brill. I really am. But I can't see how anything other than a knife or a saw did this to your dog.” Ron blinked, thinking of something else. “This
is
your dog's paw, isn't it?”

Brill looked up, distracted from his rage. “Yes,” he said. “It's her, all right. That's her color. We paid extra. She was the only black and gray in the litter.”

“Well.” Ron was silent. Mary fidgeted. Ron headed toward the door. “We'll be leaving now. I think this clears up a lot for us. Not an animal, I don't think.”

This time, it was Brill who followed the other two. They went through the yard, under the breezeway, down the drive to Ron's truck. Riggs stored the towel/bundle in a toolbox in the bed of the pickup. They shook Mr. Brill's hand and climbed into the cab, feeling the blast of heat as they opened their doors.

As the two looked back down the block, they saw that the Buick was still there, its motor running, parked at the verge of an unsold lot, cabbage palms shading the car.

“Goodbye,” Brill said to them. “Thank you for stopping by. I assume I'll be hearing from Tatum?”

“I'm sure you will, Mr. Brill. Goodbye.” Ron started the truck as Brill retreated and pulled out of the drive as the gentleman vanished into the house.

Ron backed out, pausing in the street when he confirmed that no car was coming from either direction. Just a quiet suburban street in a well-to-do Florida neighborhood. “What's our next move?”

“You just pull up next to that Buick and let me out. I'll knock on the door and see who comes out.”

“Just like that?”

Mary shrugged. “What's he gonna do? Plug us in broad daylight with a hundred potential witnesses waiting to come out of their houses? Just drop me off,” she reiterated.

“You da
wo
-man,” Ron said, driving toward the car.

The Buick was parked at the front of one of the few vacant lots remaining in Salutations. Like most of the others in Phase Three, it was roughly half an acre in size, new growths of wildflowers and young saplings trying to reclaim the cleared patch of land for Mother Nature. They wouldn't survive long before someone bought the plot and commenced to 'dozing it and plowing the green under. But, for now, the empty lot was a waist-high mass of shrubs and sedges. Insects buzzed and fluttered at the tops of the grasses, while in the thick mat against the ground, who knew what existed.

Ron drove right up to the Buick and parked in front of it, leaving his truck at an angle, so that the car would have to back away to return to the street. He put the truck in park and stopped the engine. Mary was out before he could even get his key from the ignition. And by the time he was climbing out of the cab, Niccols was already rapping a hard knuckle against the driver's side window. “Balls,” Ron said.

The Buick's door opened, the motor still running. Ron flinched, but he noticed that Mary hadn't moved at all. He saw a pale hand reach up and grasp the top of the front door. A man rose into view.

“Dodd,” Ron said. He couldn't conceal the surprise in his voice.

Dodd nodded a greeting at him. “Who were you expecting?”

“We weren't
expecting
anyone,” Mary told him. “But when someone's following me, I like to know who it is.”

Dodd smiled. “I can understand that. Me being a newspaper man and all, I understand perfectly.” Dodd stuck out his hand, offering it to Mary. “I'm Tim Dodd. I'm a reporter. You've read my stuff. We spoke.”

Mary stepped back and pointed one of her sun-browned fingers at the reporter. “I know who you are.” Mary glanced at Ron. “This is that guy who took that picture of me with the gators I trapped out of here. He called me and talked to me for an article. I read it. Good article.
Gator Woman!
”

Ron came around to the driver's side of the Buick. “You
would
like that article,” he said. “It made you look like some kind of Florida version of an Amazon. Rasslin' gators instead of Hercules.”

“Hey,” Mary said. “Good publicity never hurts a lady in my position. I picked up some work after that article came out.” Mary was smiling, which was good, considering she'd been ready to start punching just seconds before.

Now that he was closer to Dodd, Riggs saw the ragged scratches and cuts all over his face, arms, and hands. “What the hell happened to you, Dodd?” The man did look to have been dragged through glass. “Somebody throw your ass in the briar patch?”

Dodd smiled, stretching some of the healing cuts on his face. “Actually, you're not far off the mark. I hate to admit it, but I got lost in the forest around here.”

“Lost?” Mary squinted her dark eyes, taking a good look at Dodd. “How lost did you get? How long were you lost?”

Dodd produced a fake chuckle. “Pretty darned lost. I was lost for most of a day. Tried to hike through some thick brush and got cut up pretty bad. Even my legs. Pants are shredded. Had to toss them.”

“Where the hell were you? And what in God's name were you doing out there? I
know
you're aware that there's about half a million acres of wilderness north of Salutations. If you got
really
lost, no one would ever find you. Ever.” The word
dumbass
was poised on the tip of Ron's tongue, but there it waited.

“I was just out scouting around. Looking for a snake.” He cleared his throat. “You guys looking for a snake?”

Mary and Ron exchanged a quick glance.

Ron spoke up. “I don't think we're ready to say what we're looking for. But, yes, it could be a snake. Might be. We don't know right now.”

The three stood in silence for several uncomfortable seconds.

“You never called me,” Dodd finally said to Ron.

“Eh?”

“I told you where I was staying when you were talking with Tatum. I thought you'd call, clarify some things for me. But you never did. Which is why I've been following you guys today. I thought we could talk, or set up a meeting. Think we could?”

Ron thought about it for a second. He wasn't particularly fond of Salutations or its corporate owners, or even of Bill Tatum who wanted to keep all negative publicity silent. But that didn't mean that it was his place to spill his guts and talk about the possibility of a disturbed person killing the local dogs. Who knew what a guy like Dodd would do with that kind of information? No. He'd talk to Tatum about it and let things go from there. It wasn't his job to worry about it, nor to fuel the speculations of a reporter who was ready, willing, and able to capitalize off the slightest bit of gossip or hearsay. “Well, to tell you the truth, Dodd…”

“Tim. Call me Tim.”

“Okay. Tim. But to tell you the truth, Mary and I are kind of busy. I'll have to take a rain check, for now.”

“S'right, Ron. In fact, I think we'd better be heading out.” Mary was already moving toward the truck. She saluted to Dodd and walked away. “See you 'round,” she said. A few steps took her to the truck, and she climbed in.

Ron, halfway back himself, turned as Dodd called out. “Mr. Riggs. Ron. Could I have a word with you? Just for a second?”

Riggs shrugged, gave a quizzical smirk to Mary, and went back to where Dodd was standing. “What is it?” he asked.

“Look.” Dodd was whispering, trying to keep his voice down, and he even turned his body sideways to prevent Mary from even reading his lips. “I really, really need to talk to you. I've got something I want to show you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I was going to keep this to myself for at least a few days. But when I was out of my suite today, someone entered and…Well, they tampered with my things.” Dodd indeed had a concerned expression on his scabby face.

“What do you mean? I'm sure even Salutations has a few larcenous maids.”

“No. Not that. Not that, at all. Someone was into my laptop's files. They tried to download some stuff, but I'm pretty good at computer security. Anyway, whoever it was hacked through about three-fourths of my safeguards before I came back to the room. And they must have known I was coming, too.”

“What are you saying? Someone's
spying
on you? Why wouldn't they just steal the computer?”

Dodd reached over and grasped Riggs' arm, squeezing his biceps to punctuate his words. “Listen. I…I
saw
something out there. Out there in the forest.” He shrugged his head at the mass of green beyond the houses across the street.

“What did you see? Someone out there?”

“Not someone. An animal.”

“What? What kind of animal?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. Look. Can you meet me later? Somewhere safe? Not my suite, though. I think it might be bugged, somehow.” Dodd blinked, and Ron could see that the little guy was really, truly worried. He looked scared.

“Well…sure. If you think it's that bad. Sure. You want to meet me somewhere? Somewhere in town? I mean, outside of Salutations.”

“That would be good. How about Orlando? I could get some stuff together and meet you there. How about the Penta Hotel on International Boulevard? I think I'm going to take a look at room availability there, and check in. Get out of Salutations. Today, in fact. How about it?”

“Yeah. That's fine. I'll be done here in a couple of hours, I'm sure. How does seven tonight sound? Rush hour will be over, and I can be there by seven. I'll meet you in the lobby.” Ron raised his eyebrows at Dodd; a quirky habit that his friends knew meant that the conversation was over. He turned to leave.

“One more thing,” Dodd said. He reached into the front pocket of his pants, a big pocket that zippered up to hold excess paraphernalia. He held out his hand, palm down, and hesitated.

“What?” Ron asked. His voice quavered, Dodd's nervousness infecting him.

“Take this,” Dodd told him, whispering. “Take it and put it in your pocket. Quickly. Don't look at it.”

“Okay.” Ron did as he was asked. He didn't look. Whatever it was, it wasn't very large or very heavy. Some kind of disk, he figured as he dumped it into his own left front pocket. The exchange had been quick, smooth. It would have looked, to the casual observer, like a last handshake.

“Just keep it for me. Until this evening. Just
hold
it, okay?”

Ron shrugged. “Sure. I'm just holding it until this evening. No problem.”

“See you around, then.” Dodd retreated to his Buick as Riggs turned, finally, and walked off, back to his truck.

Mary gave Ron a questioning look when he climbed into the truck, but said nothing. She generally wasn't the type to pry much into someone's business. If information was forthcoming, so be it. Otherwise, it was none of her affair. But she was curious about the final whispered bit of conversation she'd witnessed. “What was that all about?” she asked. “Anything to do with us going to see Tatum?”

Riggs chuckled, trying to put it into words. “Hell, I don't know. Could just be dramatized grandstanding on Dodd's part. But he says someone's
watching
him and he wants me to meet him in Orlando tonight.” He laughed again, trying not to make it look so serious for Mary.

“You gonna do it? Meet him?”

“Hell, I guess so.”

“You want some company along? I mean, just to be riding along?”

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably. He'd never really told Mary of his true reasons for ending their relationship. In fact, he'd never quite admitted it to himself. But however poor and dishonest those reasons, he couldn't bring himself to try to get things going again. “I think I'd just like to go alone. You know. I'm just not in the mood to make a date out of it tonight.”

“Okay. Sure,” she told him. “Only I wasn't really thinking of it as a date. But that's okay. I understand what you're saying.”

Ron hoped she did. He started the truck and backed out into the street, letting Dodd pull out, and he watched as the small man's car headed away from them. He watched until the Buick went down two blocks and hung a left. “Well, we're off to see Bill Tatum, now. Tell him what we've got. What we think happened to the dogs. The ball will be in their court, now.”