Praying for Sleep

I had an accident. Can you help me?”
    It was a man’s voice.
    She hesitated, walked to the front door, hesitated again then opened it as far as the chain allowed. The big fellow was bent over, clutching his arm. He seemed like a working man.
    “Who are you?”
    “I was driving by and my car, she rolled over and over. Oh, I’m hurt. Please let me in.”
    No way on God’s green earth, thank you very much. “I’ll call an ambulance, you wait right there.”
    The woman closed the door and dead-bolted it then went to the table that held the rotary-dial phone. She picked it up. She banged the button down several times and when the silence continued said, “Oh, dear.”
    It was then that she realized the sound she’d heard a few moments before was coming from the place where the phone line ran into the house. This thought stayed with her only a moment though because Michael Hrubek had grown tired of waiting outside and kicked open the door. Huge and wet, he walked into the living room and said, “Nice try. But your phone, it doesn’t work. I could’ve told you that.”
     
    Standing beneath a cluster of thick pine trees, which offered some shelter from the streaming rain, Owen asked how Trenton Heck happened to find the Cadillac.
    “I followed his track to Cloverton. That’s where I picked up your prints and tire tread. I saw you headed west. Then I saw the Jeep parked up there and figured it might belong to you. My dog picked up Hrubek’s scent right away beside the Caddie.”
    “Did the detective have any more news?”
    “How’s that?”
    “I don’t recall his name.” Owen patted his pockets for the card he had been given. “The detective in Cloverton. At the house where he killed that woman?”
    “What?” Heck blurted.
    “You didn’t know? Didn’t you stop at the house?”
    “I didn’t see a house. I hightailed it west as soon as I saw your prints.”
    To a troubled Trenton Heck, Owen explained about the killing, the terrible butchery in Cloverton. He then told him about the antique cars stowed in a barn. “I figured he’d try to lead us off track with that motorcycle. He drove it south a few hundred yards and dumped it in a marsh somewhere to fool everybody, I’d guess. Then he took the Cadillac and came here. That man is too damn smart.”
    Heck asked, “What’s your interest in all this?”
    Owen stooped down and retied his boots, which were muddy and scuffed but looked as expensive as Heck had guessed they’d be. The tall man stood and said, “Was my friend he killed at Indian Leap. And my wife saw him do it.”
    Heck nodded, thinking that this put a whole new spin on the evening. “Tell you what, let me get my dog. He stays and keeps quiet when he’s told but mostly it addles him.” He walked off into the woods, glancing at the signposts of bushes and trees for direction.
    “You’re quiet when you move,” Owen said, impressed. “You hunt?”
    “A bit.” Heck chuckled.
    They found Emil sitting nervously, shifting weight from paw to paw. He calmed as soon as he saw his master.
    Owen asked, “Purebred blood?”
    “Edouard Montague of Longstreet the Third. He’s as pure as they come.”
    “Quite a name.”
    “That’s what he came with but it wouldn’t do of course, not around here. So I call him Emil and he answers to it. If he ever mates a pure bitch I’ll have to put his full name on the papers but till then it’s our secret.”
    Walking back to the clearing beside Heck, Owen asked, “How’d you follow the scent if he was on a bicycle?”
    “That’s nothing for Emil. Hell, he’s gone through a foot of snow in a blizzard. So you think maybe he’s after your wife?”
    “I don’t really know. But it’s too dangerous to leave in the hands of cops who don’t know what they’re doing.”
    This rankled Heck and he said, “You got your state troopers on the case, you know.”
    “Well, a lot of mistakes’ve been made, I should tell you.” Owen glanced at Heck’s pistol. “You mentioned a bounty. You’re a professional tracker?”
    “I hire out my dog, yep.”
    “How much’s the reward?”
    Hot-faced, eyes fixed on the dark forest, Heck said, “Ten thousand dollars.” He spoke emphatically, as if making clear to Owen that even if he was just a hired hand he wasn’t coming cheap.
    “Well then,” Owen said, “let’s go catch this psycho and make you some money. What do you say?”
    “Yessir.”
    Heck roused Emil with Hrubek’s scent and off they