"It's always a pleasure to see you, Chris, but somehow I have the feeling this is not a social call?"
"I wish it were, Cameron."
The maid, holding a silver tray with a Thermos and two cups, hesitated in the entrance. In keeping with the Stampede, she was dressed Western. The silk bandana she wore around her neck was black. Taylor waved her away and she retreated.
"I paid a visit to the K-9 Kennels, Cameron."
"So?"
"The owner identified you from your photo. He also confirmed that you paid to have Blitzkreig trained to attack and kill. By ripping out the throat. The same way Melanie was killed. You murdered her, Cameron. Where are you going?"
"To the bathroom. I'm about to piss my pants. I'll be right back."
Held back by his respect and regard for the older man, Chris hesitated to interfere as Taylor left the room and headed down the hall. He waited for the sound of a door closing, and, when it didn't come, eased the Glock from its holster and went out into the hall. Cameron's study was at the end of the carpeted hallway and down two steps. Chris cursed himself as he heard the unmistakable click of a rifle bolt being rammed home. Standing with his back to the window that looked west to the mountains, the rancher held a rifle at a forty-five-degree angle across his chest. There was something indifferent, almost casual, in the way he was holding it.
"Don't do it, Cameron! Put the rifle down. Now!" Chris took a step forward. Two more and he would be close enough to rush Taylor.
"Stay where you are Chris! Don't move!" Now the rifle barrel pressed against Taylor's chin. He closed his eyes and murmured, "Sorry about this," as if apologizing for some minor social faux pas. Then the room reverberated with the sharp crack of the Remington. Blood and grey brain matter splattered the broken panes of the shattered window. Thrown backward by the blast, Taylor fell against a bookcase and slowly crumpled to the floor, blood streaming down the front of his cowboy shirt, obliterating the printed image of a bucking horse.
Ears ringing from the blast, Chris knelt beside the body and went through the motions of feeling for a pulse, knowing it was hopeless.
It was Constable Lonechild who answered his call. Corporal Kanciar was off-duty, having worked the night shift. Holding up a hand to warn off the shocked maid, Chris told Lonechild to contact the corporal and get out here herself on the double. Signing off, he strode across the room to the maid who looked as if she was about to collapse in a faint.
Taking her by the shoulders, he said, "He's gone, Lucy. There's nothing we can do for him. The police are on their way. That's it. Good," he added as she took her hand away from her mouth, and choked back a sob. Wiping the tears from her brimming eyes with a tissue he asked, "Where are Mrs. Taylor and Mister Cam?" He couldn't let them walk in unprepared on this scene.
Bending down, he heard her whisper, "Mrs. Taylor is in town meeting Melanie's brother. That's all the family she had. He was in Australia."
"And Cam. Is he with her? It's important, Lucy."
"No." Shaking her head, she drew a shuddering breath. "Mr. Taylor told him to ride across the river to check on the herd in the south pasture."
The Sheep River meandered through the southern part of Bent Tree. Even on horseback, it wouldn't take long to get there and back.
"Listen to me, Lucy. We can't touch anything until the police arrive. I want you to go back up to your room and wait. I'll go outside and intercept Cam."
The two Mounties arrived first. In separate cars, switching off their flashing lights as they entered the ranch property. Kanciar hadn't taken the time to put on his uniform and was only a few minutes behind Lonechild.
"The M.E.'s on his way," he said as they stood looking down at the grisly scene. "We'll dust the rifle for prints, but it's pretty clear what happened." Turning to Chris, he asked, "You say he just got up and excused himself to go to the can?"
"That's right. The bathroom is just down the hall, and when I didn't hear him close the door, I went out to find out what he was up to."
"What made you do that?"
"I don't know exactly. Maybe the way he looked. I just don't know."
"And you saw the whole thing go down?"
Chris nodded and said in a wondering tone, "He even apologized before he pulled the trigger."
"Noblesse oblige," murmured Lonechild.
The corporal gave his subordinate a long-suffering look, then asked as he saw Chris turning to leave, "Where are you going?"
"Back outside," Chris replied. "Cam could show up anytime, and I've got to prepare him for this."
The medical examiner, the same flushed, overweight woman who had attended the Bragg Creek murder scene, was the next to arrive.
"Who's the DOA this time?" she asked, lifting her medical bag down from the front seat of the pickup.
"It's Cameron Taylor, Senior. He shot himself." He added, "I saw it," when she stared at him in disbelief.
"That poor family. First their daughter-in-law, and now this." Shaking her head, she followed Lonechild, who had come out to take her into the house.
Chris braced himself as he saw the horse and rider coming toward him at the full gallop. Cam would have seen the police vehicles and realized something was wrong.
"What is it, Chris? What the hell is going on?" he cried as he vaulted out of the saddle, letting the reins fall to the ground.
"It's bad, Cam. Very bad. Your father shot himself." As he spoke, Chris studied his friend's expression. What he saw was shock and disbelief without the wary flicker of guilt he was half-expecting. "I'll take you inside. It's a crime scene, so you won't be able to touch anything."
"Crime scene. What crime?"
"It's routine, Cam. The police have to check out every sudden death." And this sure as hell was sudden. Chris's lips tightened at the grim thought. Taking his friend by the elbow, he glanced sideways at the quarter horse. Blowing gently, it was standing stock-still. A champion trail horse, it had been trained to remain in place whenever the reins were dropped.
"Why? In God's name, why?" Cam demanded, staring at the crumpled, blood-soaked body of his father.
Chris didn't attempt to answer. Instead, he said, "They haven't finished yet. Let's find a place for you to sit down."
"Mother! Does she know?"
"Not yet."
"I've got to call her! She has to know what happened before she hears it on the news."
"Okay. But don't go into details. Just tell her there's been a serious accident. I'm going to get you a drink."
On his way to the kitchen where he knew the liquor was kept, Chris beckoned Lonechild, "I have the feeling you know your way around horses, Constable."
"I grew up with them. On the reserve. And I spent two years with the Musical Ride."
For the first time that awful afternoon, Chris allowed himself a small smile. "Cam's horse is out front. Could you take care of him? His name is Pistol, but he's cool." No need to tell her what to do.
Dropping two ice cubes into the stiff drink of Scotch, Chris knew what he had to do. The Taylors were close and valued friends, but Melanie had died an unspeakable death, her trachea torn, the carotid artery and jugular vein severed. Worse, she would have been still conscious while her throat was being ripped out by those ravening teeth. As patriarch of the Taylor family, Cameron had tried to preserve its future but had only succeeded in blowing it apart.
"Mother's on her way," Cam said, taking the drink Chris handed him.
"Good. I see the M.E. is leaving, so I better go back in there."
"I'll need a statement from you, of course," said Corporal Kanciar when Chris stood beside him, looking down at the body.
"Of course."
"There'll be an inquest, but"—the Mountie gave Chris another questioning look—"it'll be pretty straightforward."
"Not as straightforward as you might think. There's this kennel just west of Airdrie ..."
Chris turned off MacLeod Trail onto Mission Road instead of continuing downtown. Sarah had to know, and he would make the call from the penthouse. He tried the hotel first, and Sarah answered. Classes would be over for the day.
"Is Linda there with you?" Chris asked as soon as they had exchanged hellos.
"No. She's in her room, taking a shower. Why do you ask? What's happened, Chris?"
"It's heavy. I didn't want her to be there when I told you. Okay, here it is. Cameron Taylor shot himself. He's dead. He killed Melanie."
"I thought Bl—What are you saying, Chris?"
"The dog killed her, all right. When everyone thought he was in a veterinary clinic being treated for a viral infection, he was in a training school being taught to kill on command. To kill the way Melanie was killed. Her murder was premeditated," he went on when the only sound at the other end was Sarah drawing a shocked breath. "It was Cameron who shot the bull and cut off his ears to make it appear the cattle mutilator was back in action. That was to justify turning Blitzkreig loose. But Cameron still had to give the command for him to attack Melanie. "
Finding her voice, Sarah whispered, "We both know how important Cameron thought his family's role as pioneers of the West was, and how much it meant to him. And how he must have hated that Melanie could-n't have children and there would be no heirs to carry on the tradition. But to do this!"
"He must have thought it was the only way out. He could see Cam was deeply in love with Melanie."
"I know. And the awful part is that Melanie was determined to adjust to their way of life. She was actually starting to enjoy herself."
"So I gather. That would only make it worse from Cameron's point of view—no hope of divorce and then Cam marrying someone who could have children. In his obsession, eliminating Melanie would be the only solution."
"It was just Cameron, wasn't it, Chris? Phyllis and Cam weren't involved?"
"I've asked myself that question more than once. And the answer is no, they were not. It was Cameron, and Cameron alone, who took Blitzkreig to the K-9 Kennels to be trained to kill. That's the way the Mounties are treating it, and that's what I believe."