Interpreter for the Dead Page 9

  Dane decided to enjoy the view because he doubted he would be seeing much of anything after this morning's arraignment.

  He hadn't heard from Harding and it didn't matter if he had. Nor did it matter that, at least this one time, he was innocent. He was going down hard.

  His mind drifted as he stared at the mountains.

  Dane laughed out loud as the thought occurred to him that even if he was able to prove the dog was murdered and his father likewise, he had no idea or proof of who'd done it.

  One of the guards eyed him suspiciously after his brief fit of laughter.

  Was he losing his mind?

  The killer had made only one mistake - missing the remaining pills in the jacket. Yet that mistake took out the one person that could have potentially ruined their plans.

  It was always nice when God looked out for the bad guys.

  One of the homeless guys looked at him with an idiot grin on his face. It was a look that seemed to say, "Welcome to the club. I was once a smart young guy like you, too. I smarted my way right into all the bologna and cheese sandwiches I could eat."

  Right or wrong, he could do nothing from inside prison. He regretted trying to call AJ, the last thing he needed was to involve her in something that could be potentially lethal.

  Whoever had killed his father would have no problem taking out anybody else that got in his or her way.

  If somebody had killed his father.

  The van cruised into the underground parking garage beneath the county courthouse and disgorged them into the belly of the beast.

  Inside the building, the courtroom was typical. The walls lined with mahogany paneling, bench after bench filled with people from all different walks of life brought together by the same thing.

  It took an interminably long time for the judge to appear once they were inside. The court reporter came in, followed by a couple of other junior legal types before they were eventually asked to "please rise, the Honorable Judge Loechler presiding, court is now in session".

  Loechler, Loechler.

  Now Dane remembered, the narrow faced judge with permanent scowl. Judge Loechler had sentenced him on his first Breaking and Entering charge as a juvie. Deferred, six months community service. He wondered if the judge would remember him.

  He didn't have to wonder long.

  "Dane, Michael Aaron. Case number 78634. Violation of pretrial supervision, possession of a controlled substance."

  Dane, still shackled, shuffled over to the aisle and approached the podium. The judge glanced up from the file he was reviewing.

  "Do you have council?"

  Dane started to reply, but was cut short by the opening of the main door. Harding, followed by an annoyed short guy in an ill-fitting suit. He moved quickly to the prosecutor's table.

  "Ansel Harding, your honor. I am Mr. Dane's council. I apologize for being late, but I was in chamber with the prosecutor."

  Harding moved in beside Dane. The prosecutor nodded, scowling.

  "Very well," Loechler intoned, "moving along then. To the charges of violation of pretrial separation and possession of a controlled substance, how does your client plead?"

  Dane sighed, waiting for the axe to fall, wishing all of this could happen without him having to be here.

  "We move for all charges to be dismissed your honor."

  The judge raised his eyebrows, smiling at the absurdity.

  "And why would we want to do that, Mr. Harding?"

  Ansel Harding extracted a slim folder from his briefcase.

  "Because my client was illegally arrested using an invalid warrant of search and seizure, your honor. If you'll look you will see the warrant was issued for the house, but not for Mr. Dane's person."

  The judge read through his copy of the warrant, his scowl deepening.

  "Prosecution?"

  "Your honor, while the warrant did not specify Mr. Dane personally, we believe the defendant's arrest falls under the category of justifiable suspicion."

  Harding cleared his throat.

  "Using justifiable suspicion in this particular instance can be proven to be a stretch of the definition of the term, your honor. I have over two dozen witness that can attest to the fact that my client was under no suspicion whatsoever and was left free to wander the grounds while his parole officer and a Boulder County Sheriff went about their search."

  "Judge Loechner, this is all hearsay."

  Harding reached into his briefcase once again, this time pulling out the empty quart of oil and bringing the prosecution to a dead stop.

  "What is that Mr. Harding, and how did it get into my courtroom?"

  Harding handed the can to the bailiff, who in turn handed it to the judge.

  "Your metal detectors are still working your honor. As you can see, what appears to be an oilcan is really a fiberglass replica, used typically to store valuables such as jewelry. This particular one, however, housed a miniature video recorder normally used by my client for security purposes, but serendipitously was able to catch the events of his illegal arrest yesterday morning."

  "I see no camera in here."

  "That's because we were playing it in Mr. Soutter's office your honor, in attempt to save the court's time in this felonious assault on my clients civil rights."

  The judge switched gears, quickly turning to the prosecutor as he weaved his way through the legalese.

  "Relax Mr. Harding. While local law enforcement may have been a bit, overzealous, in looking out for the wellbeing of the community, I am quite sure the prosecution has not acted in any way that could be deemed 'felonious'. Am I right, Mr. Soutter?"

  The prosecutor cleared his throat and shot Harding a look. "Yes, your honor. I only wanted to make sure it was a matter of public record that the Boulder County District Attorney's Office had nothing to do with this and is only here to expedite Mr. Dane's release back into the community."

  The gavel fell a little harder than necessary, the judge clearly displeased to have to dismiss the case.

  "Case dismissed. Bailiff, give Mr. Harding his oil can back."

  "Yes, sir. All rise."

  A low murmur erupted in the courtroom.

  Harding turned to Dane, his voice low and flat.

  "Let me assure you, that you are quite mistaken if you think I am some sort of bullet-proof jacket that will allow you to do anything you want between now and your trial."

  He held the can up in front of Dane.

  "You were very, very lucky this time. Don't push it. I'm not making enough off this deal to be rescuing you left and right."

  Harding left, parting the crowd like Moses.

  Chapter 14

  A downpour had turned the backyard to muck, each shovel full of dirt a little heavier than the one before. The metal edge made a sharp, tinny crunch every time it connected with the rocky soil, sending a shiver down Dane's back. He squinted back tears as he breathed through a bandana tied over his nose and mouth, the smell of linseed oil drowning out the stench of decomposition. Blisters had already begun to form on his hands, soft from years away from hard labor.

  Soaked from the rain, he had to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

  What was he doing in the rain, digging up a dead dog?

  He tried to dismiss his doubts.

  The dog got hit by a car. That it happened the day before his father died meant nothing. The convoluted story his mind had pieced together about his father's death, the dog, his arrest - it was all bullshit.

  He had no proof the pills in his pocket had been anything other than ordinary heart medication.

  It was no stretch of the imagination for Spurlitz's buddy to have simply turned the dogs loose on him, and then claim later in court they had reacted to a scent. Of course, if the pills somehow got misplaced, well that was just tough shit.

  ...and for their next trick, ladies and gentlemen, please watch as the Justice Brothers turn an ordinary parolee into a convicted felon...

  He had to know.


  Dane took a deep breath and squatted down, spreading a horse blanket over the matted fur, tucking it around the body and fighting against the mud every step of the way as it tried to reclaim its own.

  He stood with the shapeless mass in his arms, desperate to get the body to the car and get the chemical soaked bandana off his face.

  A branch snapped behind him, and his whole body tensed.

  He nearly dropped the dog and slid back into the hole, as he came face to face with the end of a gun.

  He was getting real tired of people pulling guns on him.

  "AJ? What are you doing here?"

  Her gaze fell to the body cradled in his arms, the wet blanket covering all but the dog's tail. She held her cell phone in one hand, and the gun in the other.

  "I'd ask you the same thing. I came over because I saw a flashlight beam in the backyard, and I thought you were in jail."

  Dane managed to get his hand up to his face to pull the bandana off, but it wasn't easy still holding the dead dog.

  He took a step toward her.

  "You're not going to shoot me."

  "It's just a tranquilizer gun, but it'll put you down long enough for the cops to get here. You can tell them why you're out here exhuming dead dogs instead of sitting in jail."

  "My lawyer got me out," Dane replied.

  "Oh, well that explains everything."

  "Listen, you don't understand."

  "I'd love for you to explain your way out of this one. What are you doing digging up Lady?"

  Dane had nowhere to go. He had to tell her, what choice did he have?

  "AJ, the pills in the jacket weren't mine."

  "Yeah, yeah, I know. Your parole officer and the sheriff put them there. Or maybe they trained the dogs to do it, is that it?"

  He took a step toward her and she backed away.

  "Goddamn it, Michael, I'm serious. One more step and I'll turn you into a gelding."

  "Spurlitz didn't plant the drugs AJ. My father put them in the coat. He thought they were just his regular pills, but they weren't."

  "What? Why would your father have illegal drugs?" She scrunched up her face as if she thought he'd lost his mind.

  "I don't think I was set up, AJ. I think someone killed my father. They laced his pills so he'd overdose. Do you understand? The dog died the day before. It can't be a coincidence. Somebody poisoned her so they could get past her into the house and taint the pills."

  She was speechless.

  "There's something else too. The lock on the back door had been forced open, that's why it was broken."

  "How do you know? That lock had to be a hundred years old, it probably just gave out."

  "There were pipe-wrench marks on the doorknob, and the insides were busted. I can show you. I'm a thief AJ. I know a break-in when I see one."

  "This is insane."

  "It is insane. But it's the only thing that makes sense," he said, his voice rising. He wanted desperately to put the pieces together in a way that would make sense to her. "By doping his heart medication, they could make it look like a natural death."

  "Now you sound like a conspiracy theorist. Who are 'they'?"

  "I think it was John Caywood. Well, not him personally, but I think he's got to be involved."

  She interrupted him, flabbergasted. "The realtor?"

  "Listen to me. He drove all the way to Vail to make a deal with me on the property. He bailed me out, got me a lawyer. All so I would agree to sell the land, land he's been trying to get his hands on for years. He wouldn't do all that if he wasn't going to make a killing."

  "I'm supposed to believe that this respected business man, whose whole life is on display, committed murder? What about you Michael?"

  The rain picked up intensity, lightening streaking the sky followed quickly by ear splitting thunder.

  "I may be a lot of things AJ, but I'm not a killer."

  The wheels had begun to turn in her head; he could see it in her eyes. It made him feel a little less crazy.

  "Will you help me?" Dane steeled himself for her response. "Either way, the dog's not going back into the ground. It's you, or I'll find someone else to do it."

  "Fine, I'll do it. Just to prove you're out of your mind. Let's go. Get in my truck." She waved him towards the cab with the gun.

  "Could you put that down please?"

  "No."

  "What is it with guns? I don't have a gun and I'm a criminal. Maybe I should get one."

  The weight of the dog was beginning to wear on him, the muscles in his arms screamed in protest. AJ wrested the truck door open, and Dane wedged in the front seat awkwardly holding the dog on his lap. He was getting nauseous from the smell of the body intermingled with the linseed oil.

  She kept the gun on him while she drove one handed.

  "You know technically this is kidnapping."

  "Don't push it, Michael."

  McConnell's was a mere quarter mile down the road, so Dane didn't have to endure long. She pulled the vehicle up by the barn, the ornate gold lettering on the side door indicating her veterinarian office was located there.

  The main house was already dark. Early to bed, early to rise.

  "My office is in here. I'm set up for full surgical, so I can autopsy her here. Come on."

  Dane laid the dog on the stainless steel table in the surgical room. AJ still kept the gun on him.

  "You're going to have to trust me sometime. Unless you plan on doing an autopsy one handed."

  She relented reluctantly, sticking it in the waistband of her jeans.

  "I need my kit. It's in the storage bin in the horse trailer out front. Can you manage that?"

  He stretched his aching arms as he walked to the trailer.

  Inside the pitch-black of the trailer interior, he fumbled for a light so he could find the storage bin. The trailer shook as the door slammed shut behind him.

  AJ had locked it from the outside. Dane could make out the top of her head through the slats as she latched a large Master Lock on the outside.

  "Let me out of here AJ!"

  "Not until I'm done with Lady."

  "You can't do this."

  "Looks like I already did."

  He punched the door of the trailer, shouting out in pain and frustration. Had he been any place else he could have threatened to raise hell and wake the whole neighborhood.

  Lot of good that'd do in Deaf Valley.

  "Here. This'll keep you warm."

  She slipped him a small silver flask.

  "You didn't poison this did you?"

  "Now you're getting paranoid. It's whiskey."

  Without another word, she stalked back to the barn.

  Dane immediately went to work. Between sips of whiskey, he searched the trailer determined to figure a way out.

  Chapter 15

  Caywood's realty office occupied the second level of a bland brick two-story. The building was on the tail end of Pearl Street Mall, where stores tended to come and go. Apparently, most Boulderites had A.D.D. and couldn't quite make it to the far ends of the mall, essentially dooming the shops. The best real estate was dead center, where swank clothing shops and eateries overflowed with college kids and tourists on most sunny days.

  Today however was a perfectly shitty day. The open-air mall was deserted except for a couple panhandlers crouched in doorways. An occasional shopper scurried here and there, dodging underneath canopies and overhangs to avoid the rain.

  Perfect for breaking and entering.

  As Dane sat in AJ's truck surveying the street, he recalled the look on her face when she ran outside after hearing her big diesel Ford fire up.

  "What are you doing? You can't steal my truck!"

  "Looks like I already did."

  He could have trudged across the field and retrieved his rental car, but it served her right for locking him up anyway.

  Since he'd made it all the way to Boulder without getting pulled over by the police, he had to assume AJ believed him when he
said he'd be back in a couple hours.

  At least he hoped she'd believed him.

  Dane hesitated.

  He could come back later when there were fewer people around, but by then he'd be sober enough to realize just how stupid this really was.

  Dane got out of the truck and edged his way down the back alley, skirting rivers of filthy rainwater and potholes, finally locating a fire escape a few buildings down from his target. With a quick glance around he jumped up and grabbed the bottom rung, the ladder screeching like a banshee. It was a treacherous climb in the rain, the steel bars slippery under the tread of his shoes. He made his way to Caywood's building one roof at a time.

  Bet you can't get in.

  Bet I can.

  This was juvenile. The risk far outweighed the gain. He still didn't even know if the damned dog was poisoned or not. If he got caught, he could add breaking and entering to the long list of charges already piled up against him. If the dog had been poisoned by Caywood then what did he expect to find in the man's office - a signed confession?

  Dear Diary - Killed Henry Dane's dog today, will take care of the old man tomorrow...

  He skidded to a stop on the roof of Caywood's building, feeling exposed even in the dark and the rain. Dane looked around the area and realized his options for entry were limited. There were no access doors.

  An industrial swamp cooler was mounted in the middle of the roof. Dane knelt down to examine it, counting eight rusty bolts anchoring it down. His hand went to his pocket out of habit, but the Feds had kept his trusty Leatherman.

  Debris was scattered around, and he managed to locate a mangled piece of angle iron to use as a screwdriver. He told himself as soon as the first bolt didn't budge, he was out of there. The whiskey had started to wear off, along with his crazy sense of bravado.

  The first bolt gave fairly easily, as did the rest. It was no easy feat moving the massive machine off the vent opening. He poked his head down into the shaft, seeing light through a vent about ten feet away.

  A siren pierced the steady beat of the rain. His heart in his throat, he hoped it was just some college kid getting pulled over on Broadway.