Blame It on the Dog Page 18

  “Ow! That hurt.” He hopped away, rubbing his leg. “You try it. Stand here and do what I did.”

  They traded places and she tried as best she could to duplicate his movements.

  “Stop right there; hold that position.” She stopped in mid-pivot, leaning forward, hand on her neck. He drew the light over the tape outline and studied her pose. He stroked his palm back and forth, hard, across his chin, then cupped his hand over his mouth and blew. His lips made a muffled fluttering sound.

  “Can I move, now? This is uncomfortable.” Jane was still in position but her body was beginning to sway.

  With a start he looked up and said, “Sorry. Yeah, sure. How long did it take for him to stand up, slap his neck, turn all the way around and fall to the floor?”

  Jane straightened her body and stretched her back. “I don’t know. What difference does it make?”

  “Did he hit his head, knock himself out? Stun himself?”

  “Earth to Gabe: hello.” She waved her hands in the gloomy light. “What difference does it make?”

  “Do it again, okay? Let me see your watch. It’s got a second hand, right?”

  “Sure. I need it to time a patient’s breathing. That’s about all we use it for anymore but it’s still a job requirement.” She slipped the watch off her wrist and handed it to him. “Here.”

  He held the watch in his hand and positioned the light so he could see both it and her. “Ok, are you ready?”

  “Yeah, say when.”

  “Wait a minute. After you turn, step out with your right foot, then a small step with your left – then pretend to fall down.”

  “On this floor? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Don’t fall for real, Jane. You’re acting. Just pretend to fall down, okay? Now, from the top.”

  “You sound like a movie director,” she said. She got in position. “Were you a director? Out in Hollywood?”

  “Nope, never. I just watch a lot of television. And I was farther north – the Bay area. Ready? Go.”

  The whole thing took eight seconds.

  “Eight seconds. That’s fast,” he said. “What could they inject him with that could possibly knock a man out in eight seconds? And they had to hit a vein – which isn’t very likely.”

  “That’s for sure. Not narcotics. We don’t have anything that works that fast in the ER.”

  Gabe shook his head slowly, puzzled, and then he stopped. He shone the light onto a dark spot on the car’s left front fender that had caught his eye. “Is that blood? Where’d that come from?”

  Indeed, there were a few drops of dried blood on the painted metal and more on the floor. He played the beam of light from the stain across the floor and swept it back again. “Look,” he said, advancing and squatting, the flashlight illuminating an arc of dark splotches on the floor. He traced the faint arc as it diminished and faded to dirty, grey, unmarked concrete at the feet of the outline. There was a smear of blood on the floor at the head of the outline.

  “He knocked himself out. The sharp prick of the needle surprised him, he jerked up, hit the hood hard and opened a cut on his head. Then he turned and collapsed. That gave the murderer the perfect opportunity to inject his carotid, flood his brain with whatever, and then, whamo! No more mister not-so-nice guy.”

  Now it was Jane’s turn to shake her head. “I don’t think so. It takes a lot to knock yourself out. And that means the killer would have had to have two syringes. He couldn’t have known Chip would hit his head hard enough to…”

  “Maybe the first one was intended to knock him out, then the second one was fast and lethal, especially pushed up into his carotid.”

  Jane pursed her lips and looked at the ceiling. Then she looked at Gabe and smiled, “Maybe so, Sherlock. A little succinylcholine followed by some anesthetic agent? Could be.”

  He nodded and pantomimed holding a syringe and pushing the plunger. “Sux. That could do it, a little instant paralysis, and then the coup de grace.”

  The overhead fluorescents jerked to life, flooding the shed with light and temporarily blinding both of them. But there was nothing wrong with their ears. They clearly heard four claps of applause ring off the metal walls.

  CHAPTER 29

  “EXCELLENT WORK, MR. CHANCE, truly excellent work. You don’t have all the details right, but you are very close. You too, Ms…? I’m sorry; I seem to have forgotten your name, Ms…?”

  Jane stood frozen, eyes riveted on the pistol the General was pointing at them.

  “Trujillo,” Gabe said.

  “First name?”

  “Jane,” she said, only partially recovering her wits.

  “Jane Trujillo. My mother was Irish. She named me after an uncle I never met. How did you come by your glorious red hair, Ms. Trujillo?”

  “My parents. Why do you have that gun?”

  “And Trujillo?”

  “My ex-husband. Why do you have that gun? What do you want?”

  “He wants us, Jane.” Gabe’s eyes were locked on the General’s. “Accusing me of murder wasn’t enough, Sean?”

  “I did my best to discourage you, Gabe but you wouldn’t let go. You insisted on digging and digging but you’re backing a dark horse.”

  “I’m a dark horse kind of guy, Sean. I root for underdogs, too”

  Sean chuckled, “Of course you do. That’s your romantic flaw; your romantic, tragic, and fatal flaw. Dark horses rarely win and underdogs get eaten. Mountainview Villa is full of underdogs and now we have two more.”

  “Are you admitting to killing these people?”

  “Not killing, son, harvesting. When the harvest is ripe it’s time to bring it in. Remember that old church song: Bringing in the Sheaves? When the harvest is ripe, you,” he slashed his finger violently from one side of his throat to the other, “harvest it. And then you turn it into money.” His eyes appeared to glow dimly as if they had been infused with a dark light.

  “I’ll bet you never told your daughter the story of the goose that laid the golden egg, did you, Sean? Does Anita know what happens when you kill the goose?”

  “So you’ve learned that Anita is my daughter. You certainly are resourceful. Yes, actually, I did tell her the story. But in my version, the goose is the golden egg. There are always plenty of geese, Gabe, and at Mountainview Villa they are all golden eggs. Do you want to know what the best part is? There is an endless supply of golden eggs, all clamoring for the opportunity to live at Mountainview Villa, and pay handsomely for the privilege.

  “Ms. Trujillo, if you will be so kind as to turn around. Very good.”

  He held out a long strip of white plastic. “Bind the lady’s hands behind her back. Take care that it is not too tight. Or too loose. I will check your work.”

  Gabe did as he was told. As he wrapped the plastic cuff around Jane’s wrists he whispered, “If you can get away, run.”

  “I’m old, not deaf, Gabe. By all means, Jane, if you get free, run. It will make catching you that much more fun. And, son, please don’t try anything foolish. No heroics. This is my old military pistol and the trigger takes almost no pressure. I would hate to accidentally shoot your lady friend.”

  That’s a hollow threat. He doesn’t want to shoot us or he would have done it already. Still…

  “Help Ms. Trujillo to lay on the floor, son. Prone, please.”

  “What! You can’t expect me to lie down in this dung heap!”

  “Of course I can. Gabe, do it!”

  Gabe set his jaw and walked past her to the far wall and grabbed a large sheet of corrugated cardboard. He inspected it and started walking back to her but the General stopped him midway.

  “Stop! Put it down and walk away.”

  “It’s for Jane to lay on, General. It’s what an officer and a gentleman would do for a lady.” He paused and then added, “If one were in the room.”

  The slur hit home. The General clinched his jaws and the muscles rippled. “That was a foolish thing to say. I might
have squeezed the trigger. You’re mouth is going to get you in trouble, Mr. Chance.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  “Get to it!”

  Gabe kicked cans and trash out of the way and dropped the cardboard on the filthy concrete. He helped Jane to her knees and then over on her right side. She adjusted her body with difficulty but finally found a position that provided a measure of comfort.

  “No, no, dear. On your stomach.”

  She glared at her tormenter, her eyes filled with loathing. Nevertheless, she rolled to her stomach.

  Gabe stood and faced the General. All he could see was the very large hole in the business end of the automatic. He managed to say, calmly, “Colt Commander? .45?”

  “Absolutely. It’s the finest automatic on the planet. Have you ever fired one?”

  There were many things Gabe wanted to say, things about the General’s mother, about his unique sexual proclivities, about what very difficult, perhaps impossible activities he might do with and to himself. Instead, he simply said, “Yes.”

  A switch closed inside the General’s head and his face and voice turned hard, his eyes never leaving Gabe’s. The jerk of his head toward the door was subtle but effective. “Open the door wider and step outside. Try to run and a .45 hollow point will mushroom through the top of Ms. Trujillo’s head and separate it from her shoulders. The same goes for you, my dear: be stupid and you both die.”

  The General followed him to the door and waved him out into the blowing precipitation.

  “Far enough,” he said. He stepped across the threshold. Rain rolled down his face, as well as his nylon windbreaker. He didn’t seem to notice.

  With a wave of the pistol he ordered Gabe back to the open doorway. “Close it. All the way.” The General arched his eyebrows at the loud, sharp barks that assaulted them through the open door. “What was that?”

  “My dog.”

  “The ugly white one that bit the deputy? Good. I hate dogs. It’ll be out of our way and I won’t have to shoot it. Turn off the light.”

  “Come on, Sean. Leave the light on.”

  A quizzical expression crossed the General’s face.

  “She’s afraid of the dark.” It was a small plea for humanity.

  Sean’s smile gave Gabe and Jane hope. “Your dog will keep her company. It can protect her if it doesn’t bite her first. Turn it off and shut the door. Now.” The command was hard and sharp.

  Gabe flipped the switch and said through the opening, “I’ll be back, Jane.” He shoved off with his left leg and the door shrieked closed. He wiped the water from his eyes and stared silently at the General.

  Sean pulled something from his pocket and swung his arm up. “Here,” he called.

  Gabe didn’t know how he did it, maybe some kind of human radar. Whatever it was, he never saw the General throw the heavy lock, but he managed to catch it mid-flight, anyway. His hand simply shot into the sky on its own. He caught it without ever taking his eyes off the General.

  “Put it on the door but don’t lock it. Then step away.”

  Gabe slid the lock through the holes in the door and the frame and let it dangle, unlocked. “All right, Sean, she’s in there with the dog, the door is locked and you and I are outside standing in the rain. So far it doesn’t seem like much of a plan.”

  “That’s because you don’t know the plan. I didn’t expect the woman but I always make room for contingencies.” He nodded to his left. The pistol never wavered from Gabe’s chest. “Walk slowly to that opening in the trees on your right and stop. Don’t get more than three paces ahead of me.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  The General followed him to the edge of the trees where Gabe stopped. In front of him was a trail into the dark trees.

  “Go on, son.”

  Gabe chuckled and said, “That’s the third time you’ve called me son, Sean. Reminds me of my dad. Did I ever tell you about him? His name was Burton, just like me. Burton’s my middle name. Everybody called him Burt. Dad was a great guy, you would have liked him. Mom, too. She made cookies for me all the time. Chocolate chip. Nothing better than a glass of cold milk with warm chocolate chip cookies. Dad and I played catch in the front yard. He taught me how to swim, too. Did you know I grew up here in this area? Over in Brandt. But I’ve tromped all over these hills. We camped out here when I was a boy scout. Were you a scout, Sean?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me what your father’s name was, where you grew up or what you did as a child. Perhaps you believe your attempt to personalize yourself to me will make a difference to me. It might, Gabe, if I were someone else. But I’m not, and it doesn’t. Don’t delude yourself.”

  For a moment Gabe’s face fell. But then he began talking again. “You must think I’m a pretty shallow guy, Sean. Actually I was curious about the details of your farming operation.”

  “Now there’s something I don’t get asked everyday. What would you like to know?”

  How to get that gun out of your hands. Failing that, Sean, just keep talking. As long as you’re talking, I’m still living and as long as I’m alive, there’s hope.

  “Uh, how you select your harvestees, for one. And, two, what’s in it for you?”

  “You put the cart before the horse, Gabe. What’s in it for me is enhancing the return on my investment. A good investor develops multiple income streams and that is what my little farm gives me. Of course, each of the residents at Mountainview provides their monthly contribution, but frankly, what with expenses ever increasing, not as much is flowing through to the bottom line as there used to be.”

  “The utilities must be a horror.”

  The General let the sarcasm go. “Oh no, the utilities are sweet, so sweet. We own the water. We produce the electricity – solar power subsidized by my ex-employer, the United States government. That’s income streams number two and three. We even sell our excess electricity to the co-op.”

  “I can certainly understand how good that must feel. Bottom line-wise, that is,” Gabe said.

  “The fourth income stream is the sweetest of all and I have to give Edsel all the credit. He dreamed it up, himself. That boy is more creative than he looks, Gabe. He has lots of ideas, some bad, some of them good, but this one may have been his best ever.” He stopped speaking, waiting.

  “And?” He took the bait willingly. There was nothing in this conversation that would hurt him and he might learn something that could help. Maybe Sean would even do something stupid. Regardless, they were still talking. “What is Edsel’s really good idea?”

  “It was a stroke of genius. Whenever a resident passes on, or is forced to move, they forfeit their original gateway fee and the unit reverts to Mountainview’s parent company to sell again. Isn’t that marvelous?”

  “How much is this ‘gateway fee’ you’re screwing people out of: Five grand? Ten?”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” The General said it quietly, not a whisper, but as if he were making love to the words.

  Feigning surprise, Gabe stopped too fast and his feet slipped on the wet ground. He felt stitches tear in his thigh and stifled the urge to yell. A flash of pain was followed by a hot throb. A trickle of warm blood soaked into the wet denim behind his knee. He blinked and said through an explosive cough, “Did you say two hundred and fifty thousand dollars

  If the General noticed Gabe’s little personal drama he said nothing. “Yes, indeed. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. And Edsel is a brilliant salesman. He can turn a vacant unit on a dime. He’s already sold Harald’s unit, you know.” His voice was bursting with pride.

  “So, you vultures made a killing after you murdered Harald.”

  “You make it sound like such a tragedy, Mr. Chance. It wasn’t. It was a gift. None of these people have anything to live for. They have no children, no siblings, no parents to grieve their passing. We screen them for those details before they become true, bona fide prospects. With no ties they may as well die here
as in upstate New York, or North Carolina, or wherever they used to call home. Harald’s death was a gift: quick, painless, sure. He was hopelessly crippled. He had nothing to live for. And now he has no more fear, no more pain.”

  The rain had stopped. The clouds were scudding away to the southeast and stars were visible in the moonlit northern sky.

  Gabe turned around to face him. “You are one cold and heartless…”

  With squinted eyes, his voice dark and hard, the General waved the gun and said “Please move on, Gabe before you say something we will both regret.”

  His voice grew softer. “And you’re wrong about me being heartless. The fact is my heart aches. It is close to breaking at this very moment. Not over Harald. But over Chip. Chip was my grandson, Gabe, Anita’s son. He was my soldier, too. His death was a double blow. One of the most painful events of a general’s life is the death of a soldier following his orders. It was always hurtful when my men died in combat. But the reality is that the fastest way to move up in the Army is to boldly lead one’s men against difficult odds. Lost lives are the inescapable price of advancement up the career ladder. A man has to make sacrifices to achieve his objectives in life. Chip was one of those sacrifices.”

  “Which of your ‘men’ sacrificed Chip for you, Sean? Edsel? His mother?”

  “I have never asked my men to do anything that I wouldn’t do myself. Chip had become a liability through his greed and insubordination. He threatened the entire mission. He had to be eliminated. I couldn’t possibly ask his mother or his stepfather to remove him. I had to take it upon myself, Gabe.”

  Gabe was shocked. In disbelief he said, “You killed your own grandson?” Shock turned to anger. His voice grew louder. “And you killed Harald? You didn’t order it done, you killed him yourself. Did you kill the others, too, you sorry son of a…” Gabe lunged at him.

  The gun was up in an instant. Its terrible eye visible in the moonlight glimmering through the branches.

  Gabe stopped himself and glared at the General.