Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,92

the dog found,” Beau said.

Keenan knew not to come too close while the MEs were still working. “Right,” he said, and then he called to Raina. “May I borrow Butch?”

“Sure,” she said. “Butch, go on.”

She released the dog’s leash. Somewhat to Keenan’s annoyance, the dog ran toward him, and then past him, making his way straight to Stacey.

“Which way?” Stacey asked him.

“Maybe we should ask Butch.”

“Maybe. He’s being trained as a cadaver dog, but he’s also had general search training. Let’s get something from the house, something with Henry Lawrence’s scent on it.”

He left her with the dog and strode quickly to the house. Angela opened the door.

“I need something of Lawrence’s,” he told her.

Angela quickly understood. There was a jacket hanging on a hook by the door. She called to the housekeeper. “This is the doctor’s, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Oh, yes, ma’am, oh... I just don’t believe this! Dr. Lawrence. And I live in this house—with him. Oh! Maybe I should thank God for my age...or...”

She was going on. Angela handed the jacket to Keenan. “Mrs. Tremblay is going to need a sedative,” she said. She smiled grimly. “Go.”

He hurried back to Stacey, who had, thankfully, waited. The ghosts of the four men buried on the property stood behind her.

“We’re going to get him,” Keenan assured them. “Look at the officers running around—he can’t escape this kind of a dragnet.”

“Thank you,” Tim said, and the others nodded.

“All right, Butch, which way?” Stacey asked, loosening the big shepherd’s leash.

Butch sniffed the jacket and barked.

His nose toward the ground, he started off as if he was headed back to the known burial site.

Then, he turned so suddenly that he almost lifted Stacey off the ground.

“Hey, I can take the leash—” Keenan began.

But she was already running with the dog.

He followed.

Butch ran up and down along the road, sniffing at the many cars parked there now.

Then, he barked and tugged against his leash to cross the street.

It was close to 3:00 a.m. There were no cars on the street. Stacey let the dog lead her across the road to the old cemetery, Mount Hope. Butch went to the gate, barking.

“How the hell could Dr. Lawrence have gotten across the street without us seeing?” Keenan wondered aloud. “All this commotion, but...”

“But?” Stacey asked. Butch was trying to get through the iron grill of the gate; the bars were a little too close together.

“If he ran south, the road takes a little bend. He could have crossed there, and we don’t know if the entire place is walled or gated, and even if it is, it’s easy enough hop over.”

“For you, maybe,” Stacey said. “Probably for me. But... Butch?”

“Butch can jump it. Here, I’ll give you a hike.”

He was glad of his hours at the gym; Stacey wasn’t heavy, but he was boosting her straight up to sit on top of the wall.

Butch had evidently decided that Stacey was his master. He jumped at the wall, once, twice, and then he backed up, eyeing it, then came back running and made a flying leap.

He cleared it.

Keenan jumped up after the dog.

The cemetery was shrouded in darkness with only the multitude of lights from the Lawrence estate stretching over it to provide any kind of visibility.

“Butch?” Keenan said.

Butch barked. Stacey and Keenan drew out their penlights together and started into the darkness of the cemetery.

“Be careful,” he warned, almost tripping over a stone broken so that only an inch or two of it remained, hidden by the grass surrounding it.

He shone his light the best he could.

Butch and Stacey were moving, quickly.

He kept pace, reminding himself that Stacey had passed the academy; she had a gun, and she knew how to shoot.

But someone involved in this knew her and might well have it out for her. They passed tombs and stones and came to a site where a large cement flag played over a group of graves. Behind it was a holding house, a place for the dead to rest when the ground was frozen and graves couldn’t be dug. Life-sized angels with chipped wings and noses stood guard.

Butch stopped there, barking.

Where a door to the holding house had once been, there was nothing. Not even a gate. Butch sniffed at the entry, whining.

“Watch the door—and my back,” Keenan said, heading into the house.

He had barely crossed the threshold when he heard a thudding sound.

And then Stacey’s voice. “Don’t! Don’t make a move. It will not break my heart if I have to shoot you, Dr.