Read Losing Patients (Animal Instincts Book 4) Online
Authors: Chloe Kendrick
Losing Patients (Animal Instincts Book 4)
Losing Patients
Animal Instincts, Book 4
Chloe Kendrick
Copyright © 2014
Published by: Rascal Hearts
All Rights Reserved
. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
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Book Cover By: Rosy E. Fisher
I managed to get to the vet’s office in just under ten minutes. She’d called me to ask for a consultation. I was rather shocked and concerned, since it had been nearly five months since I’d had either Bruno or The Countess in for their annual visit. She’d hung up before I could ask more questions. The youngest puppy had just been for a visit and had come from a puppy mill, so my worries quickly glommed on to her.
Dr. Wilson had not asked me to bring either pet, so I hadn’t. The idea of taking both my Corgis and my cat in the car with me was more than I could take on a good day, and the message from the vet had suddenly made it not a good day. The animals vied for the front seat, thinking that the better view would be more fun thorough the windshield. The battle usually spilled over into the driver’s seat, which made steering a challenge.
I parked the car and entered the small one-story building where Dr. Victoria Wilson had her veterinary practice. The door chimed as I entered. I looked at the receptionist and said, “I’m Griffin Fitzpatrick. Dr. Wilson called and asked me to come in.”
The receptionist looked around, apparently wondering where my pet was, but then she buzzed an intercom and announced me.
Dr. Wilson came out, striding quickly towards me. She was tall and very thin with blond hair that had been pulled up, but now had strands blowing behind her. “Mr. Fitzpatrick, thank you for coming in. Let’s talk in my office.”
I followed her, still wondering what was going on. Her face was almost grim. She shut the door behind us as we entered her office. She made a motion to the sole chair in the room, a lean chair with a brown leather seat and a wooden back. I sat down, tentatively, waiting for the bad news.
“Thank you for coming in so quickly. I’m not sure how to approach this, so I guess I’ll just start.”
I took a deep breath and wondered what horror I would learn.
“I’d like to hire you.”
I sank back in the chair, even though it was incredibly uncomfortable. Relief must have washed over my face, because Dr. Wilson stammered out an apology. “I’m sorry. Did you think it was something about your pets? They’re fine. I didn’t even think that you’d assume it was related to your pets. I just have an incredibly delicate situation that’s about to get much worse, and I need help.”
She held out a stack of files. “These are the files of three of my patients. A cat, a dog, and a ferret. They’re from different parts of town. They’re different ages. They are not related to each other in any way.”
I leaned forward and took the files. I was a bit hesitant. I wondered what the laws about client confidentiality would be in this case. The pets obviously didn’t have an expectation of privacy here, but the humans who paid the bills might. I knew that I would not be happy if she handed my files over to a complete stranger.
I looked at the files by name: Andrew Givens, Maria Adamson, and Harriet Marksberry. None of them rang a bell with me. I looked at her again. “So why pull these three files if they have nothing in common?” I asked.
“They’re all dead.”
The room was entirely silent for a minute. I wasn’t sure what to say. Dr. Wilson let the news sink in before she spoke again. “I know it sounds odd, but this is three people out of a small practice in the last month. I’m not sure what to do or how to proceed? I’m rather scared to be honest.”
I looked at the file names. “Do you think you’re in any immediate danger? Do you think you could be next?”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I’m more worried about people leaving the practice and my future here in Toledo. How could I keep going if people find out about this? They’ll leave in droves.” Her eyes had grown wide, and the pale complexion of her face told me that she was serious. I usually just used clues about pet expressions to read them, but her emotions were very near the surface.
I had to say that the thought of leaving had crossed my mind. I didn’t have a particular death wish, and veterinarians were somewhat plentiful in town. I could easily find someone with a healthier set of patients. I’d had a close call with death nearly ten months ago, and I had no desire to try it again.
I looked at her. “What do you want me to do?” I asked. “This is an active police investigation, and the police do not take kindly to people questioning the pets of the deceased. Trust me on that.”
“I was hoping that you could find out something, anything that would lead the police to whoever is doing this. When word of this gets out, I think I’ll be out of business. Go and talk to the pets if you can get close to them. Find out what the pets had to say about the murders. Maybe they’ll have seen something that will give the killer away.”
I looked at the folders again. “What else can you tell me about these deaths? Do you have some time right now?”
She checked her watch. “I only have a couple more minutes. I had to move some things around just to have this time with you now. I can tell you that none of these deaths were ruled natural causes. I have one accident, one suicide, and one death from unknown causes. It just happened last night so they’ll know more soon. However, I am pretty sure if they’re holding back on the cause of death that it wasn’t natural.”
I nodded. “That’s probably a safe bet. They don’t like to scare people about deaths. Do you know if these people had other things in common besides you?”
She took a deep breath. “Not as far as I could tell. Like I said, they lived in different area and had different pets. I don’t think that the police will find anything in common.”
“If they think that one was an accident and the second one a suicide, then they won’t even be looking for a pattern. They don’t see a need to. This won’t fall under the multiple homicide category.”
I thought of my favorite homicide detective, Sheila Green, who I was somewhat dating. We’d met when I’d been asked to talk to another pet. She’d been snarky with me about my abilities and my desire to solve the crime, but I’d been smitten with her silver eyes and her wild use of air quotes. She would definitely be the first to tell me to stay out of open police investigations.
We’d moved from adversaries to friends to dating, though our first and only date had ended poorly when I’d had a panic attack about the topic of conversation that evening. She’d taken me home and paid for dinner, and not mentioned a word about a second date since then.
“That’s probably right. They don’t seem to be doing much with the first two investigations at all.” The intercom on her desk buzzed, and she looked at me. “Can you take a look at these and see what you learn? You may be able to talk to the pets in the first two deaths, since they’re not active investigations. You might learn something to help. I keep hoping that I’m going to find out that these were all just a horrible set of accidents and it’s just bad luck.”
She pulled a check book out of her desk drawer and wrote me a check for $500. This was the best part of my job, by far. I took the check and pushed it into my pocket, trying to act as if it didn’t matter to me.
I held on to the folders and waited as she opened the door for me. I let myself out, making some small talk with the receptionist on the way out. I was able to drive home a little more safely, knowing that my pets were fine.
The first thing I did when I got home was a quick search on the names on the
Toledo Blade
website. In order to successfully “talk” the animals, I had to do a lot of background checking. Once I did that, I could easily slip in details regarding the pet into my “conversation.” It wasn’t exactly ethical, but for the most part, I soothed worried people who were concerned about their pet’s health or happiness. It was a rare case that included a crime.
The first victim, Andrew Givens, had been boating in the early part of September when his boat had capsized, and he’d been presumed drowned. The paper didn’t have many details on his death, other than the standard paragraphs about water safety and such. They did list the next of kin as the wife, so I knew that I had some contact information to go on for who had inherited the pets. I wrote the name down on a piece of paper and went down to the next name on the list.
Maria Adamson had been found dead at her home, following asphyxiation by hanging. She had missed two days of work without calling in. Finally, her bosses had sent a secretary out to Adamson’s home where she’d found the car in the driveway and no sign of Adamson. Another day had passed before the bosses decided to call the police. She wasn’t in the house, but a check of the neighborhood showed forced entry at a nearby abandoned house where the police found her in the basement.
Adamson had left a note, telling about how her husband had recently left her and had taken the pets. She was alone and had decided to end it all. Given that she hadn’t been found for days, I thought that perhaps she was correct in saying that she was alone. I wrote down the name of the husband, but they gave no information on where he lived now. I’d have to work for that piece of information.
The third case was Harriet Marksberry, and I’d heard about her on the news last night. She’d been leaving a local restaurant last night. She’d apparently gotten into her car and passed away from some cause before she’d started the car and driven off. The police were treating the death as suspicious since she was only 52 and had no health troubles. The reports had shown her mother and father on air, so I figured that if I needed to talk to her ferret, then I could contact them. Of the cases, this would be the most difficult to find out more information about since it was ongoing.
I really wasn’t sure what Dr. Wilson wanted me to do in this situation. As she’d said, they were three distinct deaths from different causes and different pets. They only had this one niggling bit of information in common. All of them had taken their pets to Dr. Wilson’s office.
It was going to be hard for me to come up with a good reason to see each of these people without giving away why I wanted to talk to them. In my other cases, the deaths had been out in the open. Now I had to show a remarkable amount of discretion in not telling anyone why I needed to talk to their pets.
In all honesty, I didn’t really talk to anyone’s pet. Over the years, I’d become fairly adept at reading an animal’s emotions as well as asking questions of the owners that fed me sufficient information to make an informed decision. I’m a bit like the television psychics. I ask a few questions to lead me to make some statements. I do use what I know about animals though, so it’s not a total crock.
Business had been pretty good so far. I’d solved a few murder cases based on reading the animals and asking the right questions. I’d also picked up two more pets along the way. The Countess had been an abandoned cat that had been involved in a murder. I’d also picked up a Corgi puppy who had been the victim of a puppy mill and had been unceremoniously named “Number 32.” I was still trying to select a good name for my puppy, who was all energy and curiosity.
I didn’t know how close I could get to the Marksberry case, but in the first two, I could certainly ask questions if I could get close enough to the owners. The Givens family seemed like the easiest to reach, so I decided that I would start with them. I still needed a way to get them to open up to me, but I opted to play with the pets this afternoon in hopes that an idea would strike me while I was letting my brain mull it over.
I took Bruno and Number 32 for a walk. Bruno was used to long walks, but 32 acted like each one was a new adventure instead of the same trip around the neighborhood. I wondered how old she would be before this became routine to her.
She bounced around the yards as we walked. Having lived most of her short life in a cage, she was still fascinated by grass and concrete. Each one was something to be savored, and of course, savoring meant that we had to slow down to do it. I kept an eye on her glacial progress as I thought about the crimes.
We returned to the house to find that someone had thrown a plastic bag full of ads on the driveway. 32 picked up the bag and proceeded to tear into it like it was her personal nemesis. Bruno just flopped down looking like a Corgi rug on the drive. When 32 finished ripping the papers to shreds, I picked up the scraps and looked at them. Mostly they were advertisements for various stores and groceries.
They gave me an idea.
My main worry had been that I would be throwing what had been a closed and painful issue in the face of the family. In a murder case, people expect to be questioned, interrogated and generally discussed. It’s not pleasant, but we’ve all seen enough cop shows to expect it. Other types of death are not the same. There’s an expectation of leaving the family alone afterwards, of letting them grieve in private. I should know. My family had experienced its own grief.
Detective Sheila Green of the Toledo Police had done about the same to me. She’d delivered a copy of the police report regarding my sister’s disappearance more than a decade ago. I hadn’t asked for it, and she delivered it like a gift. I had been flummoxed by her action. She had thought she was doing me a favor, but really she’d pulled the Band-Aid off a wound that would likely never entirely heal. It had shocked me, and it had taken me months to get around to reading the file.
My sister had disappeared from our family home when she was just a teen. The story had been a big deal at the time: a young girl with no known problems at home disappears from home and is never found. The experience had profoundly impacted my family in negative ways. My father had drunk himself to death within a few years. My mother had decided that the outside world was too scary, and she’d opted to stay inside and order everything from the Internet. My brother had wanted to escape the insanity, so he’d left town and rarely returned.
I’d decided that my sister’s vibrant personality had been the cause of her disappearance. So I decided to be the opposite of vibrant. I went for actions and appearance that looked odd, used, rumpled. My house was mowed just often enough to pass the housing inspections, and I had kept my hair long and drawn back in a ponytail for the most part. My clothes came from thrift stores and other places that would never be considered fashion.
Green’s actions had put a stop to that behavior somewhat. The report held a number of facts that I’d either not been aware of or had forgotten in the painful haze of my youth. I’d buzzed my hair after reading that report and realizing what the implications of those facts were. While I still enjoyed Sheila Green’s company, she’d blindsided me with all of this information. It had a life-changing impact on me, and I still wondered if she realized what she’d done – and if she cared.
After all that had gone down in my life, there was no way that I would be doing the same thing to the Givens family. I would not be springing any information on them or any suggestions that his death was anything other than what it appeared to be, an uncomplicated boating accident. If it came to that, I would let the police talk to the widow at the right time.
I planned to call and then hopefully visit the Givens household, telling them that they’d won a free hour of my services. Since I already knew that they had a dog, it would be no big deal to offer them a special of a free consultation of me talking to their dog. If the dog happened to mention that he was sad, then it might be an opening for me to talk about the accident. I wanted it to seem organic from our conversation, not a forced interview regarding the husband’s death.
The files that Dr. Wilson had given me had their home phone number, so I made a quick call. A woman answered, and I asked for Mrs. Givens.
“This is she,” she replied. I was always a little skeptical of people who spoke in perfect English, but I continued with my patter, telling her that she’d won a free hour of my services. She laughed, a small quiet tinkle of a laugh that said she didn’t do it much these days.
We scheduled an appointment for later that afternoon and then she hung up. That had been alarmingly easy. I thought that perhaps I was getting better at this investigating thing, but I tried not to get cocky about it. I didn’t want to jinx myself with a case that I couldn’t crack. While I’d solved all of my previous cases, they had come at a personal cost, and I wanted to minimize the chance that such things would happen again.
I had a few hours before I had to drive to the Givens’ home, so I spent the time with Bruno and Number 32, trying to teach her proper housetraining techniques. As a puppy mill puppy, she’d gotten into the habit of going when and where she felt the urge. She had forgotten the urge to not go to the bathroom in her personal space. In my house, I was trying to break her of the habit, but we’d come to an impasse so far. Even if I kept her in a room covered in pads, she wasn’t seeming to equate the pads with the urge to go. I figured a lot more work and trust would be needed before we cleared this hurdle.