So Simple, page 6
“I’m guessing no one’s been here to trim the grass,” Michael opined as he parked in front of the house.
The grass was, indeed, untrimmed. In the past three months, it had gone from what Faith assumed was at least reasonably manicured to wild and unkempt, another aspect of the place’s eerie atmosphere.
“Apparently this was the old Hatchet farmhouse,” Michael said, probably just to break the macabre silence of the place. “It was dormant for twenty years or so before Amanda’s parents bought it and fixed it up. They bought the land too but haven’t done anything with it. So it’s a farmhouse in name only.”
“The Hatchet farmhouse, you said?”
“Yeah. Great name, right?”
“Wonderful.”
The three agents reached the front of the house and knocked on the door. There was no answer, as Faith expected. They had received permission from Amanda’s brother, Jack, to visit. When asked for a key, Jack told them there was no key. Things like what happened to Amanda “just didn’t happen out here,” so she never locked her door.
Of course, it had happened out here, and when Faith tried the door handle to find that it was, in fact, open, she felt a touch of irritation. Why couldn’t people be bothered to take at least the minimal precautions necessary to protect themselves?
Then again, Gordon Clark had taken the necessary precautions, and it hadn’t saved him.
Her lips turned down in a frown. Gordon Clark was her one-time supervisor, a colleague and mentor of hers who had been among the loudest voices arguing for her to keep her job with the FBI when the Boss was seriously considering terminating her. He was killed by Doctor Franklin West a few months ago when West grew angry at him for interfering in Faith’s involvement in the Copycat Killer case.
The locked door and Clark’s experience and training as a Bureau agent hadn’t saved him then. Besides, Rebecca Green’s door was locked very sturdily, and their killer had broken through anyway. There was no point in judging Amanda.
“God, it stinks in here,” Michael observed as they walked through the house.
He wasn’t wrong. The smell of mildew and rust filled the air, and Faith had a feeling that if they tried any of the faucets, the pipes would crumble to dust. The house had only been left abandoned for a few months, but it felt as though it had lain fallow for decades.
Turk put his nose to the ground and wandered through the house, sniffing for clues. Faith kept an ear out for him as she and Michael navigated to the kitchen. When they reached it, Faith saw empty dusty bowls that a few months ago had held food and water for the border collie Amanda had adopted. The bowls were emblazoned with the name Doris and featured pawprints next to her name. Faith found that aesthetic tacky and a little annoying, but within the framework of Amanda’s death and this home’s stagnation, she felt a touch of grief seeing them.
Michael sighed heavily, and she looked up to see him staring at a photo hanging on the wall just inside the hallway. She joined him to see a photo of Amanda holding Doris up for the camera. The dog’s mouth was opened wide in a puppy’s smile, and her eyes were bright and animated. Faith had a feeling that when they visited Doris at Jack’s house, that light would still be gone.
At least she had a home now. Jack, Amanda’s brother, had picked Doris up shortly after Faith’s last conversation with Leah.
The rest of the rooms offered little in the way of evidence, but much in the way of nostalgia. The bedroom had a plush dog bed with Doris’s name embroidered on it. The bathroom had a little bathmat with puppy paw prints on it. The den had a computer desk with a little picture of Doris on it and a caption underneath that said, “Dog people are the best people.”
“Poor kid,” Michael said.
“Yes,” Faith agreed.
There wasn’t much more to say. Turk joined them a moment later, and when Faith asked, “Hey boy, did you find anything?” he lowered his head dejectedly.
“That’s okay, boy,” Faith said, “we’ll get him.”
Turk’s expression mirrored her own thought. Will we get him in time to keep him from killing again?
She was afraid that she knew the answer to that question already.
“Hey, I’ve got something,” Michael said.
“What is it?”
He held up a sheaf of papers. “Doris’s adoption papers. Guess who signed off on the adoption.”
“Who?”
“David Miller.”
Faith stepped forward and looked at the paper. “Well, we already know he’s not the killer.”
“True, but isn’t it odd that our victims all adopted shelter dogs that were seen by the same vet?”
“Yes,” Faith said, “but we’ve already cleared Doctor Miller.”
“Well, maybe he’s just coincidental then. But I think your hunch is right. This has something to do with the dogs. Not because they’re dogs, but because they’re shelter dogs.”
“Yes,” Faith agreed. “The question is why?”
They stood in silence a moment before Faith said, “All right. I think we have everything we can get from here. Let’s go talk to her brother.”
***
They reached Jack Milleson’s house late in the afternoon. Faith couldn’t believe it was already getting dark. She supposed that was the city girl speaking. Everything was close in Philadelphia. Half the time, she didn't even need to drive to run all her errands and had half the day left over to herself. At least, back in the days when her free time was free and not spent obsessing over the Copycat Killer.
Here in the Midwest, things were different. Everything was more spread out, and the long drives gave a sense of timelessness but paradoxically made time seem far shorter than normal. Faith felt as though it should only be midday, but the sun was already halfway below the western horizon when Jack Milleson opened the door and ushered them inside.
Doris was laying in the middle of a rug in Jack’s living room. Her eyes drifted toward the agents when they entered, but he gave no other sign that he acknowledged their presence. Turk walked over to Doris and lay next to her, waiting for Doris to be the one to initiate contact.
“Poor Doris,” Jack opined. “That dog loved Amanda almost as much as I did.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Milleson,” Faith said.
“Yeah, well, what are you gonna do? You want coffee?”
“Yes, thank you,” Faith replied.
Michael had never been known to turn down a cup of coffee, and today wasn’t going to be that day. While Jack poured the coffee, he said, “I’m guessing you didn’t find much at Amanda’s house.”
His tone was gruff, but the redness in his eyes and the puffiness in his cheeks told Faith that his gruffness was a function of grief and not anger—not anger toward the agents, anyway.
“Well, we confirmed the connection between your sister and Miss Green. Both adopted shelter dogs recently.”
“So this asshole’s going after shelter dog owners? What is he, some kind of pissed-off purebred breeder?"
“That’s possible,” Michael said, “you know any dog breeders?”
Jack shook his head. “Amanda and I had a shelter dog growing up. No idea what kind of breed it was. Ugliest mutt you’ve ever seen. Carter, we called him. Don’t know why. Damn if he wasn’t the best dog that ever lived, though. He used to walk us to and from school. Had some older kids used to pick on us, but once Carter showed up, they never messed with us again.” Jack’s eyes lit up a moment as he recounted this, but they darkened again when he said, “He died last year. Lived to be eighteen years old. That’s why Amanda adopted Doris here. I wasn’t ready to get a new dog yet, but after seeing how happy Amanda was with Doris, I was going to get one of my own.” He looked at Doris, who was now resting her right paw over Turk’s. “Guess I have one now.”
“Mr. Milleson—”
“Jack, please. Did I not say that over the phone?”
“Jack is fine,” Michael said with a smile. “I’m Michael.”
“And I’m Faith,” Faith added.
“Faith. Good name. Do you have any?”
Faith blinked, confused. “Umm, faith?”
“Yeah,” Jack said, “in God or the universe or anything?”
Faith considered her answer carefully. Grieving people had a tendency to ask personal questions like this, and they also had a tendency to take answers very hard if they weren’t the answers they wanted to hear.
“I have faith that good wins in the end,” she replied. “What that good looks like, I’m not sure. But the good guys win. That I believe.”
Jack nodded. “I wish I could share your faith, Faith. But even if you catch this guy and bring him to justice, Amanda’s still dead.”
They lapsed into silence for a long moment. Doris shifted closer to Turk and leaned her head on the bigger dog’s shoulder.
Finally, Jack sighed and said, “Well, any victory’s better than none. Go ahead and ask me your questions. I’ll help if I can.”
“Was there anyone new in Amanda’s life?” Faith asked. “Anyone she started to interact with after adopting Doris?”
Jack’s brow furrowed a little. “Yeah, one. A dog trainer. Labradoodles are half Labrador Retriever and Retrievers are working dogs. So they need a lot of exercise and activity, but it’s gotta be purposeful activity. You can’t just let them run, they need to do something. Well, Amanda thought it would be a good idea to hire a professional to teach her what kind of purposeful activity she could do with Doris.”
“What was this dog trainer’s name?”
“Samantha. Samantha Roberts. You can find her online. She’s a well-known dog trainer in the area. Helps a lot of the farmers out with their animals. Actually, here,” he pulled out his phone. “I’ll show you.”
Faith and Michael came close to look at the image on Jack’s phone. The website for Sam’s Dog School showed an image of a smiling woman in her mid-thirties with a pretty enough face and a kind expression.
And arms as big around as Faith’s legs.
She and Michael shared a look. Jack noticed and said, “Yeah, I guess she was a competitive weightlifter when she was younger. Set a few local records for the squat and bench press. Ain’t never seen a woman that big in my life.” He glanced at Faith. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Faith replied. She hadn’t seen a woman that big either. Hell, she had only seen one man that big. Samantha Roberts made David Miller look skinny.
More importantly, she looked plenty big enough to break down a solid maple door and cause massive trauma with a baseball bat.
“Did you ever interact with Miss Roberts?” Faith asked.
Jack tensed only slightly, but enough that Faith's trained eye picked up the change in demeanor. "Yeah, once or twice. I didn’t care much for her.”
“Why’s that?”
“She was infatuated with my sister. Amanda couldn’t see it, but I could. She looked at Amanda the way… well, you know the way.”
“Did she ever give you any sign of aggressiveness or possessiveness toward Amanda?”
“No, nothing like that. She was actually real sweet. I just knew that Amanda wouldn’t be interested in that, and I didn’t want things to get awkward if Amanda had to shut her down.” His eyes narrowed. “Why? Do you think Samantha did this?”
“I’d like to talk to her,” Faith said, once more choosing her words carefully.
Jack’s shoulders bunched. “If she hurt Amanda,” he said darkly, “I swear to God I’ll make her pay. I don’t give a damn how much weight she can lift.”
“Jack,” Michael said, adding just enough firmness into his voice to grab his attention. “Don’t do anything that could get you in trouble. Leave that to us. You have someone who needs your help.” He pointed to Doris, who sat with her eyes closed and her head buried in Turk’s shoulder.
Jack’s eyes slowly softened, the anger fading, replaced by love and shared grief. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Well, the website has the address, but I’ll read it to you since you’re here.”
“Thank you,” Faith replied. “I appreciate the help.”
“You find the person who did this to Amanda, and it’ll all be worth it,” Jack replied.
He gave them the address, and the two agents stood to leave. Turk stood to follow but stopped. He cocked his head, then pushed his nose to the rug. Doris, sensing that Turk was onto something, quickly jumped off the rug and watched intently as Turk looked.
“He got something?” Jack asked, a touch of hope coming into his voice.
“I hope so,” Faith replied.
A moment later, Turk burrowed under the rug and came back up with a piece of frayed fabric, a torn piece of the same kind of leash that Rebecca Green had for her dog.
Doris immediately whined and went to Turk. She gently bit the other end of the fabric and looked pleadingly at Turk. Turk looked over at Faith, and Faith said, "It's okay, boy. She can have it.” Michael frowned at her, and she said for his benefit, “If there were any fingerprints on it, they’re gone now.”
Turk released the fabric and nudged Doris, who pressed her shoulder into him gratefully.
“She probably smells Amanda,” Jack said, his voice thick with emotion.
“Probably,” Faith agrees.
They already knew that the two victims were connected, so the piece of fabric didn’t really provide any new evidence, but it was more confirmation that their killer was targeting people who specifically adopted dogs from local shelters.
They left Jack with a promise to keep him apprised as much as possible on the progress of their case. There wasn’t much they could really tell him until they caught the actual killer, but if it gave him something to look forward to, that was all right with Faith.
On the way back to the hotel, Michael said, “What’s the plan for Miss Roberts?”
“We show up, hopefully before the school closes. Hopefully we get the answers we need.”
“You think it’s her?”
“I don’t know,” Faith admitted, “We need to see if she was connected to Rebecca in any way. Of course, if her alibi checks out, then she’ll be in the clear. But… love will make people do crazy things.”They drove the rest of the way in silence, and the absurd thought came to Faith that in his own twisted way, Doctor West might be in love with her. She was certain there was no romantic component to his obsession, but it might be the closest he could come to feeling a connection to another human being. Maybe killers were motivated by the same emotions as everyone else.
Not that it mattered. Murder was murder. Whatever the motivation, there was no justification for taking someone’s life, and any love that would cause someone to murder another person so brutally was hardly love.
Michael agreed. “Love never made someone beat someone else to death with a tire iron or a baseball bat. If our psycho wants to comfort himself—or herself—with that fact, they can do so behind bars for the rest of their life.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
They reached Sam’s Dog School exactly one hour before the posted closing time of nine p.m., to find the school full. Faith counted eight dogs of all shapes and sizes, from a massive English mastiff to a small teacup Pomeranian.
Sam was just as imposing in person as she was in her pictures, with massive arms and legs like tree trunks, but more impressive than her physique was her expert command of the dogs. They hung on her every word, following each instruction instantly.
“How does she keep the big dogs from crushing that little Pom?” Michael asked.
“She’s a good trainer,” Faith replied.
“Good enough to convince two dogs not to intervene while she bludgeoned their owners to death?” Michael asked.
“Let’s find out.”
They walked inside, and Sam acknowledged them with a smile. “I’ll be with you in ten minutes, okay?”
“That’s fine,” Faith said.
Sam nodded and moved on with the class. While she led the dogs through a series of ever more difficult exercises, the agents looked around the lobby. It was filled with pictures of Sam posing with different dogs and different owners. None of the owners were Rebecca Green or Amanda Milleson, but that didn’t indicate guilt or innocence.
Turk watched intently as the class continued. His expression was tense, and his eyes never left Sam. He must have known that she was their suspect.
Or perhaps he smelled something suspicious.
“You got something, boy?” Faith asked quietly.
Turk looked at her, then shook his head in a surprisingly human gesture. He hadn’t detected anything yet.
But he was nervous about something.
The owners of the dogs trickled in as the class neared its end. A few waved and smiled at the FBI agents, but most gave them a wide berth. Several of them asked Sam why the FBI was here, and she responded that they were probably here to ask about training their K9. A reasonable assumption, but of course, that wasn’t the reason for their visit.
After the last of the dogs left, Sam walked over, hand extended. Faith was nervous about letting that behemoth shake her hand, but Sam was surprisingly gentle. No doubt she had to be careful or risk injuring someone.
“Hi guys!” she said, “you must be here for this little guy.”
She bent low to greet Turk, but Turk growled and tensed. Sam frowned playfully and stood. She didn’t look concerned at all with Turk’s behavior. She probably didn’t need to be afraid of him. Very few people gave Faith the impression they could survive Turk in a fight, but Samantha Roberts was one of them.
“Well, we’ll need to work on that attitude, won’t we, mister?” she said. She laughed and winked at Faith. “Don’t worry about it. A lot of guard breeds are like this around strangers. They’re bred to protect, and anything that looks remotely threatening triggers a threat response.”
“Is there a reason he might find you threatening?” Faith asked.
Sam either didn’t catch Faith’s point or hid it very well. “Well, anyone big and tall like me is going to look threatening to a dog. Smiles don’t always help either. Looks like I’m baring my teeth. But don’t worry, little guy,” she said to Turk. “I’m harmless.”
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