Unexpected Endings

by Marie James

2:07AM. My cell phone was ringing over the sound of rain on the window. It had to be a search. Simple middle of the night bad news didn't require a driving rainstorm coupled with temperatures still in the mid 70s – only a search requires additional misery.

I groaned as I reached for my phone, “Hello.”

“Is this the number for the canine search and rescue team?”

“Yes, this is the dispatch number for the missing persons response team” I replied, reaching for the pad and pen by my bedside. “Rachelle Williton speaking. How can I help you?”

“This is Detective Art Paulson from the Shibelway County Sheriff's Department. We have a situation here.”

As soon as he said Shibelway, I mentally groaned again – Shibelway County was at least a two hour drive for me and what usually happens when searches are that far out is that I get about five miles away only to get a call saying ‘we found them.' Fortunately, our team has members who live closer, so in this case, it might at least be one of our members who make the find. “Okay, can you give me the details?”

“Tom Raines, a 74 year old group home resident. He is described as having early-stage Alzheimer's. He's a walker – he walks up and down the road in front of the home everyday. They say he never leaves the road.”

“How long has he been missing?”

“The home manager says he was at lunch today.”

“Says?” I asked, picking up on the key word.

“Well,” he replied. “They claim he was at lunch today, but when we talked to some of the other residents, they said they hadn't seen him at all today. It's just that most of them have dementia, too, so we don't know who to believe.”

“It doesn't really make any difference for us,” I said. “Yesterday, today – it's been warm enough lately so he's probably still fine – wet, but fine. Unless, does he have any other health problems?”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary for a man who's 74,” replied Detective Paulson. “Anyhow, they called us about 5PM tonight.”

Oh great, I thought, and you waited until after 2AM to call out the dog team. When you get into search and rescue no one explains how incredibly inconvenient it is. They tell you about how expensive it is; how much work you'll have to do; how dirty you'll get; how frustrated you'll get, but no one ever mentions the inconvenience factor. There is never a search when the weather is sunny with a nice breeze and 60 degrees. I stopped my mental whining to listen.

“We had officers out looking along the roads and knocking on doors until 9PM. And there was an announcement on the news for people to check all their outbuildings just in case Mr. Raines took shelter somewhere. We thought he'd be easy to find.” He said this with a bit of defensiveness.

I heard myself say, “Okay,” again. I needed coffee and lots of it. “Give me the directions to your location and I'll get the dog teams on the road.”

He gave me the particulars and we hung up after I told him to expect the first teams within an hour.

* * *

4:28AM. I was surprised. I'd talked to the earlier arriving team members as they deployed their dogs fully expecting this search to be similar to most others involving Alzheimer's patients – meaning I wouldn't even arrive on scene. But here I was. Truman, my wilderness search dog, a Doberman mix was instantly interested when he realized we were stopping. He knows that getting up in the middle of the night to go for a long ride follows with a good possibility he'll get out to search.

I pulled my SUV as close to staging as I could and radioed our search manager. Sue Hawkins had been first on scene and since she didn't have an operational dog at the moment, she assumed command of our efforts. She asked me to join her in the operations trailer so we could go over assignments and I could get into the field. I knew she wanted to explain what she'd done so far and make sure I agreed with her decisions. Being the only senior team member not currently on vacation, I understood her concern, but I also knew without a doubt, she had done a fine job.

I approved her deployments, accepted my own and headed out with a local volunteer firefighter as my support. We stopped at the car for my gear and of course, Truman who was almost too excited for me to get his lighted collar on him.

“What kind of dog is that?” asked Josh, the firefighter.

“He's a Doberman mix – mostly Doberman, but there's a little something else in there, too,” I replied.

“But, but…” he trailed off as I looked at him inquiringly.

“But, what?” I asked, briskly.

“Well, how can you have a dog like that out looking for people?”

“Huh?” I said, now thoroughly confused. “He's a certified wilderness search dog; he's been doing search work for five years. He loves his job.”

“But he's mean,” stammered Josh.

I did not have time for this. “Look, Josh, if you're uncomfortable with Truman, just say so. We can get someone else to go with me. But, we have to go now. Mr. Raines life could depend on it.”

I could see the debate raging inside Josh. Suck it up and go with me or back out and have all the other firefighters laugh at him for being afraid of a dog. “Okay, let's go,” he finally said.

* * *

8:53AM. We'd had no luck. Six dog teams had searched high probability areas for over four hours. For an Alzheimer's patient that was an extremely unusual outcome. All the teams had returned to base, the dogs were resting and the humans were grabbing coffee and granola bars as we looked at the map trying to figure out where Mr. Raines could possibly be.

After listening to everyone's report from the field, I shook my head and said, “It's going to be getting really hot quickly. The dogs are going to be ineffective if we have to work past about 11AM or noon. So, what I suggest we do is draw a ½ mile circle around the home, divide that area into six sectors and get back out there. If we don't find him by noon, we're going to have to wait until evening to start again.”

Everyone nodded and we waited for our assignments.

My assignment was the area directly behind the group home. It included a small pole barn, a field with thigh-high corn and woods at the back. Josh was still with me having decided that Truman wasn't some kind of bloodthirsty maniac; heck he'd even patted his head when we returned.

A good breeze had come up which would help in two ways. It would make the scent conditions better for the dogs and it would, hopefully, as the temperature rose be bearable a little longer. I was lucky, the wind was blowing directly across the long side of my sector, so after checking the pole barn, I decided to walk the longer side in hopes that if Mr. Raines were there, Truman would pick up his scent easily. Truman was already tired; I didn't want to wear him out making him run through the cornfield unless I had to. Releasing Truman, I explained this to Josh as we walked toward the wooded area of my sector. I doubt he cared, but I like to have light conversation while I'm in the field – it keeps me from getting overly stressed and communicating that to my dog.

We had just hit the edge of the woods when I saw Truman's head pop up. As always when I see him do that, my first thought was the hope that it wasn't a critter he was focused on. He took off into the woods and I continued to hope. One minute, two minutes and then I saw him coming back. He ran right up to me and barked – his signal to let me know he's found something.

“Good boy,” I shouted. “Show me.”

Truman turned and ran off again as we did our best to follow quickly, scrambling and stumbling through the undergrowth, tripping on tree roots, being grabbed by wild raspberry vines and trying not to hit our heads on low hanging branches. Truman returned to us two more times before he was able to unite us with his find. I hurried up with my heart in my throat. We had found Mr. Raines; he was dead and someone had helped him get dead. There was a small hole in the center of his forehead.

“Oh God,” said Josh.

I turned to him. “We have to back out of here right now. Turn completely around and go about fifty feet back the way we came in. Keep the body in sight, though.” I hooked Truman to his leash handing him his tug toy at the same time, knowing I was going to owe him a play session once we got out of here.

I radioed our location to Sue and waited while she relayed the information to the authorities. Waiting for the police and paramedics, I quickly drew a sketch of the area, took a couple of pictures with my cell phone and wrote down everything I could remember from the search. I had a feeling this one was going to end up in court. I kept my notebook out waiting for the officer who would take control of the scene from me – it was important that I make a note of his name.

In this case it was a her – Marilyn Peters was the officer sent to take control of the scene. I'd been unable to provide much information over the radio, and she'd gotten out there so quickly it hadn't been necessary to phone Sue and fill her in. It was obvious Sue had heard the shake in my voice when I'd radioed in and she'd communicated that urgency to the police. “What have you got?” she asked.

“I believe it's Mr. Raines,” I replied. “I think someone murdered him, though.”

She gave me a scornful look, obviously thinking I was just an inexperienced volunteer with a dog who got lucky. She turned from me dismissively and walked toward the body. About six feet away I saw her stop and she glanced back at me, this time with a questioning look. All I could do was raise my shoulders and put out my hands. I had no idea how someone out in the middle of nowhere would get an old man to a sit on a downed tree and then shoot him. I saw her pull out her radio and knew she was calling in the troops. She turned and walked back toward us. “You can head back to base. Detective Paulson will probably want to talk to you.”

“You want us to wait until the other officers arrive?” I asked.

She gave me an appraising look, but agreed that was probably the best idea.

We didn't talk while we waited; there's little that can be said in the face of such an unexpected outcome. Josh was sitting on the ground petting Truman with intense concentration, shaking his head once in a while. I know that head shake – it's the one that you hope will clear your brain of an image now permanently etched there and which will re-appear with inconvenient regularity.

* * *

Josh and I were returning to base. I'd let Truman off lead so we could play with him on the way back, but as we came in sight of the group home, I called him and put his leash back on.

“Are you the one who found him?” asked a very tiny older woman, her voice high and excited.

“Yes, we did,” I replied, trying to continue moving.

“I saw him, you know,” she said, grabbing my arm. Holding tightly to my arm, she started to cackle. I'd never heard anyone cackle before, but this was what I always thought cackling would sound like – like a psychotic coyote howling at the moon.

“Yes, he lived here,” I said, shooting Josh a ‘help me' look.

“Ma'am,” asked Josh, “can I help you back inside?”

“No,” she nearly screeched. The cackling stopped abruptly. “I don't want to go in there. I don't belong in there, you know.” Her voice had become almost conversational.

“Okay,” he said, patting her on the back as only a man can pat an elderly woman.

“Don't touch me. No one touches me.” She was screeching again. She might not want someone to touch her, but she was going to be leaving bruises on my arm she was attached so tightly.

I noticed a bench off to one side, “How about if we sit down out here for a minute,” I suggested.

She seemed amenable to the idea and we made our way slowly to the bench. We got her settled and I was surprised to see Truman settle next to her putting his head in her lap. I had no idea what motivated him, but I was pleased to see her hand go slowly toward his head and start petting him. “I've always loved dogs,” she said, back to conversational mode. “We always had a couple around, but they made me get rid of Ridley when they moved me here. None of them would even let him live with them. They took him to the pound. I was so upset, but I fixed them.” She smiled grimly. “As soon as I got here, I re-wrote my will. I left all my money to the Humane Society. They thought if they made me move here, they could control everything, but they couldn't find a judge to give them guardianship over me. My lawyer was better. Ungrateful brats.”

There was nothing I could say to that, so I didn't even try. I know people tell strangers things they would never discuss with friends, but that doesn't give us any direction in what to say. “You said you saw him,” I reminded her. “Who did you see?”

“That Raines man talking to Angus,” she replied.

“Angus?” I asked. “Who is Angus?”

“One of my ungrateful kids,” she said.

I looked at Josh. Why would one of her kids be talking to Mr. Raines?

Josh cleared his throat and asked that very question.

“I don't know,” she said. “Raines came here about two weeks ago pretending to have Alzheimer's disease.”

“Pretending?” Josh and I said in stereo.

She seemed to take on a regal bearing, looking at both of us before replying. “Of course,” she said. “Alzheimer's is obvious when someone has it. They can't remember what you talked about five minutes ago or what they had for lunch, but Raines carried on complete conversations and never asked the same questions. Not to mention, the people who brought him in. They were pretending to be his kids, but they forgot to follow up. They were oh so concerned and vocal about his comfort and how much they loved him when they brought him, but they haven't been back to see him since. Usually when someone new gets dropped off, people visit a lot at first.”

“Well, maybe they're on vacation or something like that,” I suggested.

“Hmph,” she replied. “Not likely. You don't drop dear old Dad off at the old folks home and then grab a plane for Hawaii . There are rules of decency – you have to wait at least three months before taking a big vacation on Dad's money.”

I glanced at Josh again. This old lady was either incredibly observant and or incredibly malevolent.

She started talking again. “I went and listened to what they were talking about, you know. My leech of a son doesn't talk to the old folks. He thinks they're worthless, taking up space – like me and won't waste his time. That's why I noticed. Made me suspicious.”

“Really,” I said encouragingly.

“Yep,” she said. ‘And you know what I heard?”

“No, what?” asked Josh.

“They were talking about me. Angus wanted to know if Raines had made any inroads as he called it. Raines told him that I was pretty bitchy and he wasn't sure the plan would work now that he'd met me.”

“Huh?” said Josh. “What plan?” I could tell Josh was as lost in the conversation as I was.

“The plan to get my money, of course,” she said scathingly. She snorted and went on. “Angus had actually hired that Raines guy to move in here, make nice with me and then find out what I was doing with my money. After that, he was supposed to find a way to make sure Angus got it all.”

I figured the woman was delusional. How much money could a little old lady living in a group home possibly have? Half my mind was on how quickly I could get away from this conversation, and her, as she started talking again.

“I couldn't let that happen, you know. So I went back inside and got my protection. That snot Angus left without even saying hello to me, but Raines was still out here when I got back. I convinced him I wanted to take a walk in the woods – men are so easy. When we got out there a ways, I found a log to sit on and let him get all cuddly with me for a minute. Everyone should have a happy memory before they go, you know. Then it was over.”

What she had just said sunk in. “Are you saying that you were out in the woods with Mr. Raines just before he died?” I asked.

“Well, of course,” she said. “How else could I have taken care of him?”

At that moment someone came rushing from the house. “Mrs. Wadsworth, what are you doing out here? It's much too chilly for you to be sitting around.”

“Excuse me,” I said, “I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Rachelle. This is Josh and this,” I pointed to my dog, “is Truman.”

Mrs. Wadsworth removed her hand from Truman's head and once again regal, held it out toward Josh, “Hillary Wadsworth.”

I know my mouth dropped open and Josh turned to look at me so quickly I wondered if he'd given himself whiplash. Hillary Wadsworth was a legend in our state, worth millions, but considered one of the most hateful and nasty women ever to marry into money.

“It's lovely to meet you,” I said.

“Yes, it is,” echoed Josh.

Mrs. Wadsworth remaining regal, merely nodding at both of us with a smug expression on her face.

“Can I speak with you a moment?” I asked the attendant.

She looked concerned, but I reassured her saying Josh and Truman would be happy to sit a bit longer with Mrs. Wadsworth. We stepped away and I asked, “Does Mrs. Wadsworth have a gun?”

The attendant jerked and looked at me with real fear in her eyes. “No, no, of course not,” she said, trying to turn to leave.

“She does, doesn't she,” I said. “I can see why you wouldn't want to broadcast that fact considering it seems kind of inappropriate for a group home, but at this point, I think it goes beyond bad publicity.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, trying to sound confident.

“I'm saying that from what Mrs. Wadsworth just said to us, I'm pretty sure she's the one who killed Mr. Raines out in the woods.”

“That's ridiculous,” the attendant was nearly whispering and her voice was shaking. She looked at me pleadingly.

“I'm sorry,” I said, touching her shoulder gently. “You probably better call the owners. I'm going to get the detective in charge and have him come over to talk to Mrs. Wadsworth.”

“Oh my God,” she said, “I've only worked here for a month. I don't know what to do.”

“Make the call. Let them know what's going on. I'm sure the police will be as discreet as possible, but they won't be able to keep the situation quiet.”

I went for Detective Paulson. He was very skeptical, but I brought him back to Mrs. Wadsworth and as he started to gently question her, her story changed little from what she'd said to us. I was profoundly glad that my job was over and Detective Paulson would have to sort out the aftermath. Detective Paulson met my eyes and sort of shook his head as Truman and I turned to leave.

Josh caught up with me. “Wow, is search and rescue always like this?”

I smiled at him, “No, it usually takes me a couple of hours to get someone to confess to a murder.”

He looked confused for a moment, then smiled. “I figured.”

I smiled at him again, “Thanks for working with me today, Josh. You were great.”

“You too,” he replied and he actually squatted down to give Truman a hug. “Bye, big guy.”