“Yeah!” Danny grabbed the quarter and raced off for the family car, the Dr. Seuss book under his arm.
Oliver stood up and offered his arm to his wife. She rose and took it.
“So life around here isn’t all bad?”
“It has its moments,” the deputy chief conceded.
Then he kissed her. Deeply. He knew what his favorite sweet was.
Chapter 21
Less than two miles away, five year old Trent Derby sat playing with his toy fire truck on the deck in back of his home. The Derby house, unlike the Gosden residence, had no buffer between it and the forest. It was built flush against the wilderness, and the setting sun cast long shadows across the backyard.
The little boy called out, “Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!” Moving onto his hands and knees, he raced his toy truck over to a planter box that he transformed in his mind into a burning building. Nearby, the family’s seventy pound Akita, Sumo, lay drowsing in the warmth of the day’s last light. The dog’s eyelids twitched when Trent’s voice squeaked into an uncomfortably high register.
Just inside the sliding screen door to the kitchen, Paula Derby, the little boy’s mother, prepared stir-fry chicken on the stovetop. Every minute or so, she’d glance out at the deck to make sure her son wasn’t getting into mischief. The yard was enclosed by a six foot high redwood fence. Electronic sensors would be turning on the floodlights soon. There was no cause for concern, but Paula was cautious by nature, and all the more so when it came to her son.
Trent was perfectly capable of trying to dig his way to the bottom of the planter he was kneeling next to, convinced that some imaginary treasure lay buried there. That or finding a bug he might catch and try to stick into poor Sumo’s ear.
But Trent was still playing fireman when she glanced at him. Whooshing out illusory flames with make believe torrents of water. Paula tasted the stir-fry she was preparing and thought it could use a little more ginger. She turned to her cutting board to chop a bit more of the spice and missed seeing Sumo’s head suddenly snap up.
The dog looked toward the fence. He sniffed the air, and the fur on the back of his neck rose. A low, rumbling growl began deep in his chest.
Playing only five feet away, the little boy failed to notice the activity of the family pet.
But Paula, more finely attuned to her surroundings, turned to see what was going on. She had a six inch kitchen knife in her hand as she moved to the sliding door. She saw Sumo was on his feet. His back was stiff and he neck was arched. The growl coming from the dog was continuous now: a low rumble filled with menace.
Paula couldn’t see what was agitating Sumo. Trent wasn’t bothering the dog. He was still busy with his fire truck, not even paying attention to Sumo. She slid the screen door open and took a more careful look around. She wondered if some small animal had burrowed under the fence and excited the dog. But at twilight with the sun almost gone and the floodlights not yet on she saw nothing unusual.
“Lie down, boy,” she told the dog. “Go back to slee —”
The dog began to bark furiously, and Paula looked up just in time to see a mountain lion leap her fence and land soundlessly, not ten feet from where her son was just now lifting his head. Trent and his mother both saw the predator fix its gaze on him.
Paula screamed. Sumo growled. The dog’s fur stood on end, puffing him up to twice his normal size. Trent looked around and saw his mother’s fear and the flashing teeth of the dog. Panic welled up in his young heart. He screamed and started to scramble to his feet.
The cat made a lunge for the boy. But Sumo charged forward and snapped at the mountain lion. The dog’s headlong rush sent the youngster crashing to the deck. Now, Sumo was between Trent and the big cat. The predator backed off, but only momentarily, and only to assess the situation.
The lion tried to circle the barking dog, but when it saw Paula scoop up Trent, stealing its intended prey, it leaped directly at both of them. Sumo launched himself without hesitation and met a predator that was twice his size in mid-air.
The two animals crashed to the deck hard enough to jolt the boards under Paula’s feet. With Trent’s head clasped firmly to her shoulder, cold sweat running down her spine, and a horrible cacophony of growls, barks and yelps ringing in her ears, she darted into the kitchen and slammed the sliding glass door to the deck shut, and locked it.
Shielding her son’s eyes with her body, she looked out at the fight. Sumo and the mountain lion rolled and scrambled over one another in a maelstrom of teeth, fur, and limbs barely five feet from where she stood. Sumo brought his jaws together on one of the lion’s ears, bringing a hideous howl of pain. Then the animals rolled into a patch of deep shadow. Paula lost sight of them but she still heard quite clearly the deep thud of a body being slammed to the deck. Almost immediately after that came a sickening crunch, a sound she would remember the rest of her life.
At that moment, the floodlights came on. There before Paula’s horrified eyes, the mountain lion straddled Sumo, its fearsome jaws still busy crushing the neck of the family pet.
The dog’s body shook in a death spasm and lay still. The mountain lion turned to look at the woman and the boy, its fangs dripping blood. Paula didn’t know if the cat would try to break through the glass, but she realized she still had her kitchen knife in her hand. Baring her teeth, she brandished it at the cat. Before she knew it, she was growling.
The mountain lion rose to its feet, flashed its savage teeth, and snarled in return.
But then it dropped its head and took the dog’s neck in its jaws once more. A wave of nausea swept through Paula as she thought the predator might devour Sumo right there on her deck. Instead, continuing to maintain a hold with its teeth, the cat flipped the dog’s seventy pound carcass up onto its back. It crossed the deck, leaving a trail of blood, and leaped the six foot fence, leaving as soundlessly as it had arrived.
Paula Derby put the knife down and leaned against a counter before her knees gave way. She comforted the sobbing Trent as best she could, praying he hadn’t peeked and seen the carnage. She tried to put her son down, but he clung to her with both arms and legs.
So, continuing to hold him, she picked up the phone and called 911.
“What I was thinking,” Corrie Knox said, “was maybe the town should put up some signs, distribute some fliers, have your department generally notify the public that the cat might still be around. I suppose you’d want to work out the details with your famous mayor.”
“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “He likes to be involved in these things.”
They were having grilled fish on the patio of Rainbow Traut’s, a lakeside restaurant.
The chief raised another point, “You do know why you had such a hard time finding a room, don’t you?”
“Sure. You’ve got a ton of reporters in town because of that murder.”
“Right. So, the idea of informing the town with fliers is, what, a little quaint? I think the ladies and gentlemen of the press might just give some play to the story of a killer mountain lion.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Sorry. I spend most of my time in the woods or a lab. I don’t have any experience with the media.”
“Lucky you.” Just then a very unpleasant thought crossed Ron’s mind, and apparently registered on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Corrie wanted to know.
“Have you heard about Mahalia Cardwell, and what she had to say about her grandson’s murder?”
“No.”
Ron told her about the old lady’s statement to the media: God would punish Goldstrike until Isaac Cardwell’s killer was caught.
“What, she cursed the town? I can’t believe you’d believe that.”
“Not me,” Ron said. “I don’t see God as anybody’s hitman. But a woman I talked to today, Jimmy Thunder’s cook, in fact, quit her job and left town because she believes it. Now, this mountain lion shows up. It doesn’t take much imagination to see the press making a connection.”
Warden Cordelia Knox, wildlife biologist, frowned at the notion.
“Whatever is driving this cat is biological or environmental, not supernatural.”
“Yeah. You know that as a scientist. I know that from common sense. But which would make a better story? The dry toast of science or the red meat of divine vengeance?”
“I see your point. Well, let’s hope the cat has moved on then.”
Corrie’s words were no sooner spoken than Ron’s BlackBerry chimed.
A silver BMW 525i and a patrol unit were parked in front of the Derby house when Ron and Corrie pulled up in his Explorer. Clay Steadman arrived practically on the chief’s rear bumper. The mayor hadn’t stopped by to say hello. He rang the front doorbell, and when the door was opened by a uniformed officer, the three officials filed inside.
The Goldstrike cop who’d come to the door, Hal Brookings, gave the new arrivals a quick, whispered summary of where things stood. He and his partner, Sally Waters, had received a call about a mountain lion attack and responded immediately. The man of the house, Edward Derby, a local stockbroker, had come home just ahead of the two cops. Derby had been playing golf all afternoon and drinking all evening. He got more than a little upset when he heard what had happened.
Brookings looked like he wanted to say more, and he might have except he didn’t know the woman with the mayor and the chief. Opting for discretion, he led them to the family room where his partner was gently trying to take a statement from Paula Derby.
Her husband, the young financial executive with the sunburned face and glazed eyes, started nodding vigorously when he recognized two of the three new visitors to his home.
“It’s about time. About goddamn time somebody who knows what he’s doing got here,” Derby said. He rose unsteadily from the sofa where he’d sat next to his wife and son. “I told these two cops to get out there. Get out there and hunt that goddamn animal down. But they just stayed right here making my wife rehash the whole goddamn thing, upsetting her and my little boy all over again. What the hell took you people so long?”
Clay understood the man had a reason to be upset, but as the mayor he had to balance the interests of the town’s citizens with that of the town’s employees.
“Officer Brookings, what was your response time?” the mayor asked.
“Officer Waters and I received the call from the dispatcher at 19:30 hours, Mr. Mayor, and we arrived on the scene at 19:33 hours. When Mrs. Derby told us what happened we immediately called for the chief.”
The mayor looked at his watch. “It’s 7:42 now, Mr. Derby. You had a police response within three minutes, and the chief and I were here within twelve minutes.”
“With Warden Knox from the state department of fish and game,” Ron added, since the mayor had yet to be introduced to Corrie.
“They
didn’t
go after the goddamn mountain lion,” Derby persisted.
“Nor should they have,” Corrie replied. “Do you officers have any rifles in your patrol unit?”
“No, ma’am,” Brookings responded.
“All long-barrel weapons are kept under lock and key in an armory at headquarters,” Ron added. “They’re carried in patrol units only in extreme cases.”
“And what the hell is this?” Derby yelled.
“Your wife and son are alive and well, Mr. Derby,” Clay said. “That would make this your lucky day.”
Corrie added, “And you don’t hunt a dangerous animal in the dark. Not when he can see you and you can’t see him. It’s just not smart.”
Derby was about to open his yap again, but the mayor put his arm around the man’s shoulders, tight enough to make him wince, and walked him out of the room. As he left, he nodded to Ron that now was the time to question Mrs. Derby.
Ron asked Officers Brookings and Waters to take young Trent to his room, commend him for his bravery, and tell him all the things he’d have to know when the chief gave him his new badge as an honorary Goldstrike police officer next week.
The prospect of getting his own police badge enticed the boy out of the room.
Without the distractions of husband and son, Ron and Corrie were able to get a fairly clear picture from Paula Derby of what had happened. Corrie sat down next to Paula and asked if she could give a physical description of the mountain lion. She complied, though the likeness she outlined was limited to generalities.
Regardless, Corrie sketched the animal on a pad she’d brought with her. Despite a lack of detail, the resulting drawing was close enough to reality to make Mrs. Derby shudder.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s just what it looked like.” She started to say something else, bit her tongue and took a peek over her shoulder. Looking back at Ron and Corrie, she went on, “I apologize for my husband. He’s a little drunk, and nobody knows better than me how that can make him a pain in the ass … but I look at that drawing and I get just as mad he got. If you saw the way that animal looked at Trent and what it did to poor Sumo … I wish I could kill it!”
Corrie held the distraught woman’s hand for a moment to comfort her. “I’m going to ask you to do something now that may be hard for you. I’m going to draw a sketch of a typical mountain lion’s face. I’d like you to look at it, if you can, and tell me if there was anything different about the one you saw in your backyard. Can you do that?”
Ron added, “It could help us catch the animal.”
Paula Derby nodded, a tear running down her cheek but her jaw firm.
Corrie sketched a lion’s face on a fresh sheet of paper. When she was done she handed the pad and pencil to Paula Derby. The woman looked at the image intently.