Repent, page 6
Nikki shoved back her chair, her gaze shooting to Gunner’s empty bed. This would have been a fun day for him. He loved horses and car rides in the country. Visiting the police barn and Mrs. Tanner’s house would have ticked all his boxes. Plus there would be the visit to the Doberman breeder. The crux of the matter was that she missed her dog. She’d only had him for two years. Now she felt vulnerable without him.
She unlocked her gun drawer and placed the Glock in her backpack. She didn’t always carry a weapon, content to rely on her martial arts training and, of course, Gunner. But she didn’t have him beside her now, and she had the nagging sense that Billy was in trouble. Of course, the kid might be camping in the woods behind his house, sneaking into his grandmother’s kitchen and helping himself to peanut butter sandwiches, bummed about his lengthy community service.
Deep down though, she didn’t believe he was camping. And she had a psychic friend who might be able to confirm if her fears were justified. Better still, Sonja might be able to help find Billy.
Nikki rushed down the hall to the adjacent office: Sonja’s Psychic and Parties. She and Sonja had a coffee date later this morning but Nikki’s day was heating up. She’d have to cancel. Change it to dinner. Or maybe Sonja would want to come over and help clean up last night’s leftovers.
Nikki jerked to a stop, slumping in disappointment when she saw Sonja’s closed door. Lights glowed from behind the tinted window but the “In Session” door tag was draped over the handle. It would be rude to disturb her when she had a client, something Nikki was always careful not to do.
She tapped out a hasty text, cancelling their get-together and asking Sonja to call. Then she jogged to the back alley to collect her car, propelled by a sense of growing urgency.
Twenty minutes later, Nikki eased her Subaru to the curb behind the police barn. She cut her ignition, eyeing the parking lot. Three vehicles were parked beyond the steel mesh. The morning sun shimmered over Lara’s silver truck but Smitty’s pickup was absent. No horses were turned out in the paddock so it was impossible to tell if the officers were on patrol.
Out of an abundance of caution, Nikki shoved her backpack under the seat and left it in the locked car. She had a permit to carry a concealed weapon but she didn’t want any excuse to irritate Lara. Or Smitty.
She headed toward the locked gate, crossing a trail of hoof prints that cut the dry ground. A mechanism remotely opened the door but there was no buzzer to call for help, and a small sign noted the phone and location of the closest police station, emphasizing that visitors were discouraged. Yesterday, Lara had let Nikki in through the side gate, but no one was expecting her today and the area was deserted, driving home the difficulties of interviewing reticent cops.
Nikki pressed Lara’s phone number but it went directly to voice mail. She waved at the surveillance camera, even tried rattling the mesh. But long minutes dragged by and clearly she was being ignored. Someone would eventually walk out and collect their vehicle but that could take hours.
Sighing, she eyed the brush beside the fence. The chaparral and sage scrub had been recently trimmed but there were still some spots where people could remain concealed, explaining why Billy had been the only one caught on camera. It also gave her an idea.
She picked her way around the perimeter, pausing to take pictures of the mesh, the surveillance camera and the shrubs—pretending to be totally engrossed—guessing that after Radar’s assault the police would be super sensitive about security. Especially in the area where Billy had run up to the fence and lobbed the fire bomb.
Almost immediately an officer burst through the back door. His round face was familiar and she realized he was the young cop seated with Smitty at the bar.
“What are you doing?” he called, striding over to the gate. “Are you a lawyer?”
“No, I’m a private investigator. Nikki Drake.” She pushed her business card between the mesh and then held her ID up to the fence, politely waiting for him to scan her credentials. “I’m looking for Billy Tanner,” she added, “and just have a couple more questions.”
“Sgt. Smith isn’t here. He’ll be back on Monday.”
She flashed the officer her most charming smile. “It’s actually my friend Lara I wanted to see.”
“All right,” the office said, walking over to the security box and jabbing in a code. “Come on in. She’s cleaning stalls and will be happy for a break.”
Nikki wasn’t so sure of that but gave a vigorous nod, as if confident of her welcome.
“Heard you’re looking for Billy,” the officer said, waiting until the door closed behind her. “Weird how he took off. I’ve been watching the downtown hangouts but he’s keeping a low profile.”
“He may not be in the city,” Nikki said. “Bus surveillance shows him getting on and off a later route. One that puts him within a mile of his house.”
“We didn’t have that information,” the officer said, slanting her a curious look. “Only that he didn’t catch his regular ride. Maybe we should have dug a little deeper.” He started to say something more, then seemed to think better of it.
Nikki slowed her steps. This cop was younger than Smitty and Lara, not as hardened. Or as wary. She wondered how long he’d last with the police.
“Do you receive all the missing person bulletins?” she asked, seizing the chance to press for more information.
“Sure. Billy’s came in on Wednesday but we didn’t worry too much. His grandmother calls a lot, always crying wolf.” He grimaced. “She’s filed four missing reports on the other Tanner boy. But they found Jack every time, cruising the streets.”
“Billy is apparently a much different kid than Jack.”
“No doubt about that.”
Movement flashed and Lara appeared, pushing a loaded wheelbarrow through the doorway. She stopped when she spotted Nikki.
“Good morning, Nikki,” she said, her voice cool. “Back again? You should have called first.”
Nikki felt the officer beside her stiffen, alerted by Lara’s tone. He muttered something and eased away, making a prudent getaway, but not before shooting Lara a look of apology.
Lara waited until he’d disappeared. “What do you want now?” she asked. “I thought you’d find Smitty at the Rusty Nail. He always goes there on Fridays.”
“He was there,” Nikki said. “But I have a couple more questions.”
Lara pushed the wheelbarrow away from the door, and straightened, reluctantly releasing her grip on the handles. “Two minutes,” she said. “I’m already behind with the stalls now that Billy quit.”
“Now that he’s missing.”
“Why do investigators always think you know more than us?” Lara said, shaking her head. But she motioned for Nikki to follow her further away from the barn—hopefully a sign she intended to be helpful. And that she might provide information she didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“What do you need now?” Lara murmured.
“Is it possible Smitty chewed out Billy? Maybe after everyone else had left? Enough that Billy didn’t want to come back?”
Lara shook her head. “Maybe Smitty was resentful the first couple weeks. Set him up for some ribbing. But you saw Radar’s injuries. Smitty’s not the type to harbor grudges though and he wouldn’t have been abusive. He’s a pretty good supervisor.”
“What about you?” Nikki asked. “I understand you also have a special bond with Radar. In fact you’d ridden him, until Smitty made you swap.” She pulled in a deep breath. Justin and Lara were longtime friends and Nikki had received the information informally. But Billy’s welfare was more important than tiptoeing around Lara’s hurt feelings.
Lara’s smile was paper-thin, as if she guessed where Nikki had received that information. “True,” she said. “Radar was my mount. And Smitty is my boss. Like I told you yesterday, at first I wanted to throttle Billy.”
Nikki gave an empathetic nod. “I know that I wanted to kill the man who shot Gunner.”
“But you didn’t,” Lara said. “And neither did I.” Her voice rose with genuine indignation.
Genuine enough that Nikki deemed it safe to cross Lara off her list. The woman had always been upfront with her emotions. Not only that, Justin was a first-class judge of character. Smitty was the unknown.
“Have you known Sgt. Smith long,” Nikki asked, switching the subject and giving Lara a chance to regroup.
“Smitty transferred in about a year ago,” Lara said. “Mainly because he wanted to be around horses instead of stuck in a patrol car. I know you’re not giving up on this but you’re wasting everyone’s time. Smitty’s a good guy. He uses his vacation to help with animal rescue as well as fundraisers. I even heard him talking to Billy about the fall police auction, asking for ideas. They sometimes shared pizza. So you see, Smitty was nice to him.”
Nikki gave an agreeable nod but she couldn’t overlook Smitty’s evasiveness about the bus. “I just want to ask him a couple more questions,” she said, “before I drive out to the Tanners. What time does he usually arrive?”
“Smitty’s not working this weekend. He covered the last one.” Lara lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “You really think this is worth chasing? Considering the Tanner history? You don’t think Billy ran away?”
“No,” Nikki said. “I don’t.”
CHAPTER TEN
Nikki’s car bounced over the faded blacktop and she slowed to a crawl, noting that the only two vehicles she’d met had been a pickup and a diesel-spewing tractor. Little wonder. The road curved like a snake, dotted with potholes and persistent weeds that poked through the cracks. Twice her little car had scraped its frame, prompting a muttered curse.
There didn’t seem to be much of a tax base to justify road repairs. Most of the houses she’d passed simply struggled to remain upright, their sagging roofs proving their owners had fled to greener pastures. Earlier she’d spotted a bounding deer, its flashing white tail warning that animals used this back road as much as humans.
This was not a hospitable terrain. It reminded her of a recent search, when Gunner had led them to the body of a teenage rider. And it felt like she’d been driving for hours. Rubber stained one of the few straight stretches showing where locals had been drag racing. But now it was deserted. She topped another hill then pulled over to check the map on her phone screen, anticipating service would soon turn spotty.
Fortunately she hadn’t overdriven. Two more miles and the Doberman kennel should be on her right. Then if she cut northeast over the hills, she’d cross a gravel road which would take her to the Tanners’ house.
She continued her lonely drive, struck by how much she missed seeing Gunner’s head in her rearview mirror. She’d always thought she could look after herself but his absence left her feeling off kilter. And vulnerable.
She was so caught up in her thoughts, she almost missed the sign announcing Shebib Breeding and Boarding Kennel. She braked and wheeled up the narrow driveway, pleasantly surprised at the lack of potholes. The gravel drive was smoother than the pitted blacktop, and her hardy car didn’t drag once.
The gravel led to a ranch style home set close to the trees. The surrounding grass was brown and sun baked, mixed with scraggly weeds. She didn’t hear any barking but there was plenty of canine evidence, judging by the wire kennels set back beside an old horse barn.
Leaning back in her seat, she turned off the ignition and glanced around. The entire property looked tired. The house needed painting and the only vehicle in the yard was older than her Subaru. Patches of dirt were dotted with yellow dandelions, dried grass and abandoned dog bones, bleached to a skeletal white.
She took several pictures of the buildings, car and kennels but remained in her car, waiting for the owner to appear. She knew better than to annoy a pack of protective Dobermans. This was one instance when it was probably good Gunner wasn’t with her.
Dogs wheeled in their kennels, eyeing her car, but obviously they were locked up. Not a single animal charged toward her. From this distance, they didn’t even appear to be Dobermans, but some sort of hunting dogs with long dangling ears. Bird dogs were usually friendly, she decided, so she opened her door and stepped out.
A warm nose pressed into the back of her leg. Her heart slammed against her ribs and she wheeled. But it wasn’t a dog challenging her presence, just a pot-bellied pig. He had mottled skin, a dirt-smeared face and greeted her with friendly grunts.
“Hey, buddy,” she said, bending and giving his head a scratch. “Are you the welcoming committee?”
“That’s Porker,” a man called, striding toward her. “He’s my daughter’s 4-H project. Great for keeping a dog property clean too. Are you with the police?”
“Working with them,” she said, edging away from the pig and his odor, realizing now that his nose was coated, not with dirt, but dog feces. “Detective Decker asked me to stop by and pick up a package.”
She passed the man her business card, surprised at how he’d materialized so quickly. The front door hadn’t opened and he hadn’t come from the kennels. She scanned the barn, noting the closed side door.
“I’m Tyson Shebib,” he said, tucking her card into his back pocket. “Glad the police finally sent someone. I’ve been gathering material for the last eighteen months. It’s criminal how the judge blackballed me. Such a pompous ass, insisting he be called ‘Judge’ just to remind everyone of his influence.”
He paused, seeming to remember the man’s grisly mutilation. “It’s a shame what happened though. He did breed good-looking dogs. And I always liked his wife.”
Nikki gave an encouraging nod, letting the man roll on. He seemed the type who liked to bare his soul, an investigator’s dream.
“I’ve gathered records of all the show results,” Tyson went on. “Going back six years. That along with puppy prices. He was so biased I guess someone finally blew their stack. Understandable. Because when a Doberman like my Czar and his progeny can’t place in a show, it’s clear something is wrong.”
Nikki glanced at the mesh kennels. “I see you raise other dogs besides Dobermans.”
Tyson’s mouth twisted with grim humor. “No, Dobies only. But maybe their appearance isn’t what you’re used to. Want to walk back and take a look?”
“Definitely. Do you mind if I take some pictures?”
“Not at all. Take whatever you want. I’ll let the dogs out.” He was already striding toward the kennels, the pig trotting merrily behind him.
She pressed several pictures: the house, the barn, the woods. Even the pig. Then she hurried after Tyson, knowing it was safer to be close to him when the gates were opened. She didn’t want his dogs assuming she was an uninvited guest.
On the other hand, they looked much less imposing than any Doberman she’d ever seen, more like some type of hound or perhaps a Weimaraner. It was their dangling ears and long tails that altered their appearance. Their tails curved over their backs, whipping back and forth in anticipation of being freed, making them seem totally approachable.
Tyson unlatched the kennel doors, one at a time. A few dogs paused to give her hand a curious sniff, but most just ran around them in excited circles. One black and tan Doberman stopped to play some sort of game with the pig and a muscular red dog raced off, scooping up a bone before loping toward the trees.
“They’re great family pets,” Tyson said, gesturing proudly at the pack of dogs. “We’ve had many excel in obedience and agility trials. It’s the cropped ears and docked tails that make them look so intimidating. But I prefer the natural look. Especially if they’re not in protection or law enforcement.”
“It’s astounding the difference it makes,” Nikki said.
“Yes, but this appearance hasn’t found much favor with the judges,” Tyson said. “And Judge Kirby’s disdain was a death blow for our small kennel. Even the boarders stopped coming. The man was an ass and he got worse every year. It’s only going to help everyone that he’s gone. Business has already picked up—”
He clamped his mouth shut, as if wanting to say more but reluctant to talk too poorly about the dead. Or more likely he remembered that the police were still looking for the killer.
“When did you last see the judge?” Nikki asked, relieved he’d brought up the subject.
“A long time ago,” Tyson muttered.
Nikki didn’t say a word, waiting him out.
“I guess it was at the LA show,” he added, dipping his head and kicking the dirt with the toe of his boot. “At least four months back.”
“Did you know him well?”
“Not really. He was a media hound. Only talked to me when he wanted something.” Tyson smiled but it was devoid of humor. “The truth is he resented our business because we didn’t conform to his breed standards. Was really vocal about it. He was a flamboyant man with a lot of influence so the damage was irreparable.”
And the judge is dead, Nikki thought, feeling a swell of suspicion. Justin had asked for pictures but he’d thrown that request out more as an afterthought. He hadn’t seemed to think Tyson was anything more than an envious competitor. But maybe there was something else going on.
She had a couple of hours before her one o’clock appointment with Mrs. Tanner, plenty of time to poke around. It would be great to find a nugget of information that would help police crack the case.
Tyson obviously blamed the judge for his struggling business. It seemed like a stretch but people had killed for less. And he had plenty of thick woods to hide a body. On the other hand, it would be folly to bury anything close to a dog kennel, not with a pack of canines eager to dig it up. She’d witnessed how quickly Gunner could sniff out human remains.
Maybe that wasn’t a Doberman’s strength though. She’d only watched the breed being trained in a protection role at the K9 center. And while they were dynamic on the agility and obedience courses, she couldn’t remember how they had fared on scent exercises.
“Do Dobermans have good noses?” she asked.
