Dog Helps Those (Golden Retriever Mysteries) (31 page)

The light played tricks on my eyes, too, as the parade moved in and out of shadows, under the shade of ancient elms and maples and then out into the bright sun. The guys had all had a lot to drink, and they were laughing and knocking into each other, hugging, improvising dance steps, even forming a kick line. The class behind them, a somber group of typical Eastern bankers, doctors and lawyers, looked disapproving.

Just as their section of the parade approached the entrance to the football stadium, Matthew began to shake hands with his teammates. After a lot of hugging and shoulder punching, he turned and walked in the opposite direction from the campus.

Rochester and I remained in the shadow of a giant maple, watching to see where he went. As his class marched through the stadium’s arched gate, he rounded the corner of the building. We took off after him, staying higher up the hill and maintaining a vantage point.

Matthew crossed the driveway and headed toward the brick field house, where the coaches and trainers had their offices. Rochester and I began to descend the last bit of hill, keeping Matthew in sight.

Rochester was a model dog, keeping pace with me, his head up and alert. No deviations to sniff or dig or act crazy. I wanted to praise him but I didn’t want to create any distractions, either.

Once we got down to ground level, and had the solid bulk of the field house between us and the stadium, we left the clamor of the parade behind and it was almost quiet around us, just the low rumble of applause and music from the ceremonies.

I held Rochester’s leash loose so that his tags and collar didn’t clank together and make noise, and I put my cell phone on silent and looked ahead. The soccer field itself had been marked off limits, but the grassy area beyond it, where I had played the occasional pickup game of touch football as an undergrad, had been converted into a temporary lot. Chalk lines on the grass indicated row after row of spaces, now filled with SUVs and luxury cars of every make and model.

Matthew walked straight down the center of the field as if he owned it. If we followed him, he’d only have to turn around to see us and it was going to be hard to pretend I was just out walking the dog. Instead, I turned right and guided Rochester behind the bleachers.

My phone buzzed, and I answered, putting it up close to my mouth so I could speak in a low voice. “I’m following Durkheim. He just left the parade, and he’s on his way to the temporary parking lot below the stadium. There’s also a big student lot beyond it. I don’t know which lot he parked in.”

As I spoke, I reprimanded myself in my head for ending a sentence with a preposition. Once an English teacher, always an English teacher. Even in a dangerous situation.

“I just got to the campus entrance,” Rick said. “I can see the stadium from here. I’ll head that way and meet you at the temporary lot.”

“Better get there soon.”

He disconnected, and I kept moving parallel to Matthew’s path, watching him through the gaps in the bleachers. It was awkward having Rochester with me, trying to make sure that neither of us stumbled over the rough grass. I worried that he’d start barking, or see a squirrel or something and take off, and blow my cover. Could I tie him up under the bleachers? Probably not. He’d make a huge fuss.

Matthew came to the end of the field, and I was nearly abreast of him. The entrance to the temporary lot was only a few feet away. The lot was eerily quiet; alumni, faculty, students and families were all gathered at the stadium for the graduation.

I lagged for a moment to let Matthew get ahead of me. I was just about to step out of the shelter of the bleachers when Verri M. Parshall appeared from the other side. I stayed under cover to see what would happen.

Though she wasn’t a fashion plate, she’d always been neat and well put together when I’d seen her, in her pants suits and sensible foam-soled shoes, but now she wore a polyester track suit and sneakers. Her brown and gray hair was tousled and there was something odd about the way she moved.

“I knew I’d find you here,” she said to Matthew. “You said you came to every reunion but you never stayed for graduation.” Her voice was unnaturally loud, and her words slurred. She pointed her index finger at him. “Your check bounced!”

I assumed that Verri had either been fired, or at least suspended, after Babson confronted her. I could understand how she might drown her sorrows for a while, and look for someone to blame for her situation. But to come on campus drunk? That was a really stupid move.

Matthew turned to face her. “You’re an idiot, Verri. You couldn’t keep your staff quiet about the problems with Freezer Burn. People blabbed to Rita Gaines and she cut off my funding. That’s why the check bounced.”

He turned and continued walking into the parking lot. I knew that once he reached his car, he’d be gone. I had to do something to stall him until Rick arrived.

I stepped out from my side of bleachers, still holding tight to Rochester’s leach. “Is that why you were meeting with Rita that Sunday, out at her barn?” I asked. “To talk about your company’s funding?”

Matthew stopped again, and this time turned in my direction. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Steve Levitan. You don’t remember me? I guess I’m not that memorable. But I’d think you’d remember Rochester. We were there that Sunday.” I shrugged, trying to keep Matthew talking until Rick could arrive. “My friend Rick and I brought our dogs up to train with Rita that day. Rochester really took to the agility course.”

I leaned down and scratched under Rochester’s neck. “Didn’t you boy? You’re a natural for that.” He nodded his big head up and down.

I took a brief glance toward the street. Still no Rick.

“How did you know I stuck around to talk to Rita?” Matthew asked me.

“Rick and I took the dogs out for a drive,” I said, improvising. “We circled back past Rita’s later and Rick noticed your car was still at her house. He’s a cop in Stewart’s Crossing, you know. He’s always paying attention to little details like that.”

“That’s nothing,” Matthew said. “So I hung around Rita’s afterward. That doesn’t prove that I had anything to do with her murder.”

Oops, Matthew. I hadn’t said anything other than that I knew he’d stuck around to talk to Rita. And there had been nothing in the news to indicate that the police were considering her death a murder.

“She was murdered?” Verri asked. “Rita Gaines? She’d been coming around my office all the time over the last few weeks, snooping around about Freezer Burn. I told you that, Matthew. You said you’d get her out of my hair.”

Before Matthew could answer, she stepped up until she was right next to him. “You didn’t kill her, did you?” she asked.

Now I was sure. Verri was drunk. Only a fool or a drunk would step that close to someone and accuse them of murder. I’d seen Matthew slugging back beers, and now Verri was sloshed, too. What a great combination.

Matthew seemed floored by the turn of events, and I didn’t blame him. We all stood still and my brain raced to make connections. There hadn’t been any negative comments online about MDC, even though Rita knew of significant problems with Freezer Burn, and she had cut off Matthew’s funding.

Matthew had stayed at Rita’s after everyone else left. If he’d killed her, he could have checked her emails and found the information on the other companies, then made those anonymous posts to shift suspicion from his own company.

I was still processing information when Matthew looked from Verri to me, then shook his head. “This whole college is a waste of space,” he said. “Sometimes I’m sorry I ever went here.”

Rochester nudged my knee, and I looked down at him. But he wasn’t facing me; instead he was looking toward the street, and as I followed his gaze I saw Rick Stemper approaching. He was wearing his uniform, and though he didn’t have his gun drawn, I saw his right hand on his holster.

I looked back at Matthew, and saw him turning to head toward his car once again. Then Rick’s voice rang out across the lines of cars. “Police! Freeze!”

His voice carried, though he was still a few hundred feet away. As I watched, Mathew looked in Rick’s direction.

Verri was still right beside him. He whirled on her and grabbed her by the arm with his left hand. With his right, he pulled a gun out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and pointed it at her head.

“You’ve just stepped in a whole pile of dog doo, Verri,” he said, once again his voice betraying no trace of the beer I’d seen him drink. “I’m not letting the police arrest me. You’re going to be my get-out-of-jail-free card.”

He pushed her forward and they began walking down one of the aisles of the lot.

“Mr. Durkheim!” Rick called. “Put the gun down. I just want to talk to you.” Rick closed on us, his hand on his holster.

“I’m not talking to anybody,” Matthew said. He and Verri continued through the broad aisle, though Verri stumbled and it looked like Matthew was half-dragging her. Rochester and I kept pace behind them, hemmed in on both sides by cars and SUVs. I could see Rick paralleling us on the outside of the lot.

The air was eerily quiet. In the distance I heard something banging, then the faint traces of the graduation march floating up from the stadium.

“You didn’t go to Rita’s farm with the intention of killing her,” I called to Matthew’s back. “That’ll be good for you. No premeditation. If you let Verri go, that’ll be another thing in your favor. Your attorney can use those to negotiate.”

“I won’t need an attorney, because the police aren’t going to take me in,” he called over his shoulder.

Matthew and Verri stopped, and I assumed he had reached his car. He was going to kill Verri, jump in and drive away. Rick was a good shot, but he was still too far away, even if he ran, to hit a moving car.

Verri must have had the same idea, because she twisted in Matthew’s grasp. “You cheated me, you bastard!” she yelled. She elbowed him in the stomach. I remembered a self-defense course Mary and I had taken when we moved to New York. One of the things we were taught was to aim elbows and knees at soft spots in the human anatomy.

Had Verri taken a similar course?

If she had, it hadn’t worked, because all Matthew did was shoot her in the head, then drop her body to the ground.

I was so stunned I just stood there, my mouth open. Rochester surged forward, jerking his leash from my hand.

“No, Rochester!” I yelled. “Stop!” I took off after him.

I must have been wrong about the car, because instead of jumping into the one he stood beside, Matthew took off running. But he was nearly fifty years old, and Rochester had four legs and a whole load of year-old puppy energy. My big, enthusiastic golden retriever caught up to him, then took a flying leap and landed right on Matthew’s back, as if he was on an agility course, just doing what he had practiced.

Matthew fell forward, and he dropped the gun as he tried to brace himself with his hands. I caught up a moment later, and picked up the gun before he could reach for it.

He struggled under Rochester’s weight, but the big dog wasn’t letting him move. He pummeled Rochester’s side with his fist, and the sound of it infuriated me. I wrapped both hands around the grip of his gun and aimed it at his head.

“Get your hands off my dog or I’ll shoot you!”

Out of my peripheral vision I saw Rick galloping forward. I took a couple of deep breaths as Matthew made a fist again. “Leave my dog the fuck alone!” I leaned down and pressed the gun against the side of Matthew’s head, staying out of his reach. My arm was shaking with adrenaline and I knew it would only take the tiniest pressure to pull the trigger.

Then Rick was right beside me. “I’ll take that,” he said gently, taking Matthew’s gun from my hand.

I leaned down and pried Rochester up from Matthew’s back, as Rick cuffed him.

I sat down on the grass and Rochester was all over me, snuffling and licking me. “Yes, I’m all right, boy,” I said. “You were amazing. But you shouldn’t do things like that. You could get hurt.”

I reached up and hugged him, burying my face in his soft neck hair.

We were surrounded by the lights and sirens of the approaching Leighville police, whom I learned Rick had called for backup as soon as he knew for certain that Matthew was on campus.

“I can’t believe Rochester took him down,” Rick said. “That dog.”

I sat with Rochester as an ambulance arrived for Verri. Car-top cop lights strobed and radios blared and uniforms collected evidence and took statements. I sat up and recited everything that had happened, with my hand constantly finding Rochester’s fur for reassurance. When Rick and the Leighville cops were finally done with me, I asked Rick, “Any word on Verri?”

He shook his head. “She didn’t make it. The shot to her head killed her instantly.”

“There’ll be a memorial service here, I’m sure,” I said. “She dedicated her life to the college, despite the way things ended. Maybe even a joint one for her and Rita Gaines.”

“Nobody should go the way they both did,” Rick said.

I nodded my head, then stood and walked Rochester back to Fields Hall, slowly, giving him plenty of time to sniff everything he wanted to. I’d never taken my cell off silent, and when I got back to my desk I looked at it and found a message from Lili asking me to call.

“Are you all right?” she asked when I did. “I saw all those cop cars and I was worried you had something to do with them being here.”