Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

“I’ve already made up my mind and you can take Otis with you. You’ll need to be there tomorrow morning and tell Mrs. Wild I said hello. Arlene will give you the particulars and don’t screw up. I don’t care if you talk about this stalker investigation but you know what’s classified and what’s not. Use your head. You’re smart. That’s why you’re going and Breland is not,” the Sheriff instructed his youngest recruit.

“Just use your head,” she said, under her breath, on the way to Arlene’s desk. “Just wonderful. Just absolutely wonderful!”

“What was that Deputy Guest?” Arlene asked.

“Oh, the Sheriff wants me to cover his butt tomorrow over at the University, some speaking assignment. You got the location and time?”

“Sure do,” handing a slip of paper to the young officer. “It’ll be fine. Good looks, a way with people, eager to please,” she said petting Otis on the head. “And of course you’ve got some good qualities too Natalie, so don’t sweat it.”

“You’re too kind, thanks. I guess Otis and I will hit that section out by the river this morning, bunch of little farms and country homes. Thought we’d do some more interviews and see if the folks out that way know anybody with a bike that matches the description Deputy Breland gave us.”

“You be careful out there and report in regularly, okay?”

“I got Otis here, he’ll take care of me,” Natalie said, feeling her K-9 friend rubbing his side along her lower thigh.

Deputy Guest, with Otis, parked their unit just off of Knight Academy Road in the northeast section of the county. A number of side roads led off of this main blacktop that accessed small acreages, farms and country homes. Her intent was to walk as many of these rural subsidiaries as she could fit into the day, interviewing the locals, hoping for a lucky break.

With only a short time under her belt with the Sheriff’s office, she had learned that the work was 95 % blood, sweat and tears and 5 % luck. Today she knew that the same would hold true. Otis’ excitement showed as they started their walk to the first hidden driveway. Natalie knew it was bad form to let him just run, but on these long, hot walks, with only a few homes in a one mile stretch, she let him off the leash so he could explore and work his talented snout.

The young officer clicked the mic on her shoulder and checked in with headquarters, giving her location and intent, confirming that she’d report in at the end of each dirt road. Her companion zigzagged in and out of the burrow pit on either side of the road, his nose locked to the ground.

“Otis come!” she commanded. No response from the dog, but she could see him stopped in the ditch, tail wagging. “Otis come!” she again commanded. Otis pounced forward into the brush and a half dozen grouse lifted into the air, wings flapping wildly as their bodies wobbled through the air, landing in the same ditch a few hundred yards down the road.”

Satisfied with the job he was doing, Otis ran back to Natalie expecting a treat for a job well done, there was none. The two walked down the road, taking in the unexpected calm and beauty that existed in the country community. An old timer on a tractor rumbled toward her through a newly turned-over field, his shirt unbuttoned and removed from his shoulders but still tucked in, allowing it to blow in the breeze, flapping like a flag around his waist. His tanned arms, face and neck were a deep leathery brown, and his chest so white it hurt Guest’s eyes to look at him.

“Mornin' Depidy, what brings ya out ar way?” the old man yelled, exposing his tobacco stained teeth and trying to get himself heard over the sound of the tractor. He removed the bandana tied around his neck and mopped the sweat from his face, then returned the material to his wrinkled neck.

“Just interviewing some folks, trying to get some information about the break-ins we’ve had lately. You know anything about those?” she yelled back, straining her voice to be heard.

“What’s at yer saying? Can’t hear ya sa good,” he again bellered back at her.

Deputy Guest motioned for him to turn off the tractor, twisting her wrist as if turning a key, “Turn if off, will ya?”

“Oh, yup sure, no problem,” and the machine was silenced. “Didn’t catch what ya said dere, ya lookin’ fer break-ins?”

“Sort of. We’re trying to see if anybody has any information that could help us catch this guy that has been doing all the break-ins lately. We think he lives in the country so we’re going door to door doing some interviews. You know anything that might help us.”

He sat back, leaned over the side of the tractor and spat a wad of chew from his mouth, wiping the bit away from his chin with his sleeve that dangled at his side. Otis pulled to check out the stuff that landed on the earth but his master restrained him. As if in deep thought, the old guy looked up, squinting into the late morning sun, rubbed his chin, then spat again.

“I don’t reckon I kin hep ya, we ain’t had no trouble out hea, got good nabas and it’s pretty quiet most da time. Dats a fine animal ya got dere, what’s his name?”

“Oh yup, he’s a good boy alright, name is Otis.”

Instinctively the dog knew they were talking about him and he sat, cocked his head to one side, and let out a whine, before lying at Deputy Guest’s feet, ears up and alert.

“You don’t happen to know anybody round here that rides a motorcycle do ya? You know the type for riding off road, call ‘em dirt bikes?”

“I got mysef one a dem dere four wheelas, most farmers got one of dem fer changing pipes and such, but don’t know anybody got a dirt bike,” he said, spitting again to the ground, a couple of drops blown back by the wind, landed on his white belly, leaving a dark stain.

“Thanks for your time, I’ll let you get back to work. If you think of anything or see someone on an old dirt bike, give us a call.”

“Sho will offica, have yersef a good un.”

The pair proceeded down the rutted dirt road, stopping at each house, asking the same questions and not getting any additional information. At the end of the lane she called in, gave an update to the dispatcher, and headed back to the unit. She did this a couple of more hours until she reached Range Road 232 where she parked the unit and released Otis from his cage at the rear. The K-9 ran to a dip in the road and lapped up a quick drink of water that had collected there. Guest was also starting to feel tired, hungry and thirsty.

“Okay boy, this is the last road before we head back for some chow.”

He ran to her side, knowing exactly what she had said. There only appeared to be a handful of homes down the rural road but it was hard to say, some of the homes were tucked away in concealed locations, with years of tree and foliage growth to hide the structures. The first home they encountered was well maintained with a grass front yard that was trimmed, a circular driveway with a Toyota SUV parked before the entry, and a swing set on the side of the house, with a few bikes leaning up alongside the garage door. She could see farm equipment, a tractor, and various other tools of the trade, stored and well cared for, beyond the backyard in the barn area.

The owners were in their thirties and were happy to talk with the Deputy while the children played with Otis in the yard. They had little to report, the people of the lane had lived there for years and they were friendly with all of them. There was one guy, about their age, that lived on his own, a few houses down, that stayed to himself. His parents passed away a number of years ago and left the farm to him. They knew he’d sold the farm and just kept the house and a few acres, must have made pretty good money on the farm, though, because they didn’t think he worked.