Three Dog Day (9 page)

“
Wayne, can you stay over tonight?” Lucy's voice called him back to the present.

He replied with regret, “No, I'd better get up and go.”

“
Too bad. I don't have a shift until eleven tomorrow,” she said. Her eyes were teasing, sparkling with amusement.

He smiled down at her and ruffled her hair. “I've got that meeting in Nashville early.” Moonlight shone through a crack in the bedroom drapes. Seeing the swell of her breasts under the sheets, he pulled the blanket down gently and touched his lips to hers. She placed her arms around his neck as she softly kissed him back.

It was cold the morning of January ninth on Wayne's drive to the Nashville police headquarters. An icy rain was falling and mist lay on the fields between Rosedale and the big city. Winter had already begun in the Middle South and Wayne felt the pressure of time passing. The older he got, the quicker the days seemed to fly by. He checked his cellphone and found a text from Ben, one that he hadn't seen yesterday. The sheriff had called him on his way to the scene to tell Wayne about Mae finding a body in the Little Harpeth River, an apparent drowning. This text said John Doe died from stab wounds. A murder.

“
Damn it,” Wayne said aloud, thinking he should just withdraw his request for a leave, now that the sheriff's office would be investigating another murder.

Mark Schneider was waiting for him at the entrance to the Nashville police post. He was a skinny, nerdy looking youngster with spiky black hair and black-rimmed glasses. He reminded Wayne of a punk version of Clark Kent, only without the muscles. Three silver studs stuck out of his left ear, and as he turned to lead Detective Nichols down to his work area, Wayne saw a dragon's head tattoo rising up on the back of Mark's neck from under his T-shirt.

“
I finally got something for you,” Mark said over his shoulder as he ran down the stairs. Wayne's breathing quickened. At last, something was going to break.

They entered Mark's lair, stuffed with computer equipment. It was in the basement of the building. The cellar of the police post had been built at great public expense because Tennessee's thin layer of topsoil lay only inches above enormous granite and sandstone deposits that went down hundreds of feet. The result was a basement that was cool and soundproof, a perfect environment for the many humming, whirring computers that required protection from heat and humidity.

“
Come in and sit here,” Mark said, quickly moving a stack of printouts to the floor.

Wayne drummed his fingers on the computer desk. He was anxious to hear any news Mark might have. “What did you find?” he asked, bypassing the polite greetings that usually grease the social wheels in the south.

“
Hang on, where did I put it?” Mark asked himself as he scrounged through piles of paper. “Right, got it. You found Jocelyn's marriage license and gave it to me a while ago. Using that, the State of Michigan Native American database and a skip tracing site, I linked her married name up to the name she's serving time under. Her name now is Joci Kemerovo. She's Potawatomi.”

“
So, she's alive then,” Wayne said, exhaling in relief. “And she's in prison?”

“
Serving time in Michigan. Murder in the second degree, but she got life. Here's the file.”

Wayne grabbed it like a drowning man seizing a life preserver. He clapped the kid on his shoulder. “Good work. Where did you say she was incarcerated?”

“
Huron Valley. It's in Ypsilanti, Michigan. There's a note in the file saying that they suspected her of murdering her son, Kurt, but his murder was ultimately listed as killed by a person or persons unknown.”

Wayne shook his head, troubled. Jocelyn had not killed his little brother. Her husband Aarne had done it. But he finally had a starting point. “Thank you, Mark.”

“
NBT,” Mark said. At Wayne's confused expression he translated, saying, “No Big Thing.” He grinned at the detective's reaction.

By the time Wayne walked out to his truck to return to Rosedale, a sense of hope was beginning to creep back in. His foster mother, Jocelyn Outinen, whose maiden or tribal name was Joci Kemerovo, had turned herself in to the authorities after killing her husband. He wondered how long she lived with guilt before she went to the white man's law. Most killings on Indian land were considered reservation business and were dealt with by the tribal councils or tribal police. But Aarne Outinen was white and had not been killed on the rez. Killing a white man was white man's business. If Jocelyn had gone to the tribal elders to confess, they would have taken her to the police.

Jocelyn had been in prison for decades. He gave a long sigh of relief. Tomorrow he could begin working on his new goal—getting Jocelyn freed. It was a good beginning, but the atonement for his own crime might not be so easy. He mentally revisited the statute he knew by heart.

Aiding, abetting, accomplice and accessory charges allege that you intentionally helped someone commit a crime. That help can come before, during or after the crime. Examples include covering up for a loved one who you know committed a crime.

Even without checking the statute again, Wayne knew he was guilty. He had helped Jocelyn Outinen cover up a murder. How could he possibly get the deceased Arne Outinen convicted of killing his brother and set Jocelyn free without turning the cold case evidence over to the police? That evidence would send Wayne straight to prison. His phone buzzed and he saw the number of the sheriff's office.

“
Nichols,” he said.

“
Wayne, it's Ben. Nothing has come up in Cam's search of the databases or from Captain Paula's staff to ID our vic. Any ideas?”

“
I got to thinking about that blood-stained rag and knife Dory found the day of the ASPCA raid. Anything that links the material to the victim?”

“
Not yet. The knife had been wiped; no prints showed up. The DNA analysis will take longer. However, since the body was found near the back of Clifton's property, my guess is that Dory's find is likely to be the murder weapon.”

“
What about Clifton? Has he turned up?”

“
No, he's still in the wind.”

“
Do you need my help with this one, Ben?” Wayne asked, hoping on some level that the discovery of a new murder victim would require his services and prevent his ill-boding odyssey. “I finally got a breakthrough, thanks to Mark Schneider, and located my foster mother. She's in prison at Huron Valley in Michigan. I'm seeing Evangeline Bontemps tomorrow to figure out how to proceed. I thought I'd use some of my personal time, unless you need me.”

“
You might as well work on your private stuff at least until we get an ID for our John Doe. I'll keep you in the loop and if we need help, I'll ask, but this one looks like a slam dunk. Rob needs a case or two to cut his teeth on.”

“
Okay. Call if you change your mind.”

“
M
ae's place. How can I help you?” Mae heard her mother answer the business phone when it rang in her kitchen. “Just a moment,” Mama said, and brought the phone to Mae, who was lying on the living-room sofa. She had hoped for a call from Ben with an ID for their John Doe, the poor dead man she had found in the river, but looking at the screen, she saw that the phone number was from an unknown caller.

“
Is this Miss December?” A man's voice asked.

“
This is she.”

“
This is Larry Gunderson calling from the ASPCA. I got your name from Dory Clarkson with the Sheriff's office. She said you might be available to foster some puppies from a place we raided. They're pit bull pups, so we're having a little trouble finding homes for them. Do you think you could take two or three until we can place them?”

“
Was this a dog-fighting operation, Mr. Gunderson?”

“
We didn't find any evidence of that, just a puppy mill that was crowded and dirty. There was definitely animal neglect, probably cruelty, but no dog-fighting as far as we could tell.”

“
Good. I'd hesitate to take puppies if they were bred to fight—for the safety of my own dogs.” She did a quick calculation in her head. “I'm only boarding three dogs right now, so I can take three of your puppies. Have they been immunized?”

She heard Gunderson sigh with relief. “Thank you so much, Miss December. We're working on immunizing the puppies now. Got some kids in from the vet school giving them physical exams and shots. They'll be ready to go in a few hours. Could you come by and get them today?”

Mae made arrangements to pick up two females and one male in mid-afternoon. Mr. Gunderson thanked her once more before she ended the call. She handed the phone back to Mama, who was narrowing her dark eyes at Mae.

“
What?”

“
You know what! I'm here to help you, because of your broken wrist, and you just agreed to foster three puppies.” She gave a quick shake of her sleek, dark head. “How are you planning on even getting there to pick them up, let alone taking care of all these dogs with one good hand?”

Mae smiled at her agitated parent. “I guess it's lucky I'm right-handed, Mama. I can drive myself over there if I have to.”

“
Not on pain pills, you can't!” she exclaimed.

“
I'm just taking some ibuprofen,” Mae reassured her. “The other stuff made me feel sick, so I stopped taking it. And since they were able to cast my wrist after the swelling went down, it feels a lot better, really.”

“
Well I'm driving you over there anyway,” Suzanne declared. “I need to run a few errands, but I'll be back in time.”

Tammy rolled in an hour later, looking much better than the last time Mae saw her. They had talked briefly when Mae called her best friend about breaking her wrist and finding a drowning victim in the river, but she didn't want to discuss anything serious with Tammy today. She looked to be in a wonderful mood, and she had pulled herself together. Her short, silver-blonde hair was clean and fluffy. She wore a gray sweater dress and high, black boots. Her dark eyes sparkled almost as much as the large diamond that adorned the ring on her left hand.

“
Ow, that thing just blinded me.” Mae laughed. “I'm going to have to find my dark glasses if you're going to wear that in here.”

Tammy smirked at her. “I don't know what you're talking about. I can barely
see
this tiny little stone.” She waved her left hand in front of Mae's face and the large, emerald-cut diamond flashed in the light of Mae's kitchen window. “How's your wrist? Are you feeling better?”

“
Yes, I am. I don't have to have surgery, thank goodness.” She tilted her head. “And speaking of feeling better, you look a lot perkier than you did the other day. I take it Patrick proposed, and you said yes.”

“
Well, it wasn't really a traditional proposal,” Tammy said, smiling down at her engagement ring. “I couldn't reach him the other day, so I finally sent a picture to his phone—the pregnancy kit stick with a plus sign.”

“
You didn't! I can't believe that's how you broke the news.” Mae shook her head. “C'mon, let's go sit down in the living room and you can tell me the rest of the story.”

Mae shared the news with her mother on the drive over to the ASPCA office in Nashville. Apparently Patrick, after seeing the picture on his phone, had been quick to react. He had proposed by sending Tammy a selfie. In it, he was down on one knee, holding a handmade sign that said:

The only way I could be happier about you having our baby is if you would PLEASE marry me! What do you say? If yes, meet me at Estate Jewelry on Main St. in an hour.

Tammy had showed Mae the picture on her phone, and told her all about the selection of the ring—a one and a half carat diamond in an antique setting that just happened to fit her perfectly. She had bubbled over about the small ceremony she'd like to have and wanting to do it soon, before her belly got too much bigger. She was determined that her wedding photos show her in the best light possible.

Mae decided not to tell her mother that she had offered to host the ceremony and reception at her house on Valentine's Day. Tammy had been thrilled at the idea. All of her best friend's reservations about getting married seemed to have melted away like last week's snow. Mae had never seen Tammy so happy, and she was determined to give her two friends a wonderful wedding. She thought briefly about Noah, her former fiancé, who had died in a car accident. Noah had been Patrick's big brother. He would have loved to be the best man at Patrick and Tammy's wedding. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

Pulling into the parking lot behind the ASPCA building after her thirty-minute drive, Suzanne parked Mae's Explorer as close to the door as she could get. The snow might be gone, but it was a brisk thirty-two degree day with a biting wind. They didn't want the puppies to get chilled. Mae and Suzanne went into the one story brick building that smelled of dog food and disinfectant in equal measure. The sounds of whining and barking were muffled but inescapable in the small reception area, where a young girl with a stud in her nostril and her hair dyed cherry red sat behind a metal desk. She wore earbuds that were plugged into her cellphone and appeared to be watching a movie on her iPad while her own musical selections played in the background.