Scent of Murder (2 page)

Thank God the Tercel was parked on another access road fairly close. He'd already spent too much effort screwing around with this girl. He usually enjoyed his time with these young women, but today had been very unsatisfying. He needed to invent some new kind of blindfold, maybe use a burlap sack over their heads, but he enjoyed looking at their pretty faces even if they did have a rag and duct tape around their eyes. This girl had cheekbones like Christie Brinkley and thick, full lips. He'd seen her plenty of times without any obstructions on her face and knew so much about her that it hurt to be fleeing the scene without accomplishing everything he set out to.

Junior was lucky to have heard the old fisherman's truck drive off down the access road to State Road 80. He had heard other vehicles coming back and had to assume they were police cars, but he never panicked. He prided himself on never panicking. No matter what.

Now, if he could make it to the beat-up Toyota, then back into West Palm Beach within forty-five minutes, everything would be cool.

The pistol stuffed in his pants felt awkward when he tried to run, but he was never built for running anyway. Too much jiggled.

Junior thought he heard a dog bark at the far side of the cane field and was glad he had crossed through a couple of drainage ditches in case they tried to track him. Dogs scared the holy crap out of him, and the idea they were chasing him like an animal was disturbing on a number of levels.

*   *   *

The western section of Palm Beach County was separated from the eastern section by a stretch of wilderness known as the Twenty Mile Bend. Tim Hallett could think of few places in America where twenty miles made so much difference. On the coast sat Palm Beach with its mansions and world-famous beach, but out here, a forty-minute drive away, it looked more like the Mississippi Delta. Wide plains of crops, hot, stagnant air, and alligators were the dominant features. When the cane fields were burned for harvesting, the smoke hung in the air like a noxious fog for days.

Now, as he stood in a wide semicircle with four other deputies, the air in the cane field was thick with humidity and sun-warm, but not unbearable. It was still a little early for the bugs to start eating them alive, but he knew there were plenty of them concealed out there.

Sergeant Helen Greene said, “We have a report of a man chasing a young girl at the edge of the field. An elderly cane fishermen thought it was a white man and a white girl, but he didn't get a good look. This happened almost an hour ago because he didn't have a cell phone and had to drive into town.” Her dark skin had a sheen of perspiration, and her light Glades accent made her seem natural in the setting.

The sergeant continued. “Looks like there was a scuffle in the cane field up ahead. We're gonna send Tim and Rocky into that field and use the other two K-9s to check along the canal and the far cane fields.” Her dark eyes scanned the group of six deputies. Then she said, “If this info is right we've got a tough job ahead of us.”

Hallett took a moment to assess the situation like the detective he once was. He noticed the older black man sitting in the front seat of the sergeant's car. The old man had done a great job going to get help, and now the sheriff's office—or SO, as most people in the agency called it—had to live up to his expectations.

Just as he was about to start the search, his partners, Darren Mori and Claire Perkins, bumped down the shell-rock road in Chevy Tahoes similar to Hallett's. The task force they were on was funded by the federal government, which had not only provided money to train the dogs in different disciplines but bought the deputies high-end cars, weapons, and other gear that generally made the average deputy jealous as hell. Cops love equipment, and the three K-9 officers had more than they could ever use.

Although he was impatient to get started, Hallett knew it was better to have all three dogs on scene and ready to go at the same time. It didn't take long for Darren to get Brutus on his lead and, of course, Claire hopped out with Smarty ready to go on a sixteen-foot lead.

Hallett was the team leader. It was an odd, almost honorary rank within the sheriff's office, and his authority was implied rather than specified. He did receive a small bump in pay, but he was not considered a sergeant and had no administrative duties. Instead, he made decisions on tactics and how to deploy resources during a callout. He also worked with Ruben Vasquez, the canine trainer who'd been assigned to the unit when they got the grant. The guy was a former army dog handler and smart as a private school math teacher, but Hallett recognized he didn't have much experience in police work. It took a cop to know what was needed on the street in certain situations. It didn't always require a dog willing to bite anyone in sight—although sometimes it did.

Being a team leader might have been a promotion, but it meant nothing if his partners didn't accept him as the leader. Like a lot of things in police work, his authority was implied rather than specified. It was an easier path than dealing with liability and promotional exams. Luckily, both Darren and Claire appreciated his experience, and he had proven his ability to make decisions. Hallett had also proven that he wasn't afraid to work long hours and do whatever it took to get the job done.

At five foot eight, Darren was constantly trying to prove his worth even though he was widely respected in the agency. Darren always had to be the first in a fight, the best possible shot, and the most eager to work. But his exotic good looks and athletic build, and the fact that he was the only Asian in town, made the twenty-six-year-old Japanese American popular among the women in Belle Glade. As Brutus pulled him along on the lead, he smiled at Darren's annoyance about being issued a Golden Retriever instead of a traditionally more frightening Belgian Malinois or German Shepherd like Claire and Hallett worked with. It turned out Brutus was just about the smartest dog any of them had ever seen and had been trained in several disciplines, including article searches, bomb searches, and cadaver searches. If he had to, Brutus could be aggressive, but generally the snarls and barks coming from a Golden Retriever failed to instill the terror that Rocky could spread in an unruly crowd. Brutus wasn't trained to apprehend suspects, or track them, but he could find a body or bomb with incredible skill. The way the unit was organized and trained, everyone chipped in when the others were working. Brutus could follow a scent, or at least look like he was.

Claire's dog, Smarty, looked like he could pull her off her feet. A couple of inches shorter than Darren, with blond hair usually tied in a ponytail, she could pass for a pissed-off cheerleader. A number of shitheads had learned too late she was not the deputy to make stupid comments to. And despite his name, Smarty had a vicious streak that worried Hallett.

He gave his partners a quick rundown of what the sergeant had said. As usual, Claire just nodded and knew exactly what to do, while Darren had questions.

“Are we looking for a live girl or a dead girl?”

“We don't know.”

“Any indication the suspect is armed?”

“No, but what do you say we just assume he is.”

Darren was about to ask another question when the sergeant shouted, “Let's get the dogs moving. Now.”

Hallett waited a moment while Rocky sniffed the ground where the soil had been disturbed and the old man said he thought he'd seen a scuffle. As was his unique custom, Rocky froze for one second as he picked up the scent. Just that momentary pause in the action thrilled Hallett because he knew they were about to do the job only they were trained for. Then the dog pulled him directly into the cane field, and Hallett lost sight of him just a few feet ahead. The heat brought out just enough perspiration to make his skin tacky, so tiny bits of the scratchy sugarcane stalks stuck to his bare forearms.

He knew Darren would be taking Brutus along the canal to the south and Claire would take Smarty into the next cane field. The other uniformed deputies fanned out behind each dog team, cutting lines into the fields. If one of the sheriff's office helicopters had been available, the pilot would've seen a design like an ant farm as the search teams spread out, but the sergeant had said the nearest helicopter was at least forty-five minutes out due to a search for survivors of an airboat crash near the Arthur Marshall Wildlife Refuge at the entrance to the Everglades.

Now he had a moment to think about what he and Rocky might discover. Rocky was definitely onto something, which meant the old man was right about the scuffle. Dread seeped into his consciousness as he pictured finding a girl dead in the middle of the cane field. He had to block it out and focus on this task. His right hand reached back and touched the handle of his .40 caliber Glock on his gun belt. His lightweight combat boots protected his ankles from the rough base of the sugarcane stalks. The late September Florida heat was amplified by his ballistic vest and the effort it took to move through the sugarcane as his heart rate picked up from the physical activity and excitement of the chase.

Hallett was monitoring the radio, and he could hear detectives arriving on the scene and calling out. He'd been one of those detectives. It was a good assignment for the two and a half years he was in the D-bureau, but there was something about working with Rocky that brought him more satisfaction. He'd found missing kids with his new partner, tracked down a dozen robbery suspects, and was even occasionally asked to speak at schools. It made his job with the sheriff's office more fulfilling. Even if his mom and ex-girlfriend completely disagreed with his career choice.

Rocky pulled him through a break in the cane and paused as he sniffed in each direction carefully for a few seconds. They had managed to lose the deputies behind them, and suddenly Hallett realized how alone they were. Rocky tugged him toward a drainage ditch with a few feet of skanky water at the bottom.

A Florida snapping turtle the size of a hubcap was sunning himself on the edge of the ditch. Rocky paid no attention to him at first, focusing on his task instead, but the turtle twisted his head and opened his mouth. These turtles, which filled the canals and lakes of Palm Beach County, were one of the more underrated risks to dogs. Maybe they weren't as fast as an alligator, but they were just as aggressive and rarely backed down from a curious pet. Finally Rocky growled at the turtle, regarding it as a threat until it twisted and flopped into the water and disappeared under the murky film of the surface.

Now Rocky pulled him along the edge of the drainage ditch, and Hallett sensed they were getting closer. He used his left hand to hold Rocky's lead and instinctively pulled his pistol. Hallett looked over his shoulder, but there was no one even close for backup. Picturing an injured girl who needed his help, he knew he couldn't wait for the other deputies and started to trot as Rocky pulled harder and harder in the same direction.

Rocky froze again and emitted a low growl. From experience, Hallett knew something was about to happen. He crouched slightly and held his pistol up until Rocky pulled him into the next field of sugarcane, then through another drainage ditch. Hallett tried to jump over the shallow water, but his boots sank in the mud on the far side. It only took Rocky a moment to find the scent again, and he was off.

That sixth sense every good cop possessed told Hallett they were about to find something, but he had no idea what.

*   *   *

Rocky tried not to tug and pull Tim's hand, because this was his favorite game in this place with the tall grass that he liked more than anything. The only way this could be better was if Tim just let him run free to find the man who had someone else with him. The
bad
man who had someone else with him. Those were the only people he and Tim ever chased.

Rocky felt that Tim held him back too much sometimes. Rocky knew the difference between good people and bad people, and he knew how to handle the bad people that Tim chased. All he had to do was bite them. Hard. They were bad people. He could sense just how bad some people were. It was so simple to him. There were good people and bad people. He knew he should bite the bad people, but Tim rarely let him follow his heart. Tim always pulled back on the lead or ordered him not to bite people.

It didn't matter if Tim was wrong. Rocky still loved Tim. And someone had to watch out for him. Especially when he didn't know how to deal with bad people.

Rocky stuck his nose to the ground again. There were two clear scents mixed together. One of them was fear, and the other was something he had never really smelled before. It was almost like a predator going after prey. It was the oddest odor he had ever sniffed, and it was making his brain tingle. He knew this was what Tim wanted him to find. And waiting while Tim and the other people communicated only made him want to chase whatever left the smell more.

Once in a while Tim would let him run free in this tall grass and he would chase rabbits or other swift creatures because it seemed natural to him. He liked running in front of Tim because it felt right to take the scent and not worry what was ahead in the tall grass. He could find anything.

Rocky didn't really care what he was doing as long Tim was with him. He liked seeing his other friends who played with their own people. But nothing really compared to seeing Tim and Josh at the same time. The stimulation was too much, and he played until he just had to lie down. Those were the times when nothing else mattered. Not food, not water, and not sleep. Just Josh and Tim.

In the early morning, when Rocky was still asleep, he remembered being a puppy with his mother and three siblings. It was a special time with nice people that fed him and kids that named him Rocky. It was a different place than here. It was wet, swampy, and warm. It seemed like there were endless days where he would play and play until the day he saw Tim. A lot of people had been nice to him, especially after his mother had been killed. He had been lonely and lost after that evening when his mother tried to protect the other dogs from a predator who had come from the water. But the day Tim came, Rocky knew they were meant to be together. Somehow, when he saw Tim walking across the wide lawn, Rocky understood he had to protect him.