Milo waved and Louie emerged, tail wagging. Padding up to Milo, he flipped onto his back in a grand display of surrender.
With his free hand, Milo rubbed Louie’s tummy. Louie’s eyes clamped shut in ecstasy.
No genius but once a handsome fellow. Now his pelt was gray-tipped and mangy.
Milo motioned for Louie to sit. Louie sat.
Milo tiptoed back to the mouth of the opening.
A sound burst from inside the tunnel, wheezy and wet and amplified by the subterranean tube.
Louie’s upright ear stiffened but he remained on his haunches.
Heavy breathing. Scraping.
Ned the pointer stuck his head out.
He studied Milo. Me. Louie.
Louie’s composure must have convinced his buddy. The old dog sank down and rested his chin along the rim of the hole.
Milo motioned me over, handed me the keys to the unmarked, gave me my assignment.
The man guarding the artichoke field hadn’t budged. I allowed him ten paces of warning before coming up behind him and saying, “ ’Scuse me.”
He turned as if he’d expected me. Tipped the broad-brimmed hat.
The soda bottle was still in his hand but now it was empty. The sandwich in his pocket was untouched. I showed him the twenty-dollar bill, pointed to the sandwich.
His eyebrows arched. “?Veinte para esto?”
“Si.”
He handed me the sandwich.
“Gracias.” I tried to give him the twenty. He shook his head.
I said, “Por favor,” dropped the bill in his pocket.
He shrugged and went back to watching the artichokes.
Using the sandwich, Milo coaxed both dogs away from the tunnel hole. He took hold of Louie and I placed my hand on Ned’s scruff. Skin and bones was an overstatement. He’d probably once weighed close to seventy pounds, was lucky if he was half of that now. I lifted him gently. Like hoisting a bale of twigs. As I carried him to the car, his head swiveled toward me and I saw that one of his eyes was a gray-blue film stretched over a sunken orbit.
I said, “You’re doing great, guy.”
He moaned, licked my face with a dry, fetid tongue.
Milo was able to guide Louie with the slightest prod of finger behind ear. We put both dogs in the rear of the unmarked, cracked the windows for air. The sandwich wasn’t much, just a scanty portion of lunch meat between slices of white bread. But neither pooch griped when Milo broke off small bites and fed them equal amounts.
Louie chewed pretty well but the pointer didn’t have too many teeth left and was forced to gum. Unneutered male but well past the point where testosterone made a difference.
We gave them both water from bottles we’d brought for ourselves, made sure they lapped slowly.
Ned rolled onto his back, curled up against the car door. Louie placed his paw on his pal’s haunch. They both slipped into sleep, snoring in tandem, a comical waltz-like cadence.
We got out of the car and Milo locked up and turned back to the field of weeds. Homing in on the spot, invisible once more, where the tunnel mouth sat.
“Only one set of shoe prints,” he said. “Assuming that’s Harrie, what’re the odds on Huggler still being down there?”
I said, “Good to excellent. He’s getting anxious that Harrie hasn’t returned with the groceries but has nowhere to go.”
“So we’ll assume he’s down there. Problem is there’s no way to know where the tunnel leads. What if Borchard’s wrong and not all of SeaBird’s tunnels are sealed and Huggler’s able to get in there?”
“Trust me, I’m head of security and it couldn’t happen.”
He laughed. Turned serious. “You were right. It’s all about synchrony.” He looked back at the snoozing dogs. “Maybe they’ve got the right idea. Follow your ignorance, reach your bliss.”
We returned to the car and pushed it nose-first into the grass. If Grant Huggler headed for the road he’d eventually spot us. But if he remained near his hideaway, the same geography that blocked the tunnel from view would work in our favor.
If I’d guessed wrong and he’d already wandered away and chose to return from any direction, we’d be a clear target.
We stood next to the car. Milo said, “Once we get going, mind looking back every so often so I can concentrate on what’s ahead?”
“No prob.”
“Lots of probs, but we’re solvers.” A bird flew. Seagull soaring westward before passing out of view.
Then nothing.
Milo said, “Damn oil painting.”
I said, “The tunnel is where Specialized Care used to stand.”
“Home sweet home.” He gazed through the window crack. “These two geezers are gonna need medical care.”
A long, sonorous tone issued from the car. Louie farting in B minor.
“Couldn’t agree more, pal,” said Milo. “Unfortunately, Animal Control will have to wait its turn.”
I said, “Time to call in the human cops?”
“That would be proper procedure, wouldn’t it?” He bared his gums. “The question is what constitutes optimal backup in a situation like this? If I call Camarillo PD and explain the situation, they might be cooperative. Or they might figure since it’s their jurisdiction they don’t need to listen and end up doing something heavy-handed.”
“Like bringing in SWAT?”
“And/or one of those hostage negotiators who reads from a script, half the time it turns out bad, because let’s face it you can’t stop someone if they’re intent on checking out. And with a loon like Huggler-if he’s even in there, God I hope he is-no crash-course in sweet-talk’s gonna help, right?”
“Right.”
“They wanna go all military, I can’t stop them and then we’re stuck with one of those long-term standoffs and Huggler ends up biting it just like Harrie did. Maybe a bunch of cops, too, if he’s got firepower down there. With only one way into the tunnel, it’s a nightmare. Tear gas could help if it’s a short passage but if he’s got lots of room to back into, it could get complicated.”
He rubbed his face. “I couldn’t give an iota of rat-shit about Huggler personally but I need to talk to him, find out what Harrie needed a rape kit for, how many DBs haven’t we found. Who belonged to those damn eyeballs.”
He phoned Petra again, updated her on the tunnel, told her to clue the other detectives in then make the hour drive to Camarillo with Reed or Binchy or Biro, whoever was closest.
“But don’t come out here, stay in town, I’ll let you know if I need you.”
“Where exactly are you?” she said.
He told her.
“I know a place not far,” she said. “Decent pizza, Eric and I go there when we shop the outlets.”
“Eric shops?”
“I shop, he pretends not to hate it. Okay, I’ll get there soon as I can, good luck.”
Just as he clicked off, Louie broke wind again.
“What the hell was in that sandwich?”
“Looked like some variant of baloney,” I said.
“We’re stuck here long enough, I’m gonna regret sharing.”
CHAPTER
