Page 10 of So Savage (Faith Bold #21)
Marcus and Faith approached Eric Davidson’s residence with guns drawn. Turk trotted next to them, padding silently like a wolf as they ascended the stairs to the second floor. Eric was in apartment two-twenty-three, a modest one-bedroom in a six-story medium rise.
Marcus knocked loudly. “Police! Open up!”
No answer.
He knocked again. “Police! Eric Davidson, open up!”
No answer.
Marcus looked at Faith and took a deep breath. “One more time, then we go in?”
She nodded and positioned herself on the side of the door, ready to cover Marcus if he needed to break the door down. Marcus knocked one more time. “Eric Davidson, this is the police! Come out with your hands where we can see them! If you do not comply, we will force the door! Do you understand?”
No answer. Marcus nodded, squared his shoulders and lifted his leg. Just before he kicked, the door to the unit next to them opened, and an elderly woman called, “Excuse me?”
Marcus and Faith looked at her. “Yes?”
“If you’re looking for Eric, you won’t find him here. He’s very ill. He’s staying at the VA hospital.”
Faith blinked. “How long has he been there?”
“Oh, weeks now. He got sick before Thanksgiving.”
Faith looked at Marcus. The big detective lowered his leg. “You’re sure of this, ma’am?”
“Well, I live next door to him, don’t I?” the woman said, miffed.
Faith sighed. "Yes, you do. Thank you, Miss…"
“It’s Mrs. Delilah Sanderson. And you’re welcome. I understand you have jobs to do, but if we can avoid making a commotion, that’s ideal, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Marcus replied. “We apologize for the intrusion.”
“That’s all right,” Delilah said, closing her door. “Good luck, Detective.”
Faith, Marcus, and Turk returned to the cruiser. Marcus called the VA hospital on the way and confirmed that Eric Davidson was indeed a long-term resident in the hospice ward. Moreover, he hadn't left the hospital in three months and wasn't expected to leave it alive.
“Well, that’s shit,” Marcus said. “There goes our lead.”
“We should talk to him anyway,” Faith said. “He might have insights that will help us.”
“Maybe,” Marcus replied doubtfully. He sighed. “Yeah, maybe. I’m sure he wasn’t the only one upset about the review board. We’ll go talk to him.”
The VA hospital was on the other side of Hermantown, about ten minutes from Davidson's home. It was an expansive facility and very beautiful. Faith wondered how the VA decided which facilities to dress up like luxury resorts and which facilities to slap together with no budget and stick in strip malls.
They walked in and were met by a nervous nurse and a stern doctor. The doctor crossed her arms and stood in front of them. “May I ask why you need to see Mr. Davidson? He’s very ill, and I would prefer not to subject him to any unnecessary discomfort.”
“We suspect that he may have been involved in multiple murders,” Marcus replied.
The doctor scoffed. “Yeah, I don’t think so. He spends less than three hours a day outside of his bed, and none of that outside of this hospital. Not in this cold.”
“We still need to talk to him,” Faith replied. “Even if he’s not the killer, he could have insights that would help us determine who the real killer is.”
“What insights?”
“I’m afraid I can’t share that,” Faith said. “This is an ongoing investigation, and we can’t release details to the public.”
The doctor’s eyes moved between Marcus and Faith. Eventually, they settled on Turk. “What do you need a K9 for?”
“Turk is a trained investigator,” Faith replied. “His sense of smell has proven to be an invaluable tool for me.”
The doctor scoffed. “Yeah, well, this is a medical facility.”
“He’s licensed to enter medical facilities.”
“Is he magically cleaner than other dogs because he has K9 written on his vest?”
Faith tried to control her anger, but some of her frustration leaked through when she said, “Ma’am, I understand that this is frustrating for you, but we’re going to see Mr. Davidson. We have two murdered innocents, and whether Eric is directly responsible or not, he could have information that will help us find the person who killed them. We’ll be respectful of his time and his condition, but we need to see him.”
The doctor fell silent. She took several deep breaths while her nurse shuffled her feet, red-faced and clearly wishing to be anywhere else right now.
Finally, the doctor said, “Fine. But if anything happens to him, I will be reporting this encounter to both of your superiors. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Marcus said. “Thank you.”
“He’s room eleven. Take the hallway on the left and go down to the end.”
“Thank you again,” Faith replied.
The three of them headed for the room. The familiar bleach and pine scent of hospitals caused Faith's nostrils to flare. She remembered what Dr. Parker had said, how bleach and other cleaning chemicals could interfere with a dog's ability to smell. Maybe that had played a role after all.
They reached room eleven, and Marcus knocked on the door. A wheezy voice called, “Come in,” and the two of them entered.
As soon as Faith saw Eric Davidson, any lingering doubt she had that he might be their killer after all disappeared. Eric Davidson lay in bed with oxygen tubes in his nose and an IV in his left arm. According to the Minnesota Department of Public Safety’s licensing department, Eric was thirty-four years old. He looked easily twice that old now. His skin was a pale gray and paper-thin. The rest of him was equally thin, wasted until he was nearly skeletal. His eyes were fever-bright and sunk deep within his skull, and his lips were parched and cracked. Faith watched more cracks form as he smiled at the three of them.
"Pancreatic cancer," he informed them. "Not very pretty, is it? The silver lining is it works fast. Docs don't think I'll make it to the thaw."
Faith’s tongue loosened. “I’m so sorry.”
He made a movement that might have been a shrug. "Everyone dies. Some people live long and healthy lives, and some people live shitty lives that end with months of excruciating pain. That's why they say life's a bitch."
Marcus looked at Faith uncomfortably, then cleared his throat. “Mr. Davidson, we’ll get out of your hair as soon as we can. We only need to ask you a few questions. Is that all right?”
“Sure. Not like I have anything better to do.” He released a hoarse cough that took Faith a moment to realize was actually laughter.
She started the questioning. “Mr. Davidson, we’re investigating the murders of Master Sergeant Thomas Reeves and Staff Sergeant Kevin Walsh. Both of them were found dead with their K9s sedated nearby.”
Eric’s eyes widened. “Oh. Wow. Well, I wish I could say it was me, but as you can see, my murdering days are over. Uncle Sam should thank me for the murdering I did for him back when I was healthy, though. I was pretty good at killing people.” He laughed again, and Faith and Marcus shared another uncomfortable look.
“We don’t suspect you of being the killer,” Faith replied, “but we’re hoping you might be able to help us figure out who the killer is.”
Eric smiled a macabre death's head grin that made him look like a character in a horror movie. "What's worse in your mind, Special Agent: a general who sacrifices his men when he makes a stupid decision or the sergeant who sends those men to their deaths knowing it's a stupid decision?"
“What’s worse is a murderer who kills innocent people,” Faith replied. “If you know anything about the case, you need to tell us now.”
“Or what?” Eric challenged. “You’ll arrest me?” He laughed again. “I’m just teasing you. I’ll help. Like I said, I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“So you know who’s responsible?” Faith asked.
“Before I answer that,” Eric replied, “Let me tell you why those two deserved to die.”
Faith frowned. “That’s not what we’re here for, Mr. Davidson.”
“Tough shit. I’m dying of cancer before my thirty-fifth birthday, so you will stand there and listen to my story.”
Faith pressed her lips together, but Eric wasn’t wrong. There really wasn’t much they could do to him at this point. They were at his mercy.
“Marcus Reeves and Kevin Walsh didn’t give a rat’s ass about us handlers,” Eric said. “They don’t care about all of the work we put into those dogs. They don’t care how much we bond with those dogs. They don’t care that when it’s all said and done, those dogs are as much ours as the Army’s. Now, lest you think I’m just whining for the hell of it, let me tell you why the Army should consider that.”
His eyelids started to droop, but just when Faith thought he had fallen asleep, his eyes flew open again. He took a shuddering breath and explained. “We know our dogs intimately. Those are our animals. We know them like we know our own selves. If we think that they can do something, they can do it. If we think they can’t, they can’t. If the Army wants them to do something, and we tell the Army that we need certain things to be in place to do it, it’s not because we’re cowards or selfish or stupid. It’s because we know that if the Army is going to maximize the potential of this tool, they need to protect and maintain that tool’s capability through rigorous training programs for dogs and handlers, and frequent reevaluations of the curriculum to update it as new information is made available.”
He coughed a little. “Marcus Reeves and Kevin Walsh didn’t push to update the curriculum. In fact, they tacitly defended the outdated curriculum that got Rex, two other dogs and seven soldiers killed. Rather than force the Army to seek accountability, they gave the Army a pardon. That just isn’t acceptable.”
He broke into a coughing fit, and Faith looked down at Turk. She tried to imagine losing him in battle and couldn’t make her mind picture that. What would she do if she did lose him?
She remembered the time she almost did lose him and the hate she had for the person responsible. It wasn’t hard to imagine someone committing murder over that. Not hard at all.
“The person you’re looking for,” Eric said, “Is Daniel Ross. He used to run a civilian training center for dogs, but it was shut down when in their great hypocrisy, Marcus Reeves and Kevin Walsh both reported him for his ‘violent’ methods.”
Faith's eyes widened. "Really? When did this happen? Eric?"
A raspy snore told her that Eric had fallen asleep. She looked at Marcus, who shrugged. Faith decided that they had gotten as much as they needed. Eric was barely clinging to his last thread of life. They could let him die in peace.
And with any luck, they could stop this killer before anyone else died with violence.