Murder Goes to the Dogs

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Murder Goes to the Dogs - book excerpt

Chapter 1

Saturday morning

Atchafalaya Basin

Big Lester Milton earned his nickname. He was chubby in elementary and junior high. He was fat during the four miserable years of high school. Now, as a young adult, Big Lester was morbidly obese, tipping the scales at four hundred and twenty-nine pounds if he skipped breakfast. The weight was not evenly distributed over his five-foot ten-inch frame. Most of it settled in the middle, his girth falling only six inches short of his height.

Obesity prevented Big Lester from doing many things in life, like mowing the yard, raking leaves, or keeping a full-time job. But it did not prevent the large man from the one thing he enjoyed more than eating. He loved to hunt. It mattered little if it were rabbits, squirrels, ducks, snipes, deer, or any other game animals available in Sportsman's Paradise, known to most folks as Louisiana.

Right dab in the middle of the southern part of the state is home to the Atchafalaya Basin, a swamp larger than Rhode Island. This remote area is truly an outdoorsman's dream, with fresh and brine water covering almost all of it at one time of the year or another.

Big Lester crawled out of his boat, almost slipping on the soft mud surrounding Lake Palourde. Even before the sun rose, the hunter was excited. He had discovered a high ridge that stayed above the water level in all but the most adverse conditions. White Oaks and beech trees dotted the top of the ridge, their nuts creating a magnet for deer, hogs, and squirrels.

An hour before daylight, Big Lester trudged through the palmettos and briars toward the prime high ground. He wore hip boots because of the six or seven sloughs he must wade through. Under the boots, he wore snake chaps over his lower legs. Water moccasins, one of the most venomous and aggressive snakes on the planet, thrived on the small squirrels, rabbits, frogs, mice and crawfish in the murky waters. Lester barely glanced when a huge gray and black reptile struck his leg just below the knee. He focused the beam of his flashlight on the huge snake in time to see it strike a second time.

Big Lester took the end of his Browning Citori over-and-under twenty gauge and tried to nudge the aggressive attacker out of the way. Water moccasins, however, never back down and this one was no exception. It struck for a third time, almost catching the man's gloved hand.

One blast of the number four squirrel shot solved the problem, and Lester continued to the target ridge. Two shallow sloughs later, he arrived and deposited his huge frame next to a beech tree. He checked the area surrounding the hollow tree to make sure none of the snake's friends were near.

The hunter turned off the light and almost immediately regretted his decision. Daylight was still thirty minutes away and a dense fog rolled over the top of the swamp.

Big Lester could see Spanish moss swaying on the limbs through small breaks, creating an eerie aura for a man alone in the huge swamp. His nerves were already on edge when a massive banana spider dropped directly on his nose. Big Lester yelped and clawed at the eight-legged creature. He finally figured out it was not poisonous and chided himself for acting like a girl.

To calm his nerves, Lester pulled out a honey bun coated with a white glaze. In four bites, the pastry disappeared, and he took out another. But then, stomach cramps hit him. Big ones. He hated this part of his life, mainly because all of the flab made it almost impossible to wipe his butt thoroughly. Then he would soil his boxers, and his wife let him have it endlessly. She did not enjoy cleaning dirty underwear for a grown man.

Plus, it left a distinct odor that made him smell like he hadn't even attempted. Out in the swamp, it was not a serious problem, but it meant he would have to pick up the box of doughnuts to go and eat them on the way home. He preferred to eat them at the bakery so his wife would think he was still on the silly diet she constantly placed him on.

The big man struggled to his feet, using the beech tree for a brace and the shotgun as a walking cane. Might as well get it over with before the squirrels became active, storing up acorns for the winter.

Big Lester saw an old Cypress log and staggered toward it. About ten feet away, he saw a blur of gray and black charging from behind. The obese man did not have time to turn around before it hit him at the back of his knee. The force of the impact knocked Lester forward. He felt long fangs crunch through the hip boots and camouflage pants into the tender ligaments required to support him.

Big Lester cried out in pain and shock when he heard his kneecap crunch under the vise-like grip. He tried to swing the shotgun around at the predator and twisted as far as his oversize stomach allowed. That is when he saw the other blur coming.

It flew over the first one that was still attached to his knee. Then Big Lester felt sharp teeth sink into the back of his neck. The pain was excruciating, but not for long. He heard a pop and felt his vertebrae snap. Big Lester no longer felt any pain, and he could no longer support himself, falling face first onto the muddy surface.

There was no feeling left from his neck down. He could still see, hear and smell; especially smell. The odor emanating from the mouth of the second animal carried an acrid reminder of rotting meat. The bigger animal dragged all four hundred and twenty-nine pounds forward, shaking his head like a dog fighting for a bone.

Chapter 2

Big Lester came to rest on his back, his head lying against the log. He could see his attackers, two large gray and black canines. One was twice the size of the other.

The bigger one backed off, but the smaller one ripped at Lester's huge belly with her claws and teeth. Lester realized he was not going to return to his boat.

He watched when his belly opened up, and hot steam rose above the swamp floor. His steam. Lester tried to cry out, but the effort resulted only in a garble. Tears came to his eyes as his fate became more certain.

The hunter saw his intestines pulled from his body and strewn for more than ten feet. He wanted to close his eyes, but the sheer terror of the moment kept them open, focused on the canine eviscerating his innards.

Then he saw the little one return and poke its snout inside the cavity that had been his stomach only moments before. He felt it shake his body only because it resulted in shaking his head. Then he watched as the small canine extracted a large portion of his liver, blood dripping down both sides of its jaws.

The bigger dog replaced the smaller one, its snout rooting inside Lester's body. When he pulled out, the large canine had Lester's beating heart in his mouth, blood spurting in all directions. That was the last image that Big Lester ever saw in Sportsman's Paradise.

Chapter 3

Sunday Morning

Central

"Niki, I hate to bother you on a Sunday morning, but I need your help," the voice said over the phone.

"To whom am I speaking?" The strawberry blonde private investigator replied.

Niki Dupre opened Wildcat Investigators in Central, a small city on the northeast edge of Baton Rouge, after graduating from Southeastern Louisiana University with a degree in criminal justice. She had planned to work for the Louisiana Game and Fisheries as a game warden, but there were no openings where she wanted to live.

Her big break came a couple of years after she opened her small company, when she solved the Spirit Island case. She then had more business than she could handle because of the press coverage surrounding the murder.

"This is Hawk. Hawk Theriot from Morgan City."

"The Swamp Ranger," Niki chuckled. "I know you don't like that moniker, but it fits you."

"That's because nobody else is crazy enough to go out in the Basin. Are you busy?"

"If you call trying to figure out a four-letter word for a boat used in the Pacific Ocean busy, then I'm swamped."

"Try proa," he replied, spelling it out for her.

"It fits. Thank you. What can I do for you?"

"I could use your help in Morgan City. I want to hire you to do a job for me."

"I'm pretty well booked up, Hawk. I don't know if I can fit another case in right now."

"You have to. I'm running into a brick wall down here with the stupid Sheriff they elected to office because he goes out drinking with the citizenry."

"Wait, isn't your girlfriend the Sheriff of St. Mary Parish?"

"Yeah, but this one isn't in her parish. God, I wish it was, but I'm stuck with a tub of lard that hasn't seen his own toes in the past twenty years. He doesn't want to get involved."

"Involved in what?"

"Murder. At least, that's what I'm calling it, but the Sheriff thinks it's an accident."

"Will it wait until Wednesday?"

"No. I actually need you to come down here this morning. I need to show you what I'm looking at before the rain washes it away."

"Today? I– "

"Please. I would get Kristi to go with me, but that would create a conflict with the tub of lard."

Niki remembered that Kristi was Hawk's fiancée and he had met her under some dangerous circumstances. She had been impressed with both Hawk and Kristi and respected each of them immensely. She also understood the political ramifications of Kristi intruding on another Sheriff's turf. Feuds had been fought over less.

"I can be there in a couple of hours. What should I wear?"

"Hip boots," Hawk replied before he hung up.

Chapter Four

Sunday afternoon

Atchafalaya basin

Niki was not accustomed to wading through a swamp. Mosquitoes as big as house flies torpedoed her from every angle. Cobwebs entangled her long, flowing hair and she wished she had put it up in a bun, but it was too late now.

"It's not much farther." Hawk Theriot waited for her on the other side of the slough. To her amazement, he seemed to glide across the mud and water despite being twice her weight.

When she sloshed up the incline, she blew out a hard breath and bent over, grabbing her knees.

"I thought you were in shape," Hawk laughed. "You certainly look like you are."

"I'm in shape for Pilates, Kempo, or jogging around the track," Niki replied, trying to catch her breath. "I'm not in shape for trucking through miles of muck and slime that acts like a suction on these stupid boots."

"I wouldn't recommend taking them off. Too many spiders and snakes, not to mention leeches, ticks, and red bugs."

"I thought the only bug in the swamp was a crawfish. Isn't that what you call a mudbug?"

"Yeah, but we have one of the most diverse ecosystems in the world right here in Louisiana. This place is home to more critters than you could ever imagine."

"How many of them want to have me for lunch?"

"A few, but you're too skinny to draw a lot of attention. They like more meat on the bones."

"Thanks, I guess. I don't know if that was a compliment or not."

"You've seen Kristi. Consider it a compliment."

Niki remembered Hawk's fiancée was one of the most petite adults she had ever seen. Every part of her was well proportioned, only in smaller proportions than normal people.

"Are we going to get there today?" Niki panted.

"One more slough and up a ridge. We can almost touch it now."

"The only thing I'm touching is the back of my tongue. How do you go through this mess without any effort at all?"

Hawk grinned and waved his hand in a full circle, looking at the treetops. "This is my office. I go to my office every day, just like you. You are comfortable walking around your office every day, so why shouldn't I get used to mine?"

"Because mine doesn't have any critters above me on the food chain."

"Don't be so sure about that. I bet some of those young men in Baton Rouge consider you to be fair game with a year-round hunting season."

Niki held up her engagement ring. "Fortunately, I'm on the endangered species list."

"For most of the guys I know," Hawk laughed, "that only makes you a more desirable trophy."

"Is this where Mr. Milton met his demise?" Niki asked, as she plopped down on a log.

"This is it. In fact, his head was propped up against that log where you're sitting."

Niki jumped up and, for the first time, noticed the dark stain on the swamp floor that was not in the shape of a man but spread over the large swath. She looked closely but recognized no discernible pattern.

"From the evidence, Big Lester was hit over here." Hawk pointed to a spot about ten feet from the log. "He was knocked forward, and the little one hamstrung him."

"Little one?" Niki asked, holding her hand up.

"There were two canines, one twice the size of the other. The big one was male, and the little one was a female."

"Couldn't the little one have been a young male? Why do you think it was a female?"

"I'll show you when we head back to the boat." Hawk pointed in the direction Niki assumed was where they had arrived from across the lake. "Unless you want to walk back there now, and then come back."

"Oh, no. I can wait. The least I have to walk in this mess, the better off I'll be."

"Lester was a big man, over four hundred pounds. It looks like he sat by the beech tree over there, and snacked on a honey bun. Then, for some reason, he decided to move."

"How do you know that?"

"He made a good indentation in the ground where he sat. See it over there?"

Niki walked to the base of the tree. She circled it, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

"I don't get it. Where is the hole in the ground?" She looked back at Hawk.

He took her to the closest side of the beech and lay flat on the ground. The Ranger motioned for Niki to join him in that position. When both of them were prone, he pointed a couple of feet in front of them.

"Right there. Can you see it now?"

"That's a big indentation?" Niki was incredulous. "That is less than a quarter of an inch."

"But it is almost three feet wide. You can see where he moved leaves around when he stuck his feet out."

Hawk pointed at the perimeter of the depression.

They rose to their feet, and walked back to the spot where Hawk told her Milton was first struck.

"See the small gouge in the dirt?"

Niki got down on her knees before discovering the object he was pointing to.

"Okay?" She did not see the significance of the two scratches on the surface.

"One of those would not have caught my attention," Hawk began. "He might have dragged one of his feet, which is fairly common with overweight people."

"You can tell the difference? How do you know by looking at a track if someone is overweight?"

"The same way you would for an animal. If a guy is too heavy for his frame, his stride is shorter, the tracks are deeper, and the toes are splayed outward."

"What color are his eyes?" Niki laughed.

"Some things I can't tell until I find the man. But the first part is being able to find him."

"Okay, you've got two marks in the mud. That means something hit him from behind?"

"That's the logical explanation. The impact forced Milton forward without taking an initial step."

Niki shook her head. She considered herself more than a competent detective and observer of her environment. Hawk took that meaning to a new level.

"Why do you think it attacked him by going after his knees?"

"Evolution! They don't want to chase prey for a long distance, nor do they want to get hurt in the process. This system has been developed over a great many centuries. It's now basic instinct."

"They get their prey on the ground. Doesn't that leave them vulnerable if they only have a grip on the prey's knee?"

"That's why they hunt in pairs or packs. Another one will jump on the animal's back to get a grip on its neck, either the front or the back. Either way, it's deadly in a few seconds."

The vision of Milton being attacked and thrown to the ground made Niki shudder. The thought of the fangs sinking into his neck made her want to do more than shudder.

"Are you okay?" Hawk asked. "You don't look so good."

"I'm okay. I'm just visualizing what this man went through during the last few minutes of his life."

"It's worse than you think. I can tell you or spare you the details. It's up to you."

"If I end up helping you, I need to know the details, however they make me feel," Niki replied.

"Okay. If you look there, you'll see Milton did not die instantly. He was still alive when the little one ripped up his belly."

"Ugh. Maybe I shouldn't have asked. Why would she do that?"

"To get to the blood organs, the heart, and the liver," Hawk answered. "The fastest way to get to them is through the stomach. In the wild, predators want to get to the best parts before another, bigger predator steals them."

"Like an alligator?"

"In the swamp, it could be an alligator, a bear, or a panther. All of them could cause significant damage to a canine."

"Couldn't the wolf or dog cause damage to them?"

"That's true, but an animal out here can't go to the doctor's office and get stitched up. They want clean, quick kills without any injuries to themselves."

"All right, so the female opened his gut. What happened next?"

"She extracted the liver and took it over there by the end of the log to eat it. I found clots of dark blood over there and a small depression where she lay down."

"At least Milton was dead by then," Niki said.

"He was still alive. I don't know for sure whether he could see her, but my guess is he could."

"Milton watched her eat his own liver?" Niki's hand went instinctively to her mouth.

"That's what the evidence says," Hawk nodded.

"I'm afraid to ask what happened next."

"The male tore out his heart. Fortunately for Mr. Milton, his suffering was over at that point."

"How did they find him?"

"Some of his buddies came looking for him when he didn't show up for lunch. They said he never misses lunch. Then the LeBeau Parish Sheriff's Office got an anonymous tip with GPS coordinates."

"How much more of him did the dogs eat?" Niki asked.

"Nothing else. That's why I think there is something wrong here."

"Why? They could have gotten full."

"No. If a dog or wolf is willing to attack something weighing over four hundred pounds, it means it's real hungry. There is too much inherent risk to doing so, otherwise."

"They could have eaten more?"

"Dogs have lost some of the instincts from generations in captivity. They would have gone to the meaty parts of the body first, the buttocks and the thighs."

"Do you think it was wild wolves? That would mean it isn't a murder situation."

"Wolves would eat the liver and heart first, then the kidneys and spleen. Then they would have gorged themselves until they could barely walk."

"Wouldn't that make them easy prey?"

"Only until they got back to the den," Hawk replied. "Then they would regurgitate it and feed on it for several days, or give some to their puppies."

"Yuck. I prefer a doggy bag."

"The only doggy bag nature provides is the one in their stomachs. They have to use it."

"Anything else, Professor?"

"Both animals stayed here for a while without eating any more. If I didn't know better, I’d say they took a quick nap. Then they sprinted back along the same trail they and Milton came in on."

"That makes sense. They were heading back to their lair, or den, or whatever you call it," Niki said.

"There is no lair anywhere close to the spot. I spent a good deal of time looking for it in case my theory is wrong."

"And what is your theory?" Niki asked.

"I'll show you. It will be more convincing that way. Are you ready for return trip?"

"Geez, back through that same crap we came through to get here? Are you sure there isn't a paved walkway somewhere close by?"

"I'll carry you if you want," Hawk offered.

"If I did that, I'd never live it down with the people I work with. I'm always getting on them about their terrible eating habits and being out of shape. If they found out I had to be carried out of the swamp, they would laugh me out of Louisiana."

"They sound like Kristi. That girl eats like a truant twelve-year-old with an open account at the local convenience store."

"I've got one like that. Her name is Donna. She eats like a horse and never gains an ounce. I'm so envious, I could die."

"She and Kristi must be related. I eat a lot, but I get plenty of exercise walking in my office every day."

"Speaking of which, can we take our time going back?" Niki asked.