To Sketch a Thief (17 page)

A young man, not yet out of his teens, came running into the room. “Papa, he’s fallen,” he called out as he bent to help Drummond up from the floor.

The marshal allowed himself to be supported and deposited back in the bed, mortified by both his weakness and his state of undress, but grateful that it was a young man who had come to his aid and not a young lady.

After he was once more settled beneath the covers, the pillows propped behind him, the young man introduced himself as Henry Abbott, eldest son of Dr. Walter Abbott. He said his father’s name and title with deference.

“I’m to be a physician myself,” Henry added, his shirt buttons nearly popping with pride. “I’ve been helping my father with your care. You’re one lucky man, I’d say. Lucky that Thad Redmond came across you when he was driving his buckboard into town for supplies. And luckier still to have had my father as your doctor.”

Drummond supposed that was all true, but he was too breathless from the pain to say so. Before Henry could expound any further on his great luck, a distinguished-looking man with graying hair and spectacles entered the room. Without a word he bent over his patient and started touching and prodding the injured shoulder until Drummond was on the verge of blacking out again.

“I don’t think you did it any grave damage in the fall, Marshal,” he said finally, “but you would be wise to take more care in your actions. You’re terribly weak from loss of blood. And you haven’t eaten in days. When you were brought in here you had a nasty infection and a raging fever. It was all we could do to get sips of water into you. I wouldn’t have taken bets on your ability to survive. But happily, here you are,” he added with a smile, as if he were a teacher approving of a student’s efforts.

“I thank you kindly, Doc,” Drummond said. “If you’ll tell me what I owe you for the excellent care, I’ll be happy to pay my bill. But first, I’d appreciate knowin’ where I am and what day this is.”

“Of course, of course. It must be disturbing to wake up in strange quarters having lost the thread of time. You’re in Albuquerque. Today is the eighteenth of June.”

Albuquerque. At least he’d wound up where he’d been headed. As for the days he’d lost, they might prove to be his undoing. But there was no point dwelling on what couldn’t be changed.

“I’d be much obliged if I could have my clothes back,” he said. “And I’ll be needin’ my gun and badge as well as my horse. Is he—?”

“You cannot be serious, Marshal,” Abbott cut him off, his face cinched with concern. “Please, give yourself at least a day or two to recover some strength, or I fear it’s your corpse someone will come across next.”

“I don’t have the luxury of time, Doc. I’m after a fugitive, the worst sort of man. He abducts young girls, assaults them, then kills them. I mean to find him before he takes another life and destroys another family.”

The color had drained from Abbott’s face. “I’m reluctant to tell you this, Marshal, but you may already be too late. A ten-year-old girl was taken from her bed, even as her parents slept in the next room. A posse’s been out looking for her close to a week now.”

“Then there’s no time to waste.” Drummond swung his legs over the side of the bed, steeling himself against another bout of vertigo. Hanging on by sheer determination, he rode it out. “Your posse has no idea how John Trask thinks or acts. I may be the only one who does. Now, do I get my clothes back or do I go after him naked as a jaybird?”

Abbott shook his head in defeat. “Henry,” he said, turning to his son, “go ask your mother to cook up some eggs and biscuits for the marshal. Pack up food for him to take along as well. I’ll see to his clothes.”

“Thank you,” Drummond murmured.

“Don’t thank me, Marshal. I just know enough not to fight a battle I’ve already lost. Though I wish you well, I don’t think you’re going to survive this quest of yours. And that’s a downright shame. We can’t afford to lose a fine lawman like you.”

“No need to worry on that account, Doc,” Drummond said with a rueful smile. “I’m a whole lot stronger than you think and a lot less deserving of your praise.”

Chapter 23

R
ory called It’s a Dog’s World and placed her order for a beagle puppy. The woman who took the order said she’d be notified as soon as they had her dog. Then Rory called Leah to let her know the sting was on.

When a week went by without a word from anyone, Rory found herself pacing restlessly around the house. Hobo had marched along at her side, until it became clear to him that she wasn’t actually headed anywhere.

“You’re gonna wear a rut in the floors if you keep that up, darlin’,” Zeke said, watching her from his perch halfway up the stairs. Hobo seemed to echo the thought with a “woof” from the comfort of the living room couch where he was keeping tabs on both of them.

“I can’t stand the waiting,” she said, stopping at the base of the stairs. She’d caught up on her other cases, cleaned the house until it reeked of furniture polish and ammonia and brought some order to the overstuffed closets. It wasn’t in her DNA to just sit around and wait for Leah or Dog’s World to call. Besides, if she and Zeke were wrong, and Dog’s World proved to be a legitimate enterprise, she’d have wasted valuable time.

“I made an appointment to see Tina Kovack this afternoon,” she said, looking at her watch and sighing. “But apparently this morning is never going to end.”

“Believe me, I know how hard waitin’ is,” Zeke sympathized, “but I don’t think you should be givin’ Tina the ‘I haven’t made much progress, so you may not want to keep me on the case’ speech until we see how this sting of ours pans out.”

“Not to worry. I’ve tucked that speech into the ‘for future reference’ folder. Today I’m just going there to get her feedback on our top suspects. I’ll bring along the sketch of the messenger too. Maybe she’ll recognize him. She’s got a good perspective on all things dog related. Who knows, she might come up with a piece of the puzzle that makes all our other pieces fall into place.”

“Sounds like a lotta wishful thinkin’,” Zeke said, “but I’ve always preferred workin’ to bein’ idle, myself. Of course, wearin’ out the floors hardly qualifies as work.”

“Well, I’ve done everything there is to do around here. The house is spotless. Even Hobo’s shaggy hide is tangle free.”

“Then I have a suggestion to take up that excess time you have on your hands.”

“I’m listening.”

“We could go out back and work some on my travelin’.”

Rory hesitated while she groped around for a good reason to decline or postpone such a session. The sooner Zeke became a free agent, the sooner her life was guaranteed to become crazier. Unfortunately she’d made the tactical error of admitting she had nothing else to do before her appointment.

“You said yourself I need the practice,” he pressed her. Bravo. He’d waltzed her gracefully into a corner of her own making. When would she learn to be more careful about what she said to him?

“Let me grab my coat and gloves,” she agreed, trying to pump some eagerness into her voice.

W
ith the sun still high in the sky and virtually no wind, it was far more pleasant outside than the last time they’d practiced. Rory took along a ball she’d bought for Hobo, and after he’d seen to irrigating the trees and bushes, he played an enthusiastic game of fetch. From time to time a section of the marshal would appear, causing the dog to drop the ball and cower at Rory’s side, head down, ears flattened against his skull, tail tucked securely between his legs. By Zeke’s fourth try, Hobo had decided that whatever was going on didn’t directly affect him and he went about retrieving the ball without further interruption. It was the kind of progress that gave Rory’s heart a lift.

At the half hour mark, Zeke also had a breakthrough. He materialized completely, looking every bit as three-dimensional as he did inside the house. He even managed to say, “We’re gettin’ there,” before exhaustion quite literally undid him, and he winked out of sight. Not surprisingly, Rory wasn’t nearly as thrilled with
his
progress.

S
he pulled into the Kovacks’ driveway and parked beside a silver Jeep with Jersey plates, a Jaguar XK8 in British racing green and Joe’s work van. Since it was still early afternoon, Rory thought he might have stopped home between service calls to have lunch with his wife. It was Joe who opened the front door when Rory rang the bell. He ushered her inside and explained that a customer had arrived late to pick up her new puppy—something about traffic on the Garden State Parkway. Tina was just finishing up the transaction and would be with Rory shortly. Joe led the way to the family room, where they settled themselves in easy chairs across from one another.

“Who belongs to the beautiful Jag?” Rory asked to make conversation. “That’s always been my dream car.”

“Mine too,” Joe said with a sheepish grin. “Twentieth anniversary gift from Tina.”

“Wow, I guess I picked the wrong occupation.”

“Don’t go quitting your day job,” he said. “Breeding and showing dogs doesn’t bring in that kind of money. My Tina girl does it because she loves it. But the money for the fancy stuff—she was born to that. I almost didn’t marry her on account of it. You know how that is.”

Rory wasn’t sure that she did, but she nodded politely anyway.

“Yeah, I was from the blue-collar side of the tracks, and Tina came from the big old mansion on the hill, so far from the tracks that she couldn’t even hear the train whistle.”

“What changed your mind, if I might ask?”

“She convinced me that the money would never come between us. That she’d make a bonfire of it before she’d let that happen.”

“Before I’d let what happen, hon?” Neither of them had heard Tina come in through the kitchen door. The three household Maltese accompanied her, weaving in and out of her legs as she walked. It seemed nothing short of miraculous that she didn’t trip over them or accidentally punt one across the room.

“Rory was just admiring the Jag,” Joe said, getting to his feet. “Hey, you okay, babe?”

A tear wobbled on Tina’s lower lashes before spilling onto her cheek. Others crowded her eyes ready to follow. “I’m fine,” she sniffled, even her voice congested with tears. Joe pulled her into a bear hug. Since Tina was a couple of inches taller, she had to scrunch down in order to rest her head on his shoulder. It looked like an awkward position, but it didn’t seem to bother her in the least.

From the comfort of her husband’s arms she gave Rory a tremulous smile. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid this happens every time I send one of my babies off to a new home,” she explained at a substantially slower speed than Rory was accustomed to. Apparently tears had a salutary effect on the tempo of her speech.

Joe kissed Tina on the forehead and held her out at arm’s length for inspection. “You going to be all right now?”

Tina nodded, pulling a crumpled tissue from the pocket of her pants. She dabbed at her eyes and delicately blew her nose.

“Okay, I’m going to let you ladies get to your business. I’ve got a dozen oil burners waiting for me.” He gave Tina a quick peck on the cheek.

“Don’t forget to call Larry back,” she said.

“Will do.”

He was already out of sight, making his way down the hall to the front door when she called to him to wait. Asking Rory to excuse her, she hurried after him, the three-dog entourage at her heels. A moment later Rory heard Tina’s muted voice.

“I don’t know where my head is these days. I keep forgetting to give you the money for that retirement dinner. How much do you need?”

“Fifty should do it.” Joe’s voice was softer, the words harder to pick out.

A minute passed and then Rory heard him say, “Thanks, babe, see you later.” There was the whisper of the front door opening, then the thud of it being closed. When Tina returned to the family room, she settled herself in the chair where Joe had been sitting.

“Sorry for the interruption,” she said, “it seems to be one of those days.”

“No problem,” Rory assured her. “Forgive me if I’m being too nosy, but was that Larry Sugarman, Marti’s husband, you were talking about?”

“Yes, why?”

“Nothing really. I didn’t realize the Sugarmans were more than just customers.”

“Most of our local customers become our friends too. We don’t buy the theory that you can’t mix business with pleasure.”

“I guess the dog community is one big, happy family.”

Tina laughed. “Well, like most families we’re not always happy.” As if to underscore that point, two of the dogs tried to jump into her lap at the same time and had a midair collision that knocked them both to the ground. A nasty little squabble ensued, punctuated by snarling and growling, which Rory found comical coming from such little powder-puff dogs. Tina wasn’t at all amused. She reprimanded them and ordered them all to lie down on the floor and be quiet, which they did without further protest.

“Sibling issues,” she said with a mother’s loving smile. “Just like children.”

“They’re more obedient than most kids,” Rory said, laughing.

“You’ve got a point there. They certainly listen better than my own kids. Now, I know you didn’t come here just to talk about my dogs,” she said, gunning up to full speed. “Can I get you some soda? Coffee? It’ll take no time to get a pot brewing.” She inched closer to the edge of her chair, prepared to fly into action if Rory accepted her offer.

“Thanks, but I’m fine. Like I said on the phone, I just want to get your feelings, your insights about some of the people I’ve been interviewing. Without actual evidence to tie anyone to the case, I’m pretty much stumbling around in the dark.”

“Absolutely,” Tina said. “Fire away.”

“Let’s start with Stanley Holbrook,” she said, watching Tina’s face for her initial reaction. Leah had taught her the importance of observing a person’s expression immediately after receiving unexpected news. There was a moment, often less than a second, when their reaction was purely visceral, straight from the gut. To the untrained eye it vanished too quickly to read, replaced by the reaction that came from the brain in all of its multilayered splendor.

There was no doubt about it; Tina was shocked by the suggestion that Holbrook might be stealing the dogs.

“That’s not possible,” she said firmly. “I’ve known the man for close to twenty years. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a bit of a prima donna, and he’s always running late, but dognapping? I’ve never met a vet who cares more about the animals and their owners. That’s why I keep going to him.”

Rory waited for her to throttle down before she told her about his accountant’s visit. This time Tina’s first reaction was bewilderment. A crack was developing, a fault line in her hard certainty about Holbrook’s innocence.

“Are you sure this Joanne wasn’t lying?” Tina asked breathlessly, as if the accusation had knocked the wind right out of her.

“No, I can’t be,” Rory admitted.

“I mean, what if she’s an unhappy employee?” Tina had recovered enough to plead Holbrook’s case. “Maybe she didn’t get the raise she expected. Or maybe she was in love with him, but he wasn’t interested.”

“Look, anything’s possible. But if Holbrook’s been having money problems, he has a motive, and opportunity is as close as his patient files. He knows the age, breed and condition of hundreds of dogs, and he knows exactly where they live.”

“I see your point,” Tina murmured reluctantly. “I sure hope it’s not him, though. I don’t know where I’d find another vet of his caliber around here.”

“There’s no need to go looking for one yet,” Rory reminded her. “This is all still conjecture.”

Tina nodded and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” Rory said, “moving on—what’s your take on Eddie Mays?”

“I used to take my dogs to Boomer’s Groomers. I know a lot of people who still go there. Mays just got too moody for my liking, and he couldn’t seem to hang on to employees. Every time I went in there he had a new groomer. I never knew what to expect, so about a year ago I started doing the job myself.” She smiled. “It’s messy and time-consuming, but at least that way I have no one to blame if I’m not satisfied.”

Rory jotted down a few lines before looking up again. “What about Anita Callaway?”

Tina shook her head. “The name doesn’t mean anything to me. Who is she?”

“She runs a doggie day care out of her house. When I stopped by there it looked like a pretty slapdash arrangement.”

“That’s not a service I’d ever need,” Tina said. “But it’s strange that I’ve never heard anyone mention her name.” She paused for a moment, a frown working across her forehead. “You know, a doggie day care would be a perfect façade for hiding stolen dogs.”

“That crossed my mind too.”

“You didn’t happen to see any Maltese there?” she asked hopefully.

“No, but I never got past the front door. In fact, she didn’t seem all that interested in selling me on her service. It was more like she wanted to get rid of me.”

Tina sat up straighter, on full alert. “Can’t we get a warrant or something to make her let us in so we can see if my dogs are there?” She was getting worked up enough to storm the house that afternoon.

“We’d need to have some real evidence, probable cause, to get a warrant, and then it would be the police who’d have to execute it.”

“Oh.” She slouched down in her seat again, deflated. “But you’ll tell them to look for George and Gracie if that happens?”

“Of course. And I’d let you know immediately.”

Tina recovered enough to produce a little smile. “Is there anyone else you want to ask me about?”

“Just one,” Rory said, opening the manila envelope she’d brought with her and taking out the sketch of the messenger. “Any chance you know this guy?”

Tina studied it for a good twenty seconds before shaking her head. “Who is he?”

“I think he’s working as a ‘go-fer’ for the dognappers. He may not even be aware that he’s abetting in the commission of a crime. But then again, I may be giving him more credit than he’s due.” She slid the sketch back into the envelope without mentioning the threatening notes she’d received. Tina was already on full alert and Rory didn’t see any point in causing her anxiety level to redline.