Page 30 of So Alone

“We’re here on official business,” Faith said. “Can we talk to you for a few minutes?”

“About what?” the man asked suspiciously, his gun still trained on them.

“We’re investigating a series of local murders involving dogs over the past week,” Michael answered. “We just came here to talk.”

“So you broke into my junkyard and started walking around looking instead of calling me and asking to talk?”

“Are you Jedson Franks?” Faith asked.

“Don’t worry about who I am,” the man replied, “Tell me why the hell you trespassed in my yard?”

Faith and Michael shared a look. Technically speaking, without a warrant, they shouldn’t have trespassed. Admitting to that mistake could be dangerous, though. If this really was their killer, then they could be giving him ammunition to avoid prosecution or, at the very least, to make their job very difficult.

But Faith wasn’t convinced anymore that these were the dogs who had committed the murders. They were clearly very well-trained. Even the Doberman Turk bit immediately resumed holding the trespassers and made no attempt to return Turk’s bite.

That didn’t mean, of course, that they would hesitate to kill the agents if ordered to, but the victims weren’t just killed by the dogs that murdered them, they were eaten alive. These dogs didn’t strike Faith as the type to go completely wild.

And the junkyard owner didn’t show the fear or guilt that a murder suspect would show. He didn’t even appear that angry despite the revolver in his hand. He, like his dogs, seemed more confused than anything else.

She would risk the truth.

"We apologize for that, sir," she said. "We have reason to believe that a pack of dogs is being used to commit murder. Your junkyard is near the location of one of the murders, and you are one of the few businesses to rely on a large pack of guard dogs for security. We did enter your property without calling because we feared if you were the killer, you would hide evidence if given the chance."

“Well, I ain’t the killer,” he said, “and you shouldn’t hop a fence with a sign that says VICIOUS DOGS INSIDE on it in clear English. If I hadn't been here, they could have hurt you.”

“You’re right,” Faith said, “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. Still, we do need to ask you some questions, sir, if you wouldn’t mind.”

He considered a moment, then shrugged and said, “Well, if you promise to call your dog off, I’ll call mine off.”

He nodded respectfully at Turk, who cocked his head in an expression of confusion that was adorably like the one the guard dogs wore. She imagined this would go down as one of the strangest interactions any of these dogs had ever experienced.

“Very well, sir,” she said. “But you need to holster your weapon before my partner and I can lower ours.”

The man hesitated briefly, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them. Finally, though, he nodded and lowered his handgun.

Faith waited until he uncocked the hammer and put the revolver back in his pocket before lowering her own weapon. Michael followed suit, but kept a wary eye on the dogs and the junkyard owner throughout.

“Stand down, Turk,” Faith said, “We’ll be okay.”

Turk looked at her, nonplussed, but complied.

“Okay, boys and gals,” the junkyard owner said. “You can relax now. These three are friends.”

The dogs once more demonstrated their exceptional training. The moment they heard the word friends, they rushed the three agents again, but this time, they were exuberantly friendly, leaping up and kissing the human agents’ faces. In between head pats and shoulder rubs, Faith caught the Doberman that had mixed it up with Turk earlier trotting to the Shepherd and nuzzling him. Turk licked at the dog’s injured paw and then chuffed an apology.

The junkyard owner chuckled. “Ain’t dogs just the best?”

Faith and Michael looked at each other, then turned back to the owner. “Just wonderful,” Michael said drily.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Yeah, they’re scary-looking for sure, but they’re sweethearts on the inside.”

The junkyard owner, who was indeed Mr. Jedson Franks, beamed at two pit bulls and a Rottweiler, all of whom were female and all of whom seemed to have fallen in love with Michael, who gradually relaxed when it became apparent that they wanted hugs and pets and not to tear his throat out of his body.

He offered a glass of water to Faith, who accepted gratefully, and sat across from her with one of his own. “I hope you don’t mind me saying it, but that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen watching you try to do the dog trainer tricks. I just about died laughing when I saw you trying to run through the line.”

Faith managed a wry smile in spite of her embarrassment. Once convinced that the agents were who they said they were, he turned out to be just as exuberant and friendly as his dogs. “I’m glad your dogs are so well-trained. They definitely could have killed us if they wanted to.”

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