Lost Dog (A Gideon and Sirius Novel Book 3) Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE AUTHOR

  “He has a gift for dialogue.” —The New York Times

  “Really special.” —Denver Post

  “A crime fiction rara avis.” —Los Angeles Times

  “One of the best writers in the mystery field today.” —Publishers Weekly (starred)

  “Ebullient and irresistible.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred)

  “Complex and genuinely suspenseful.” —Boston Globe

  “Credible and deeply touching. Russell has us in the palm of his hands.” —Chicago Tribune

  “He is enlightening as well as entertaining.” —St. Petersburg Times

  “Enormously enjoyable.” —Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine

  “Russell is spectacular.” —San Diego Union-Tribune

  “This work by Russell has it all.” —Library Journal

  “Grade: A. Russell has written a story to satisfy even the most hard-core thrill junkie.” —The Rocky Mountain News

  OTHER TITLES BY ALAN RUSSELL

  The Gideon and Sirius Novels

  Burning Man

  Guardians of the Night

  Stand-Alone Novels

  No Sign of Murder

  The Forest Prime Evil

  The Hotel Detective

  The Fat Innkeeper

  Multiple Wounds

  Shame

  Exposure

  Political Suicide

  St. Nick

  A Cold War

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 by Alan Russell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503935525

  ISBN-10: 1503935523

  Cover design by Jason Blackburn

  Many years ago, and a dozen novels before this one, I wrote these words that I now write again: To Laura.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE THEY ONCE WERE LOST, BUT NOW ARE FOUND

  CHAPTER 1 THE 187 CLUB

  CHAPTER 2 THE LAST SUPPER

  CHAPTER 3 A LONG WAY FROM HOME

  CHAPTER 4 A SHAGGY DOG STORY

  CHAPTER 5 LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE

  CHAPTER 6 ALONE IN THE DARKNESS

  CHAPTER 7 A CHIP OFF THE OLD DOC

  CHAPTER 8 MY LITTLE RUNAWAY

  CHAPTER 9 LOST HUMAN

  CHAPTER 10 LOST DOG ANSWERS TO NAME OF LUCKY

  CHAPTER 11 THE RED EYE

  CHAPTER 12 A SNAKE IN THE GAS

  CHAPTER 13 FELIZ IF YOU PLEASE, FELIZ IF YOU DON’T PLEASE

  CHAPTER 14 IS THAT ALL THERE IS?

  CHAPTER 15 CACTUS TO CLOUDS TO SHROUDS

  CHAPTER 16 THE NOT-SO FUNHOUSE

  CHAPTER 17 MAKING A COLLAR

  CHAPTER 18 A PRAYER IN THE LAIR

  CHAPTER 19 FALSE FRONTS AND DOUBLE MEANINGS

  CHAPTER 20 AULD LANG SYNE

  CHAPTER 21 STUMBLING OVER HEATHCLIFF

  CHAPTER 22 THE CRUELEST MONTH

  CHAPTER 23 THE MANY VOICES IN THE DARKNESS

  CHAPTER 24 SOMETHING IS ROTTEN IN THE STATE OF DENMARK

  CHAPTER 25 LOOKING FOR SMOKE SIGNALS

  CHAPTER 26 GIVING UP THE GHOST

  CHAPTER 27 VENI, VIDI, VICI, AND VENTI

  CHAPTER 28 THE SCENT OF A WOMAN

  CHAPTER 29 SLEEPING BEAUTY, WEEPING BEAUTY

  CHAPTER 30 LISTENING TO GOD, LISTENING TO DOG

  CHAPTER 31 WHEN TO HOLD THEM, WHEN TO PHO’LD THEM

  CHAPTER 32 DOGGIE BAGS

  CHAPTER 33 THE GREATEST HUNTER ON EARTH

  CHAPTER 34 BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

  CHAPTER 35 FOR MEDICINAL PURPOSES ONLY

  CHAPTER 36 BOOS AND BOOHOOS

  CHAPTER 37 JUST A SHOT AWAY

  CHAPTER 38 FIGHTING CRIME BY BITING CRIME

  CHAPTER 39 THE LAST RECORDING

  CHAPTER 40 BLOWING IN THE WIND

  CHAPTER 41 THE TRUMPETING OF A HAIRY ANGEL

  CHAPTER 42 UNLEASH THE HOUNDS

  CHAPTER 43 ANSWER UNCLEAR, TRY LATER

  CHAPTER 44 MONDAY, MONDAY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  THEY ONCE WERE LOST, BUT NOW ARE FOUND

  Angie’s growling awakened her. Heather Moreland didn’t know what time it was, but the encompassing darkness suggested it was the middle of the night.

  “It’s all right, Angie,” Heather said, extending a hand to try and make contact with her dog.

  Angie was a so-called third-chance dog. After she was brought to the shelter and put up for adoption, two other owners had returned her, and Heather’s adoption had come through the day before Angie was scheduled to be put down. Heather was Angie’s call from the governor, but there wouldn’t be any more chances for her. If Angie was returned to the shelter for a third time, she would immediately be euthanized. Heather had been determined to not let that happen.

  More than a year had passed since Angie’s adoption. The first six months had been particularly difficult for human and dog. It didn’t matter that Angie acted the way she did because of human neglect and mistreatment. For the first two years of her life, she’d been tied to a short chain in a feces-filled yard, with no access to shelter.

  Was it any wonder that Angie was still a work in progress?

  The dog had been slow to come around. She distrusted humans, and for good reason. All she’d known was neglect and abuse. Neighborhood boys had used her as target practice, pelting her with rocks. She’d gone without water and food for days at a time. She’d chewed on the chain that bound her until her teeth were bloody, but she hadn’t been able to free herself from the metal snare.

  It took a long time before animal control finally responded to complaints about the treatment Angie was receiving at her first home. Officers had been forced to restrain her with catch poles; she’d fought them every inch of the way. Once Angie arrived at the shelter, no one was hopeful about her prospects. The staff had seen too many throwaway dogs like her before. She was damaged, what one of them referred to as a “Humpty Dumpty dog.” She couldn’t be put back together again.

  Heather had taken on the challenge of proving the skeptics wrong. At the time, momentous changes were going on in her life. She’d left her husband and gotten her own place, and she’d felt this need to help the unloved and dispossessed. Angie was the recipient of her goodwill, and Heather never gave up on her. But although her love was unconditional, that didn’t mean it was without boundaries. For the longest time, Angie had appeared immune to love and barely responded to treats. She distrusted Heather, growling at her if she came too close. Sudden movements caused Angie to bare her teeth and snap.

  Heather knew Angie did this because she felt threatened. At first Angie hadn’t even tolerated being in the same room with her. Given any opportunity, she tried to run away. Heather had made her home’s small yard escape-proof, but that hadn’t deterred Angie. Not a day went by when she didn’t dig up the yard and do her best to tunnel under the fence.

  “Where is it that you think you want to go?” Heather kept asking her.

  Angie invariably responded to the sound of Heather’s voice by either skulking or growling.

  “I suppose you
want to find a world without humans,” Heather said. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Angie. I would have found that world already if it existed.”

  Anyone else would have given up on Angie. She was a not-inconsiderable expense. On days Heather wasn’t able to telecommute, Angie went to doggie day care. Heather learned the hard way that she couldn’t be away from the house without Angie damaging it. Most nonsaints don’t have the tolerance for coming home time and again to torn-apart pillows, chewed-up carpeting, and dog crap in the most inconvenient places. But Heather wasn’t about to give up, even though at six months together there came a moment when she almost lost it. On a day she was supposed to be telecommuting, an escalating situation had required Heather to go in to work. She had assumed everything could be resolved in a short time, but that hadn’t proved to be the case.

  When she finally made it home, her house looked like a war zone. There were feathers and foam everywhere, intermixed with colored shampoo and gel. The living room resembled a Jackson Pollock painting. Angie had even managed to get through the window barriers Heather had set up and had torn apart the blinds.

  “Shit!” Heather had yelled.

  From the hallway, Angie was carefully watching her. At the sound of Heather’s cursing, the dog growled.

  Heather was tired and hungry and drained. Angie’s trail of destruction was too much. She fell down into a chair. Of course the armrests on it had been chewed as well. Covering her eyes with her hands, she began sobbing.

  “I can barely cope myself,” she said. “Where did I get the idea that I could help a crazy dog?”

  As a rule, Heather didn’t believe in pity parties. She was good about setting goals for herself and following through. She was too busy to feel sorry for herself. But she felt the need for a good cry. Once the tears started flowing, she cried and cried.

  In the midst of her waterworks, Heather felt something touch her hand. She cracked her fingers open and saw Angie gently touching her with her nose.

  The dog was trembling. Her posture suggested she wasn’t sure whether to flee, fight, or stay put. Never before had Angie willingly approached this close. But it was clear she wanted to comfort Heather even if she didn’t know how.

  Heather stopped crying and slowly dropped her hands. Angie backed away, staying just out of reach. Speaking in little more than a gentle whisper, Heather said, “Thank you, Angie.”

  The dog’s tail, tucked under its backside, didn’t wag, but it did slightly unfurl.

  “The two of us are in this together. I’m not going to give up on you. We’re kindred spirits, did you know that?”

  Instead of running out of the room, Angie seemed to be listening to her.

  “We were both born with two strikes against us. Neither one of us had much of a first home. Both of us were abused.

  “You lost most of your sight in one eye. I think it must have been a stone. That’s why you get upset when I pick things up with my hand. You’re afraid I might throw something at you. I can see fine, but I’m dyslexic. When I was young, everyone thought I was stupid because I had so much trouble reading.

  “I suppose it didn’t help being homeschooled. My father was paranoid. He didn’t want my brother and me in school. He was probably afraid of what we might say to others. If we stayed home, we didn’t have to explain the bruises all over our bodies. But Mother was his favorite punching bag. I’ve often wondered if she was mentally ill, or if Father beat her so many times she suffered physical and mental damage.”

  Angie was still listening. She was even making eye contact with Heather, something she’d never done before.

  “Everything changed when I was twelve,” said Heather. “That’s how old I was when I watched my father beat my mother to death. That’s when I was put in foster care. My brother as well. He told me that one day we’d be back together, but that never happened. He overdosed within two weeks of his release from foster care. I was there for five and a half years, until I aged out when I was eighteen.

  “You and me were passed over by an awful lot of families, weren’t we, Angie? No one wanted a funny-looking girl who could barely read.

  “The first time I saw you huddled in the back of your cage, you wouldn’t look me in the eye, and I was reminded of how I used to be. I couldn’t look at other people either. And when I spoke to prospective parents, they must have heard my growl. I know I heard yours.

  “That’s why I picked you, Angie. And that’s why I’m not going to give up on you. I found a way out of my hole. It wasn’t easy. I made mistakes. But here I am and life is good. One day you’ll wake up and not feel the need to be scared every moment of every day. I know how exhausting that is. And I want you to be able to wag your tail. I want you to be happy, Angie. And one day I hope you’ll no longer want to run away, that you’ll want to stay right here with me. And this will be our home sweet home.”

  Heather had never spoken at such length to Angie. The dog had never stayed in her proximity long enough for her to say much.

  “I know you want to be a good dog, Angie. I could tell that the first time we met. You were growling and baring your teeth, and I told you, ‘Good girl.’ And for just a moment you stopped acting like you wanted to eat me.

  “Of course I had to change your name, just like I changed mine. Hardly anyone knows that. But I didn’t want my father’s last name. That’s why I changed it to Moreland. You see, heather grows in the moorland, and I wanted to grow. At the shelter, someone must have decided you were a Dalmatian because of your spots. And so they named you Cruella. Do you remember that name? But I knew you were no Cruella. You were Angie.”

  That night, for the first time, Angie chose to sleep in Heather’s bedroom even though she stayed as far away from her as the room allowed. Neither Heather nor Angie knew it, but they’d reached a tipping point in their relationship. As the days and weeks and months passed, instead of actively avoiding Heather, Angie began to seek her out. There came a day when Angie not only didn’t shrink from contact, but initiated it. After a year with Heather, Angie was now wagging her tail. It was getting so that Angie was even learning to play.

  And to love.

  That’s why Angie’s growling sounded so discordant to Heather. The new Angie didn’t growl, or at least didn’t growl nearly as much as she had. Maybe Angie was asleep and some bad dream had her growling. But no, that wasn’t it. Heather felt Angie’s tensed body. The dog was hearing something that bothered her.

  Emilio, she thought.

  Heather had been separated from her husband for almost eighteen months now. She’d been stupid enough to marry a man like her father. No, Emilio wasn’t as abusive, but he was controlling and had a terrible temper. After she’d moved out, Heather had gotten a restraining order against him. Of course he’d promised to change. Since their separation, Emilio had been attending anger-management courses. It was a step in the right direction, but Heather had decided it wasn’t enough. More important, she’d decided she didn’t love him. On Friday she’d told him that she would be proceeding with the divorce. That news hadn’t been well received.

  “You really think I’m going to let you split up with me?” he’d said. “That’s not going to happen. I’ll be coming over to your place. We got a lot to talk about.”

  “That talking will be done over the phone or through email,” Heather said. “If you come within one hundred yards of me or my house, you will be in violation of the restraining order, and I will have no choice but to call the police.”

  He screamed into the phone, “You think I’m going to let a goddamn piece of paper dictate to me?”

  Heather had hung up on him, cutting him off midrant. She reached for her cell phone now, but then remembered she’d left it charging in the kitchen.

  Angie’s growling grew louder.

  Heather needed to act before Emilio came into her room. She was scared of what he might do to Angie. The two of them had been little more than newlyweds when Heather had gotten a kitten, a sweet ora
nge tabby she’d named Perry because of his periwinkle-blue eyes. Perry had been only a few months old when he’d accidentally scratched Emilio. Her husband had gone into a rage, grabbing Perry and throwing him across the room into a wall. Luckily, Perry wasn’t seriously hurt. The next day Heather reluctantly gave Perry up. She didn’t want Emilio to hurt their kitty.

  And she didn’t want him to hurt Angie.

  Heather ran to the window, opened it, and knocked out the screen. “Angie, come,” she called.

  The two of them had been working on commands. Angie knew the commands for “Come,” “Sit,” “Stay,” and “Lie down.” But at the moment she was growling and not listening. Heather heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

  “Angie, come!”

  This time Angie reluctantly obeyed. “Good girl,” said Heather, stroking her head.

  Angie’s collar gave Heather an idea. She disengaged the quick-release buckle, then removed a second clasp before attaching it to the inside of her nightgown. It wasn’t any bigger than one of those plastic price tags. As the collar dropped to the floor, Heather strained to lift Angie up and over the window ledge. Angie began resisting, her feet scrabbling on the sill, but Heather pushed her out the window. It was at least a four-foot drop to the ground below, but Angie landed on her feet and seemed to be fine.

  “Good girl,” Heather told her.

  The words were no comfort to Angie. The dog ran back and forth under the window. Heather could tell she was readying herself for a running leap to get back into the room. Reluctantly, Heather shut the window.

  That’s when the bedroom door came crashing open. A spotlight blinded her. Heather raised her hands, trying to ward off the light. She opened her mouth to scream, but the noise that came out was more like a squawk. Something was hurting her. Something was making her lose control of her body. She fell to the floor and began flopping around like a fish out of water. A rag was pressed up against her nose and mouth.

  The last thing she remembered was the sound of Angie’s howling.

  CHAPTER 1

  THE 187 CLUB

  My partner and I pulled up to the parking lot of the Jim Gilliam Recreation Center on La Brea Avenue. Because La Brea is one of the L.A. street names repeated ad nauseam in the forties song “Pico & Sepulveda,” I felt obliged to sing Sirius a few bars. It’s a mostly silly song with a Latin beat that repeats downtown L.A. street names. But in the midst of the silliness is a lyrical reminder of the star chasing that brought so many to the City of Angels, and the failed dreams that resulted.