Chapter Sixteen

“His name is Baxter, and he has a highly developed sense of smell. If there is a human body or even a small part of one in the ground, he’ll tell me,” she said.

“Even though the ground is still quite frozen?” Bo asked.

“Oh yes. Even if it’s buried deep, Baxter can tell me.” She knelt down and removed the leash from Baxter. Then, calling him by name, she told him to search.

Lottie did not take Baxter to the exact spot where Two Face had been trying to dig. Baxter scanned back and forth through the weed-infested yard, but when he went into the bushes and past them, he calmly sat on his haunches and looked at his owner.

“Well, boys, you have someone or part of someone in the ground there,” Lottie said confidently.

She knelt beside Baxter, patted his head, and told him what a good boy he was and what a good job he’d done. “I always congratulate him like this as a reward when he is successful. And believe me, officers, he is telling me he found someone.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Jim said.

“As will I,” Bo agreed. “Now I guess we’ve got to get whoever it is out of the ground.”

Lottie stood up, reached in a pocket of her pants, and retrieved a small treat, which she gave to Baxter. “Another thank you,” she told the men. “We’ve done our part, so it’s up to you now. But if I might make a suggestion, you might need a backhoe.”

“Yeah. I guess we’ll get some help out here. The Price police will now come, I’m sure. If there’s a body as Baxter says there is, then it becomes their case. I’ll call them now,” Bo said.

After the call and a promise that help was on the way, Bo said, “If we can’t get to the body with a pick and shovel, we’ll soon know it. Then if the Price officers agree, we’ll follow your suggestion and see about locating someone with a backhoe.”

Lottie patted her dog some more. “Detective, what kind of dog do you have? I saw him in your truck, but I didn’t get a good look.”

“He’s a bulldog,” Bo answered.

“He could be trained to search for cadavers if you wanted to go to the trouble,” she said. “He knew he had something here. That’s for sure,” Lottie said. “I just don’t know if he knew what he’d found.”

“He’s trained as a police dog. He protects me, but he also tracks very well,” Bo said.

“Why did you keep him in your car?”

“I didn’t want to take a chance on him messing up your dog’s work by distracting him.”

“He wouldn’t have. Once my dog has a command, he is 100 percent focused on the task at hand. I’d like to meet your dog. Now that I think about it, I’ve heard about him. He’s kind of unique for a police dog.”

“Sure. Why not?” Bo said while Jim commenced swinging the pick again with a little bit of success.

After the introductions were made and Lottie, clearly a dog lover, had fussed over Two Face for a minute or so, she said, “It’s good to meet you. Call anytime you need Baxter’s services. I don’t charge for my time or his. The only time I charge anything is if I have to travel. I do it as a service because I love doing it.”

“I sure appreciate it,” Bo said. “I hope I don’t have too much need for him though.” He smiled. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Lottie said and then she turned to her dog. “Let’s go, Baxter. Your work is finished here.”

As it turned out, a backhoe was not needed. With assistance from the officers from Price, the police chief, and the sheriff himself, they were able to get the body out of the ground. It had only been about a foot beneath the surface. Once they had broken through the frost level, the digging had been relatively easy.

The body was badly decayed, and special care had to be taken to keep it as intact as possible. A careful search of the clothing turned up a wallet in a back pocket of the corpse’s blue jeans.

Bo opened it and found the driver’s license for Jordan Bayle. “Well, it looks like Bryan Bayle must have killed his own brother.”

“I wonder if Belle knew that,” Jim said. “I mean, it was right here in the yard.”

“My guess is that she didn’t know,” Bo said. “I think that would have been enough to cause her to leave him. Of course, we’ll never know for sure. I’ll be interested to see the autopsy results.”

“It looks to me like he was shot in the forehead,” Jim said as the city officers looked closely.

“If you’re going to be able to charge Bryan with this murder, it would help if we knew that he was killed with one of Bryan’s own guns,” Bo said to the police chief, who agreed with him.

“We have Bryan’s guns, so we can certainly get a ballistics test done,” Jim suggested.

“It’s looking more and more likely that Bayle was Emil’s killer,” Bo said. “We’ve got to find him before he kills again. That doesn’t mean that I don’t think Lucas is also dangerous. Ron has got to keep an eye out for him too.”

What remained of Jordan Bayle’s body was finally put into a body bag and sent to the state medical examiner’s office late that afternoon.

Emil’s killer, confident in his disguise, actually strolled up the street from where he’d parked his car and watched as a body bag was loaded into the hearse he’d seen arrive close to an hour ago.

So, another murder had been discovered. But he felt safe. He prided himself on being smarter than the cops. He also realized that the hunt for a killer or killers would be intensified, and he didn’t want anyone getting the idea that he had killed anyone. It was time to do what he had to do, or perhaps what he wanted to do. No life but his was important. He totally believed that. He walked past a Price City officer as he left the area. Neither that cop nor anyone else paid attention to him as he walked back up the street and around the corner, where he climbed in his vehicle and drove off.

Yes, he told himself, he could do anything he wanted, and no one would ever find out it was him. He was above the law. The law was for other people. It didn’t apply to him. He was untouchable.

It was late when Joe drove home, and he was lonely without his dog. In all honesty, he did not feel safe. He regretted not staying on the farm, but he would never let Ron or Melia know that. He worried about his own safety in addition to that of the girls and Ron. He moped around his house for a short while when he arrived and then decided that he should return to Ron’s house and stay there—for their sake, not his. He was not about to admit he was frightened here at his place.

He called Melia, and when she answered, he said, “I’m worried about you guys. I think I’ll come back and stay there.”

“That’s great,” Melia said with relief in her voice. “We’ll all be safer with you here, and that includes you.”

Joe allowed himself a chuckle. “I’m fine. It’s you guys I worry about. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“We have the doors all locked, so knock three quick times, then give a short push on the doorbell so I’ll know it’s you,” Melia said.

Even as he responded that he would do that, he realized Melia was indeed frightened. He could hear it in her voice. It made him feel both sad and angry.

Before he left, he spent a few minutes attempting to secure his house. He taped a new piece of cardboard over the small square of broken glass, which had now been used twice to break into his home. Then he gathered up some clothes, including the ones he planned to wear to church on Sunday. It didn’t take long since he didn’t have a lot. He thought about taking his guns but then decided against it. Ron had plenty of guns in his house, and Joe knew how to use them.

The killer got around. He had seen Joe leave the farmhouse, late though it was. He’d first thought that Joe was going to stay there. But since he didn’t, the killer had followed him back to his house, keeping a long distance between them. Joe was a fool for going home. After Joe had parked at his house, the killer waited outside. He’d been inside before, and he’d break inside again. But he’d give Joe time to get to sleep before he did.

Then he thought of a surprise for Joe. He was through waiting. Joe had to pay for Emil’s death.

He watched as the lights finally went out in the house but was surprised when he heard the front door open. He was waiting beside Joe’s truck, so he simply crouched down, holding his pistol in his right hand.

Finally feeling that his house was as secure as he could make it, Joe took his bag and left out the front door. He locked it behind himself and walked over to his truck. After putting his bag in the passenger side, he walked around the truck to get in. He failed to see someone crouched there until it was too late. He tried to dodge as something came at him. He had time to realize it was a large pistol, but that was all he saw. He felt a blinding strike on the side of his head, slumped to the ground, and then faded quickly into unconsciousness.

Melia and Nattie were sitting on the sofa chatting while Ron snoozed in his recliner with the TV on but the sound muted. The girls were waiting to hear Joe’s truck crunch across the gravel in the yard. Melia kept looking at her watch. “He should be here any minute,” she said to Nattie, talking softly so as not to awaken Ron.

“Maybe we didn’t hear his tires on the gravel. He should be giving the knock-and-ring code you gave him anytime now,” Nattie responded.

“Probably.”

A couple of minutes passed before Melia said, “Nattie, he should have been here by now. I’m worried.”

“He probably had to pack some things,” Nattie reasoned. “Try not to worry so much. He’ll be here soon.”

Another five minutes passed, then ten. Melia’s stomach was churning, and Nattie also had a worried look on her face.

“I’m going to call him,” Melia said. She picked up her phone and called Joe’s number, but it rang and rang before going to voice mail. “Nattie, something’s wrong. Joe said he’d be right here, and he always does what he says he’ll do. I’m scared.”

“What’s wrong, girls?” Ron asked as he stirred in his recliner.

“Joe called and said he was coming to stay, but he should have been here by now,” Melia said, unable to mask the fear in her voice.

“If he said he’d come, he’ll come,” Ron said calmly.

“Maybe we should go check on him at his house,” Melia said. “I don’t know why, but I’m really worried. This isn’t like Joe.”

“I’ll try calling Joe again, although I think he’ll be along shortly,” Ron said.

He had no better luck than Melia had when she’d tried. After putting his phone back in his pocket, he said, “Let’s all get in my truck, and we’ll drive to Joe’s house. I’m sure there’s a good reason why he hasn’t come yet.” Ron was already putting on his coat. “We’ll soon find out,” he said. “Hurry girls. We’ll take this rifle and a pistol with us.” He walked back over to his recliner and retrieved a small .38 caliber revolver from a drawer there and shoved it in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

The three of them piled into Ron’s truck, and he drove faster than Melia had ever seen him drive. She was holding the rifle between her legs with shaking hands. The urgency of the situation was demonstrated by the way Ron was driving.

When they arrived at Joe’s house a few minutes later, his truck was parked where he normally parked it in the narrow driveway beside his house. Melia, who was at the passenger door, started to open it as Ron pulled to a stop. “Wait!” Ron ordered sharply. “Hand me the rifle, Melia, and then you two stay in the truck while I take a look.”

“But he must be in his house,” Melia said.

“There are no lights on in there,” Ron pointed out. “Just stay put, you two. I’ll have a look around.”

It was all Melia could do to keep from following her grandfather, but she and Nattie did what they were told and simply watched Ron as he approached Joe’s truck, the headlights from his own truck lighting his way. He moved slowly, looking all around, which caused Melia’s fear to escalate.

He finally reached the driver’s door, peered in, and then opened it. The interior lights came on and Ron looked around inside the truck. He was shaking his head as he shut the door and slowly returned to speak with the waiting girls.

“His bag is in the truck,” he said. “I can’t imagine what Joe’s thinking. I guess I need to check the house. Maybe he changed his mind and went inside. Although if he did that, why did he leave his bag in the truck?”

Ron retrieved a flashlight from a pocket of his door. “You guys stay here. Let me take a look.”

“We don’t have a key,” Melia said logically. “What if he doesn’t answer when you knock?” Ron hadn’t even had time to respond before Melia went on, her voice quavering. “I’m scared, Grandpa. Let us come with you, please.”

Ron hesitated briefly, and then he said, “Okay, but stay right behind me. You hang on to my .38, Melia, and keep it in your hand.” He pulled it from his pocket, and she took it with cold, trembling fingers.

They approached Joe’s house, walking close together. When they got to the door, Ron, who was wearing gloves, reached for the door handle. It was locked. He knocked hard, and they waited. Melia’s heart was in her throat, and she was shaking with fear and cold. When there was no response, Ron said, “We’ll try the back door.”

“This was open earlier,” Melia said when they reached the back door. She touched the cardboard with the tip of the .38. “He must have patched it again.”

“Must have done,” Ron grunted in agreement. He reached for the doorknob. It did not turn. He knocked on the back door, and when there was no response, he shouted, “Joe, if you’re in there, open up. It’s me, Ron.”

No response.

“Grandpa, something’s wrong. Joe would never do this to us,” Melia said quietly.

“No, he wouldn’t. Let’s push that cardboard out and look inside,” Ron said. The house was clearly empty and quite chilly. Joe’s heat was turned very low. “I’ll call Bo. Let’s get in the truck and get warm. I don’t want to wait in here while he comes.”

He did that, and the three of them waited fearfully in the truck. Melia prayed that Joe was okay, and yet deep down, she feared the worst. But she kept her anguished thoughts to herself.