Punish (Feral Justice Book 1) Page 3

  Murder and suicide. Maybe an accident.

  “We’re waiting on detectives,” Douglas explained. “Until then nothing gets touched.”

  “What about the dogs?”

  Douglas sighed. “I asked the sheriff. He said you could assess the situation but not touch anything until his staff does their job. That’s going to take a while.”

  “Look, if we’ve got injured animals—”

  “Sorry. It isn’t your call. Mine either.”

  In other words, he might have no choice but to watch an animal suffer until he’d been given the green light. “I don’t like it.”

  “Yeah, well, neither do I.”

  Douglas was right. He wasn’t the enemy.

  “Why is it so quiet?” He indicated the cages.

  “I don’t know. At first I thought they were in shock, but they look—I don’t know—calm. Patient.”

  Can’t be. This many dogs, it’s never quiet, and if they’re agitated, which they have to have been—

  A door slammed, drawing his attention to the trailer and calming his nerves a bit. A woman wearing something loose and red lumbered down the stairs, trailed by another police officer and a paramedic. When she reached the ground, she sank into a lawn chair.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  “She says she’s married to one of the men. She made the nine-one-one call. Since then she hasn’t made a lot of sense.”

  “In shock?”

  “I’m sure she is, but she’s also short of a full load. Hopefully we can get more out of her.”

  “I’ll need to talk to her.”

  “You’ll have to get in line. Sorry. This is a nightmare.”

  Douglas was about as tough as they came, at least on the outside. Most times when they got together after work, he was full of cop humor. He’d erected a wall around his emotions that Nate understood all too well.

  “How many dogs do you estimate I’ll be dealing with?” he asked, because he had a job to do and didn’t want to see the dead men up close. Low foothills rose behind the flat land they were on, but, despite the mostly open terrain, he felt hemmed in. Like he was being watched.

  Was that what was keeping the dogs quiet?

  “There’s so many puppies I’m only guessing, but there have to be close to a hundred in all.”

  A hundred. There should be so much yapping they couldn’t carry on a conversation. He prayed to the God he wasn’t sure he believed in that the small, caged creatures weren’t beyond help. No, he didn’t think it was that, because along with ammonia and fecal matter, he smelled nervousness.

  And something else.

  “I’ve got to get back.” Douglas indicated the gathered men. “Unless you want me to…”

  “Go on. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  His legs growing heavier with every step, Nate approached the cages. He needed to make an assessment so he could let the shelter know how many he’d be bringing in, what their condition was and how much help he’d need—not that there’d be much because of the local economy. From the moment he’d spotted the cages, he’d known what it was—a puppy mill. If there’d been neighbors, hopefully they would have blown the whistle on the operation. However, there weren’t any other houses in sight. Who knew what the dogs had been subjected to and for how long?

  Two rows of cages set several feet off the ground had been constructed with chicken wire and boards. Mounds of food and feces underneath came to within a foot of the cages’ wire flooring. Only about half of the cages were occupied. A number of dogs, both puppies and adults, were under the shade of a nearby oak. Several puppies were wrestling, but the majority stood or sat, watching him.

  The same was true of the caged small-breed dogs. No wonder he’d felt as if he was under scrutiny. He had been.

  Nothing felt right. The animals were too quiet, making him wonder if they’d been tranquilized. He’d eventually have to come up with an exact count of how many dogs there were. Whatever it was, his department’s manpower and facilities were about to be overtaxed. The loose dogs were far enough away that he couldn’t get an accurate assessment of their condition, but if they were in the same shape as the caged ones, they all needed to be seen by the vet as soon as possible.

  Had they been socialized? Could the puppies at least be salvaged?

  How many would have to be put down?

  “I hate this,” he muttered.

  Soft, untrusting eyes followed him as he forced himself to walk between the rows. He wanted to clutch the sad, silent creatures to his chest. At the same time he longed to run and never come back. Get roaring drunk so he could sleep.

  Spotting a dead puppy, he stepped closer. The creature was so small, a life ended before it could begin. Its siblings huddled against their mother’s belly, turned toward him even though their eyes hadn’t yet opened. He couldn’t handle the lack of emotion in the bitch’s gaze, so spun away.

  That’s when he realized the unoccupied cages had been vandalized. Whole sides had been shredded. Mangled wire netting either hung down or lay on the ground. It looked as if someone had taken metal clippers to maybe half of the cages, freeing the prisoners, who’d then fled their inhumane conditions and gathered in the only shade. For whatever reason, the rescuer had left before finishing his or her job.

  Who had done that and why?

  Still fighting the impulse to get out of there, he concentrated. He’d seen conditions as bad as this, but this was the largest puppy breeding operation he’d ever come across, maybe the largest in the county’s history. His emotions and nerves were on overload all right, but that wasn’t all that was gnawing at him.

  There was a force, or essence, something beyond the obvious, similar to what he felt when he went to the cemetery where his dad was buried. Maybe he’d keyed into the spirits of the dogs who’d lost their lives here over the years. If he gave them enough time, would they tell him what being trapped here had been like?

  However, today he couldn’t handle that. Maybe not tomorrow either.

  Nate had mostly pulled himself back together by the time he reached Douglas, another deputy and two paramedics. His concerns that they might sense what he’d been dealing with faded as he studied the bodies. Road kill didn’t look much worse. Two bloody corpses—a glance at the shredded throats and large amount of blood left no doubt that they were dead—sprawled on the ground. The men’s clothes were torn and covered in dirt, their staring eyes already losing sheen. Unless he’d read the signs wrong, they’d been crawling—trying to escape something—when they had died.

  A small dog lay motionless not far from the human corpses. He didn’t need to touch it to know it was beyond help.

  “What happened?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Douglas’ voice was low, almost as if he had a sore throat. “You want to hazard a guess?”

  “Wolves,” he blurted. “I know it’s not that but I don’t see how humans could have—”

  “I agree. It looks like a predator attack.”

  A predator that also tore into rabbit cage netting? “Have you found tracks?”

  “Not so far. We don’t want to do any more walking around than necessary until the detectives arrive.”

  “In the meantime,” one of the paramedics said, “we have her to deal with. We’re trying to keep her away from the crime scene.”

  What kind of crime?

  The woman he’d seen earlier was now sitting on the trailer’s steps. A paramedic and police officer flanked her, but she seemed oblivious to them.

  Douglas shook his head. “So far she’s the only thing we have in the way of a witness.”

  A witness to murder—slaughter, more like it. Nate had seen several dead bodies in his life, most notably his father two years ago following a long, horrible battle with cancer. The head-on accident involving an elderly couple he’d been called to because their toy poodle had somehow survived had been pretty gruesome, bu
t he’d understood those injuries. The men on the ground were something else. Was it possible? Could the dogs sitting in the shade have done this?

  The only way that could have happened was if there’d been organized pack behavior, which he couldn’t believe. These were victims, not vigilantes.

  “She lives here?”

  “We’re pretty sure she does,” Douglas supplied. “She’s not making much sense. I probably wouldn’t be in much better condition, considering what’s gone down.”

  “What about them?” He indicated the bodies. “They lived in the trailer?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Then they, and she, were responsible for…”

  “The dogs?” Douglas asked. “No way of knowing at this point, but that’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Did you see the condition of some of the cages?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Looks like someone took their anger out on them.”

  Someone or something. “I need to determine how they were cut.”

  Douglas didn’t respond and he didn’t try to explain why that was important. Between two dead men and a savaged kennel-from-hell, not much added up.

  In fact, nothing about this did.

  Maybe it was the thought that had him looking toward the hills. Who, or what, maybe, was out there?

  “I hate it that no one ever reported this place,” he said. He wondered if he was covering up for his own guilt, that he should have somehow known it existed. “If they had, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  He’d kept his gaze off the bodies, but now his attention returned to the bloody carnage. “Ah, shit,” he breathed.

  “Yeah, shit.”

  In addition to the ruined throats, someone or something had laid into one of the men’s right hand. Several fingers had been severed, the baby finger was missing and deep punctures marred the back. Nate tried to remind himself not to jump to conclusions, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around the possibility that a human being had bitten the hand.

  More shocking, both men were missing a foot. One pant leg was pulled down so he couldn’t see much except gore where a shoe should have been, but the other man’s jeans were wadded around his knees. One leg ended at the ankle. There was hardly any soft tissue left. He couldn’t tell much about the condition of the bone. An axe maybe, he tried to tell himself, but wouldn’t the flesh look more cleanly cut?

  Not a wolf. Get that idea out of your head. But a hybrid?

  He understood, or thought he did, why the victims were positioned the way they were. They’d died while trying to crawl to the trailer.

  How could a human do this?

  And why was a dead dog so close to them?

  Chilled, he stared at Douglas. Much as he needed to voice his thoughts, he didn’t know how to start.

  “What has the woman told you?” he came up with.

  “Not much. Like I said, there’s something besides shock going on. We don’t smell alcohol so maybe it’s drugs. The way she keeps looking at our weapons”—Douglas tapped the Glock at his side—“we got the impression she doesn’t trust cops. Considering the operation they had going here, I’m not surprised. She had to know they’d be closed down if anyone found out.”

  “She also doesn’t like men in white,” a tall, slim paramedic said. “She kept saying, and I quote, ‘I ain’t goin’ to no hospital. They don’t know what they’re doing there’.”

  “That in part is why we’re standing here,” Douglas explained. “We figured we might get more out of her if everyone wasn’t crowding around. At the same time, given her heart rate and blood pressure, she can’t be left alone. Besides, she might say something we need to hear.”

  “I need to try to talk to her.”

  Douglas exchanged a glance with the other deputy, who nodded. “Just don’t say anything about the victims. We need to leave that to the detectives.”

  “Got it. What a mess.”

  “Yeah.”

  Wishing he were anywhere but here, Nate removed his nameplate. Granted, he was still wearing the regulation light brown shirt, but maybe it wouldn’t connect with her. Hopefully he’d come across as less threatening than the others—unless he started climbing down her throat about how the dogs had been treated.

  He trudged toward the slumping woman. Halfway there, he stopped, pulled out his cell phone, and placed a call to the agency. As soon as he got the go-ahead from law enforcement, animal control would have a large-scale rescue on their hands.

  “How many?” the middle-aged volunteer who’d answered the phone asked.

  “Maybe a hundred. They’re small-breed dogs, none in good shape from what I’ve been able to determine.”

  “Oh my God. Crosby will need to talk to you.”

  “I’ll call him once I know more. I just wanted everyone to be on alert.”

  “How are we going to take care of so many? It sounds like a nightmare.”

  “It is.”

  “I’ll be praying for them.”

  If that’s what works for you, he thought as he hung up.

  He’d spent last weekend hiking Mt. Ashforth by himself, followed by yard work Sunday afternoon fortified by endless glasses of ice water. He’d woken up Monday with blisters and stiff muscles and a sense of jobs well done. Right now he’d give a great deal to be clawing his way up the mountain again.

  “Let me try,” he mouthed to the deputy he recognized but couldn’t name. Nodding, the officer backed away, as did the EMT.

  As Nate dropped to his knees in front of the shaking woman, heat seared the back of his neck. Heat and something else. Alerted by his earlier sense that they weren’t alone, he looked around. Even though he saw nothing, instinct or something told him to concentrate on the foothills to the left. He didn’t fight the message.

  The world lost definition. He imagined himself among the drought-resistant oaks. Mentally standing on land most people considered worthless, he slowly scanned the shadowy terrain. Insects buzzed around him. One landed on his forehead, but he couldn’t lift his arm to brush it away. Couldn’t move.

  Movement turned his attention to where the shade was deepest. Something waited for him in there, something he couldn’t put a name to or wrap his mind around. Then the thing was gone. Shaken, he forced himself back to reality.

  A dried-out woman stared up at him.

  “I understand you called nine-one-one,” he began. Thank goodness for years of experience interviewing people both friendly and hostile. As a result, he had a fair idea of how to get through to her—and back in touch with his job. “That was the right thing to do.”

  “I want Bruce. Where’s Bruce?”

  “Is that your husband?”

  The heavyset woman, who appeared to be in her late fifties, shrugged. Her long, mostly gray hair was greasy, and she wore a stained men’s T-shirt stretched over massive, unrestrained breasts. She’d given him a disinterested glance when he started speaking and had gone back to studying the line of ants near her flip-flops. She was still staring at the ants.

  “What did you say to the nine-one-one operator?” he asked. No way was he going to look at the foothills again. “I’m sure you explained what was happening, but I haven’t heard the details.”

  “You ain’t a cop?”

  “No.”

  “You better not be. We don’t have no need for cops around here. Just leave us alone, that’s all we want, to earn a living.”

  “Isn’t that what we all want? It’s peaceful out here. I’ve lived in the area most of my life and I’ve only been on this road a handful of times. I wouldn’t mind having as much land as you do.”

  “It’s hard getting to town now that he won’t let me drive.”

  “That’s a shame. Most women like to shop. Do you?”

  Her head came up. “What’s your name?”

  “Nate. What’s yours?”

  “Amy.” She smiled, showing teeth overdue for a cleaning and probably more.

  “Hello, Amy.” He thought about
offering his hand, then decided she wasn’t ready. Him either. “You aren’t feeling so good, are you?”

  She dug at a cuticle. “I feel fine. Where’s Bruce?”

  “I’m not sure. Where did you last see him?”

  “There, damn it!” She pointed toward the bodies. “I’m not as stupid as he thinks I am. You tell him—you tell him I did what I was suppose to and if he’s mad because the cops are here, I’m— He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Out of Amy’s sight, the EMT made a circling motion near his ear.

  “What did you see?” Nate asked. “What made you decide you had to call for help?” So much for limiting his comments to the dogs. He’d deal with the deputies’ disapproval later.

  “He was screaming, he and Andrew. I ain’t never heard a sound like that.” She interlaced her fingers. Her knuckles turned white. “I don’t know where they came from, why they—they were awful!”

  “They?” Despite his vow of a moment ago, he glanced toward where he’d mentally transported himself. Nothing. Hopefully.

  “The dogs.” Amy’s tone left no doubt that she considered him stupid. “They were attacking—”

  “Some of your animals are loose. Are you saying they attacked?” No way could those little things have inflicted the damage he’d seen.

  “No.” She still sounded pissed at him. “They were horrible, absolutely horrible!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Amy.”

  Amy kicked at the ants. “I hate it when those things get in the house. You ever see ants coming out of a light socket?”

  “Amy, you were calling something horrible. You remember that, don’t you?”

  She kicked at the ants again. “What’d you say your name is?”

  “Nate. And you’re Amy. Amy, I’m trying to get a picture of what happened, but I need more details. Do you think you can help?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Alerted to her defiant child tone, he covered her dry, fleshy fingers with his. Dementia had taken away much of his grandmother. He was seeing signs of that in Amy.

  “I’m sure you don’t want to talk. I know I wouldn’t want to. But Bruce needs you to. I’ll tell you what. I have a cooler with some sodas in it in my vehicle. I’d be happy to get you one. It’ll be easier to talk once your throat isn’t so dry.”