7

“SO, WHAT IN GOD’S name happened to that poor animal yesterday?” Officer Sharon Dupont trained her deep blue eyes on Mike, her forehead crinkled, her pretty mouth drawn into a frown. McMahon wondered if she had any idea how alluring she was and decided she probably didn’t. Mike’s theory was that most women seemed to think they were more attractive than they actually were, but every once in a while he ran into a real stunner made even more desirable by the fact she was completely unaware of her effect on men. He was starting to believe Sharon Dupont fell into that category.

He sipped his coffee in the passenger seat of the white and blue Paskagankee Police Ford Explorer and considered how to answer her question. They had switched to the four-wheel drive SUV for patrolling the streets today based on the severity of the weather and the fact that it was not forecasted to improve for at least three days. Local schools had already canceled classes for tomorrow and citizens were being urged to stay off the roads, but Mike knew plenty of people would ignore that advice and venture out anyway.

Steam curled out of the Styrofoam cup and Mike breathed in the rich aroma of the coffee. “Bert Jenkins from Animal Control was at Ida Mae Harper’s house last night to examine the remains of that poor dog, what few were left, anyway. He says the animal was literally torn apart by something inexplicably strong and unrelentingly brutal.”

“What, you mean like a bear? If one of those guys gets hungry enough or is disturbed during hibernation, it could get mighty testy, and we’re approaching the right time of year for something like that. Maybe the dog stumbled across a really big black bear and ended up getting mauled before it could escape.”

Mike shook his head. “I don’t think so. Bert said there was no evidence of animal bite marks on the remains. He said it appeared more like someone or something had pulled the dog apart like you might pull a drumstick off a roast chicken.”

Sharon grimaced. She looked like she had bitten into a lemon. Her pinched expression was so comical he almost laughed. “That’s a pleasant thought,” she said. “At least now I don’t have to worry about what to have for lunch. I won’t be able to eat for days.”

She was silent for a few seconds. “What about kids? I know it’s a horrible thing to contemplate, but is it possible a group of sadistic teenagers may have tortured and killed the dog?”

Mike shifted in his seat. “You mean like some kind of sick cult initiation ritual or something?”

“Stranger things have been known to happen, right?”

“I guess so,” he answered. “But this strikes me as a pretty close-knit community. People really seem to look out for one another living in isolation as complete as this. Don’t you think we would have heard rumblings if there was a cult thing going on in Paskagankee? You’ve lived in this town practically your whole life, have you heard about anything like that going on?”

Sharon thought for a moment and then shook her head. “No,” she admitted, “but I was never really in the loop anyway, even when I was growing up here, so it’s entirely likely the kids could be into things that I wouldn’t even have heard about.”

“I guess we can’t rule anything out, then,” Mike said, “but considering the weather conditions, it just doesn’t make sense to me that a bunch of teenagers would pick yesterday afternoon to go on a rampage. I don’t know. I can’t say why, exactly, but I have a bad feeling in my gut that’s telling me it’s not anything that simple.”

“A bad feeling in your gut? Maybe it’s just indigestion from that steak bomb you devoured in about five bites yesterday. I told you that you’d regret having that thing.”

Mike laughed and then the police radio squawked and crackled and the voice of dispatcher Gordie Rheaume filled the vehicle, ending the conversation. “Unit Three, come in.”

Mike lifted the mic from the rack on the dashboard. “This is Unit Three, go ahead Gordie.”

“Chief, we got a call from a lady on Mountain Home Road by the name of Sally Crosker. She says her husband was out early this morning chipping ice off their driveway and now he’s disappeared.”

“Jeez, Gordie, maybe he went out for a cup of coffee.”

“If he did, he forgot to take all of his blood with him because his wife says there’s about a gallon of it splashed all over their driveway.”

The dispatcher gave them the street address, and Mike answered, “We’re on our way.” Sharon flicked a switch to activate the flashing blue lights atop the police SUV and carefully eased the four-wheel drive cruiser into the empty road. All thoughts of Ida Mae Harper’s dog were forgotten, at least for the time being.

***

OFFICER DUPONT EASED THE vehicle to a stop, parking at an angle across the end of the driveway at 32 Mountain Home Road. Mike could see even before exiting the SUV that some kind of violent confrontation had indeed taken place out here by the road. The two police officers opened their doors and walked up one side of the long drive, taking their time, examining the scene.

Before they had gotten halfway to the house, the front door opened and a woman dressed in jeans and flannel hunting jacket rushed out to meet them.

Mike turned his attention to her as she approached. Her face was heavily lined, either from advancing age or hard living. Her long brown hair was graying and tied up in a pony tail which trailed behind her in a streaming arc as she hurried to meet them. Mike tried to guess her age and decided she could be anywhere from early forties to mid-sixties—it was hard to tell.

“Thank you so much for coming, I know how treacherous the conditions are out here,” she said, holding her hand out to Mike. “I’m Sally Crosker. I wouldn’t have bothered you if I didn’t think something was really wrong.” Her voice broke at the end of her greeting. Her grip was firm but her hand was shaking.

“No problem,” Mike answered. “This is why we’re here, Mrs. Crosker. I’m Chief Mike McMahon and this is Officer Sharon Dupont. What happened out here? It looks like two dogs were fighting.”

“I know,” she said, staring at the blood-splattered ground and then looking away with a shudder. “I’m afraid something awful has happened to my Harvey. He’s not well, you know; he shouldn’t have been out here in this weather at all, but he wouldn’t allow me to try to clear the driveway. He said this is man’s work and he was bound and determined to do it.” Sally Crosker looked at Sharon Dupont with a trembling smile, as if assuming she would understand.

Mike watched as the woman, who he was beginning to think was closer in age to sixty than forty-five, shivered in the slanting rain. “Mrs. Crosker, would it be all right if we talked inside? You really aren’t dressed for this weather and getting sick won’t help your situation.”

She smiled gratefully. “Yes, please do come inside; I’m sorry for not offering. I’m just so worried about Harvey. Come with me.”

The icy rain continued to fall, and although it couldn’t have been more than eighty feet from the bloody ground to the front door, it took nearly a full minute to navigate the low-grade slope of the hill and reach the shelter of the house. Mike thought it was a miracle the woman hadn’t taken a header on her way out to greet them.

Inside, the home was warm and inviting, the furnishings old but clean and well-maintained. Mike and Sharon stood just inside the door, dripping water onto someone’s living room floor for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Sally Crosker shrugged off her too-light jacket and turned to the officers. “Please, come in and sit down,” she insisted, motioning them into the room. “Don’t worry about the water; I can clean that up later. What do we have to do to find Harvey?”

Mike and Sharon sat side by side on the small couch in the Crosker living room. He was conscious of their legs touching and wondered if she noticed it too. “How long was your husband gone before you called for assistance, Mrs. Crosker?”

“Please, call me Sally,” she replied. “It’s hard to say for sure, because when Harvey went out to clear the ice, I puttered around in here for a while doing the dishes, washing the floor, folding laundry. After a fashion it occurred to me that Harvey should have been back inside. He’s been suffering from cancer for several years now and his stamina isn’t what it used to be. When I realized he hadn’t come in yet, I looked for him out the picture window,” she indicated the large window behind them, “and couldn’t see him, even though the entire driveway is visible from here. So I threw on my jacket and took a walk outside, half afraid I would find him unconscious on the ground, but instead he was just gone and all that blood was everywhere . . .” She took a deep breath trying to choke off a sob and almost succeeding.

“Did you see anything at all, either while you were looking for Mr. Crosker out the window or when you went outside?” Mike asked. “Cars driving by, people walking along the road, anything unusual?”

“No, nothing,” the woman replied, looking bewildered. “Nothing but all that blood. Who would have taken Harvey and for what purpose? We don’t have money. Harvey’s cancer treatments have taken just about everything we have except for the house; it’s not like we can afford to pay a large ransom demand.”

“At this point, Mrs. Crosker, we don’t know that he has been taken. Maybe he fell and hit his head, became disoriented, and wandered away. Why don’t you let Officer Dupont and me get out there and take a look around. Maybe we can come up with something a little more concrete. Please try not to be too concerned yet. We’ll put out a description of Mr. Crosker to all our officers and be on the lookout for him. In the meantime, if you hear from him or think of anything you might have forgotten to tell us, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Mike asked for a recent photograph of the missing man and Sally Crosker rushed out of the room, returning moments later with a picture of a graying, handsome man smiling into the camera. He was dressed in hunting gear and his face had the weathered appearance of a long-time outdoorsman. Mike accepted the photo, then he and Sharon rose from the couch and moved toward the front door. “We’ll be in touch,” he assured the woman, shaking her hand, before they pulled on their heavy winter parkas and moved back out into the escalating storm.

“Do you really think he fell and hit his head?” Sharon asked as they walked back to the Explorer. Mike noticed the smaller officer struggling to match his long strides on the icy ground and slowed his pace. The wind whipped the ancient evergreens surrounding the Crosker home. Trees were beginning to bend precipitously from the steadily accumulation of ice on their branches, and it was only a matter of time before some of them began snapping off and falling to the ground, making an already dangerous situation even worse.

”No,” he answered, “I don’t. Realistically, there’s way too much blood spilled on the driveway for that scenario. If a man, particularly an already sick man, had hit his head and lost that much blood, he would still be lying there. I didn’t want to say what I really thought in front of Mrs. Crosker, especially with no proof.”

“And what is it you really think?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as they arrived back at the end of the driveway, re-examining the blood now being rapidly covered by an icy, slushy mix. He looked at Sharon. “You tell me. Does this scene remind you of anything?”

“Sure. The mess behind Ida Mae Harper’s house,” she answered instantly.

“That’s exactly right. And if Harvey Crosker was attacked by whoever or whatever ripped that golden retriever apart, he’s in trouble. Big trouble.”