by Robert Crais
Budress shouted for Downing to take five, then turned to Scott.
“Tell you what, dog with her nose, she saved a lot of grunts finding IEDs. That’s a masterful fact. You can’t fool her.”
Scott ran his hand over Maggie’s back, and stood to ask Budress a question. Budress had worked with explosives-detection dogs in the Air Force, and knew almost as much about dogs as Leland.
“The house we were in reeked of crystal, that nasty chemical stink?”
Budress grunted, knowing the stink. Leland had the scowl, Budress the grunt.
“We go in, and right away she was whining and trying to search. You think she confused the ether with explosives?”
Budress spit.
“Smells don’t confuse these dogs. If she wanted a smell, it was a smell she knew.”
“When we were leaving, she alerted on this guy who lives there, same way.”
Budress thought for a moment.
“Were they making or using?”
“Does it matter?”
“We taught our dogs to alert to explosives like RDX and Semtex and whatnot, but we also taught’m the main components insurgents use for homemade explosives. Remember—the ‘I’ in IED stands for ‘improvised.’”
“These people were users. They weren’t cooking.”
Budress worked his lips as he thought about it some more, then shrugged and shook his head.
“Probably wouldn’t matter anyway. A couple of your typical meth lab components could be used to improvise an explosive, but the ingredients are too common. We never taught our dogs to alert to common materials. If we did, we’d have dogs alerting every time we passed a gas station or a hardware store.”
“So ether or starter fluid wouldn’t confuse her?”
Budress smiled at Maggie, and offered his hand. She sniffed, then lay down at Scott’s feet.
“Not this nose. If I asked you to point out the orange tents, would the green hedges or blue sky or the tree bark confuse you?”
“’Course not.”
“She smells like we see. Just laying here, she’s picking up thousands of scents, just like we’re seeing a thousand shades of green and blue and whatever. I say, show me the orange, you instantly spot the orange, and don’t think twice about all those other colors. It’s the same way for her with scents. If she was trained to alert to dynamite, you can wrap dynamite in plastic, bury it under two feet of horseshit, and douse the whole thing with whiskey, and she’ll still smell the dynamite. Ain’t she amazing?”
Scott studied Budress for a moment, and realized how much the man loved these dogs. Budress was a dog man.
Scott said, “Why do you think she alerted?”
“Dunno. Maybe you oughta tell your detective friends to search that house for IEDs.”
Budress burst out laughing, pleased with himself, then shouted for Downing to find a new tent.
“She’s looking real good. Give her some water, and we’ll do one more.”
Scott was clipping up Maggie for the tenth run when Leland stormed out of his office.
“Officer James!”
Scott turned, and heard Budress mumble.
“Now what?”
Leland covered the ground in long, angry strides.
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you did not DARE to participate in a police action this morning without my permission.”
“I watched an arrest with the Robbery-Homicide detectives. I didn’t participate.”
Leland stomped closer until his nose was in Scott’s face.
“I know for a FACT you and your dog took part in an ARREST. My ASS was just reamed for that little FACT.”
Maggie growled—a low guttering warning, but Leland did not move.
“Call your dog out.”
“Out, Maggie. Down.”
Maggie didn’t obey. Her eyes were locked on Leland. Her muzzle wrinkled to show her fangs.
“Down.”
Maggie growled louder, and Scott knew he was losing more ground with Leland by the second.
Behind him, Budress spoke softly.
“You’re the alpha. Be alpha.”
Scott made his voice commanding.
“Down. Maggie, down.”
Maggie eased to her belly, but did not leave Scott’s side. She was totally focused on Leland, who was still totally focused on Scott.
Scott wet his lips.
“We did not take part in the arrest. We were not there as a K-9 team. I didn’t know there was going to be an arrest until I got to the Boat. I thought they wanted files back. That’s why I took Maggie with me. I assumed I would drop the files off, then come here. That’s it, Sergeant.”
Scott wondered who complained, and why. He flashed on the senior officer who crapped his pants when Maggie lunged; the officer who turned so red he looked like he was going to stroke.
Scott sensed Leland was trying to decide whether to believe him.
“We were out here for an hour, and you didn’t mention it. This makes me think you didn’t want me to know.”
Scott hesitated.
“The Homicide people thought my seeing the guy they arrested would trigger my memory. It didn’t. I don’t. It feels like I’m letting my partner down.”
Leland was silent for several seconds, but his scowl remained firm.
“It was reported you could not control your dog, and your dog attacked a civilian.”
Scott felt himself flush. As red as the asshole who jumped.
“I controlled Maggie and the situation, and no one was harmed. Kinda like now. With you.”
Budress spoke softly again, but this time to Leland.
“Looks like Scott has Maggie well in hand to me, Top. Even though she’s all set to rip out your throat.”
Leland’s scowl flicked to Budress, and Scott knew Budress had saved him.
Leland’s scowling eyes grew thoughtful.
“Do you want to remain in my K-9 platoon, Officer James?”
“You know I do.”
“And you still hope to convince me this dog should be approved by me as fit for duty?”
“I’m going to convince you.”
“Way it works is, my boss reams me about you, I get your back. I tell him my officer is an outstanding young officer who has surprised the hell out of me by the progress he has made with his dog, and I do not for one goddamn second believe he cannot control his dog, and anyone says otherwise better come over here and say it to my face.”
Scott didn’t know what to say. This was as close to a compliment as Leland had come.
Leland let it soak in, then continued.
“When all the back-gettin’ is done, I then ream you. We clear on this principle?”
“Yes, sir. We’re clear.”
“Fact is, this dog is not part of my K-9 platoon until I certify her, which I have not. If she had bitten this fool, and the vic’s money-chiseling lawyer found out YOU—a member of THIS platoon—exposed the public to an uncertified animal, they could and would sue the blue off our asses. I like my blue ass. Don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I’m liking your blue ass just fine.”
“You lock this dog in her crate next time or you leave her with me. We clear?”
“Clear, Sergeant.”
A bead of sweat leaked down the side of Leland’s face. He wiped it slowly away using the hand with the missing fingers, and let the hand linger. Scott sensed Leland did this on purpose.
“Are you a dog man, Officer James?”
“You bet your blue ass.”
“It’s not my blue ass on the line.”
Leland stared into Scott’s eyes a moment longer, then took one step back and looked down at Maggie. She growled, low and dee
p in her big shepherd’s chest.
Leland smiled.
“Good dog. You’re a damned good dog.”
He looked up at Scott again.
“Dogs do what they do to please us or save us. They don’t have anything else. We owe them no less.”
He turned and stalked away.
Scott didn’t breathe until Leland disappeared into the building, then he turned to Budress.
“Thanks, man. You saved me.”
“Maggie saved you. He likes her. Doesn’t mean he won’t get rid of her, but he likes her. You should’ve left her here this morning.”
“I was scared he’d see her limp.”
Budress studied Maggie for a moment.
“She didn’t limp. Not once. Has she been limping at home?”
“Not once.”
Budress glanced up, and Scott could tell Budress knew he was lying.
“Then let’s not press it. Stow the gear. We’re done for today.”
Budress shouted for Downing to come in, and the two senior officers left Scott to clean up. Scott let Maggie off her leash, and was pleased when she stayed beside him. He broke down the screen, rolled it, and collected the four tents with Maggie beside him.
Scott rolled the last tent, and was carrying them toward the kennel when he glanced down and saw Maggie limping. Same as before, her right rear leg dragged half a heartbeat behind the left.
Scott stopped so Maggie would stop, and looked at the kennel. Leland’s window was empty. The door was closed. No one was watching.
Scott put down the tents, clipped Maggie’s lead, and hoisted the tents. He made her walk behind him so he was between Maggie and the building.
No one was inside when he stowed the tents. Budress, Downing, and the others were probably in the offices, or gone. Scott made sure the parking lot was empty before he led her to his car. Her limp had grown more and more obvious.
Scott fired the engine and backed away.
Maggie stepped forward on the console. Her tongue was out, her ears were folded, and she looked like the happiest dog in the world.
Scott laced his fingers in her fur. She looked at him and panted, content.
Scott said, “You bet your blue ass.”
He pulled out of the lot and headed for home.
21.
An overturned big rig on the northbound 5 turned the freeway into a parking lot. Scott worked his way to an exit when they reached North Hollywood, and found a condo complex being framed in Valley Village. Feeding Maggie at construction sites had become their pattern. He watched her carefully when they left the car. Her leg dragged so slightly now, Scott wasn’t sure if she was limping or this was her natural gait, but he was relieved by the improvement.
He bought roast chicken and hot dogs for Maggie, a pork carnitas burrito for himself, and sat with her among snapping nail guns and curious construction workers. Maggie cringed when the first bang surprised her, but Scott decided her startle response was less exaggerated than at the beginning. Once she accepted a piece of hot dog, she focused on Scott and ignored the unpredictable sounds.
They ate and socialized with the construction crew for almost an hour. Scott saved the remains of his baloney stash for a treat, and gave it to her when they returned to the car. By then, her limp was gone.
Twenty minutes later, the sun was behind trees and the sky was purple when Scott parked in MaryTru Earle’s front yard. Her shades were down as always, keeping her safe from the outside world.
Scott took Maggie for a short walk to do her business, then through the gate, and along the side of Mrs. Earle’s house toward his guest house. The light was gloomy fading to dark, and Mrs. Earle’s television provided its usual sound track. Scott had made this same walk hundreds of times, and this time was no different until Maggie stopped. There was no mistaking her expression. She lowered her head, spiked her ears, and stared into the darkness. Her nostrils flickered as she sampled the air.
Scott looked from Maggie to the guest house to the surrounding shrubs and fruit trees.
“Really?”
The light above his side door had been out for months. The drapes covering the French doors were partially open as he had left them, and the kitchen lights were on. He saw Maggie’s crate, the dining table, and part of the kitchen. His guest house looked fine, and nothing appeared different. Scott had never felt unsafe in this neighborhood, but he trusted his dog, and Maggie clearly whiffed something she didn’t like. Scott wondered if a cat or a raccoon was in the bushes.
“What do you smell?”
He realized after the fact he had whispered.
Scott considered letting her off the leash, but thought better of it. He didn’t want an eighty-five-pound attack dog blindsiding a cat or a kid in the agapanthus. He gave her six feet of lead instead.
“’kay, baby, let’s see what you have.”
Maggie hoovered up ground scent as she pulled him forward. She led him directly to the side door, then to the French doors. She returned to the side door, sniffed hard at the lock, then once more rounded the guest house to the French doors, where she pawed at the glass.
Scott opened the French doors, but did not enter. He listened for a moment, heard nothing, then unclipped Maggie and spoke in a loud, clear voice.
“Police. I’m going to release this German shepherd. Speak up, or this dog will rip you open.”
No one answered.
Scott released her.
Maggie did not charge inside, so Scott knew if anyone had been in his home, they were now gone.
Instead, Maggie quickly circled the living room, cruised through the kitchen, then trotted into the bedroom and returned. She crisscrossed the living room, checked her crate and the table and the couch, and again disappeared into the bedroom. When she returned, her anxiety was gone. She wagged her tail, went into the kitchen, and Scott heard her drinking. He stepped inside, and pulled the door closed.
“My turn.”
Scott walked through the guest house. He checked the windows and doors first, and found them secure. None were broken or jimmied. His computer, printer, and papers on the table were fine, as were his TV equipment and cordless phone. Its red message light was blinking. The papers on the floor by his couch and the maps and diagrams pinned to his wall seemed undisturbed. His checkbook, his dad’s old watch, and the three hundred in cash he kept in an envelope under the clock radio beside his bed were untouched. His gun cleaning kit, two boxes of ammo, and an old .32 snub-nose were still in the LAPD gym bag stowed in his closet. His anxiety meds and pain pills were in their usual places on the bathroom counter.
Scott returned to the living room. Maggie was on the floor beside her crate. She rolled onto her side when she saw him, and lifted her hind leg. Scott smiled.
“Good girl.”
Everything appeared normal, but Scott trusted Maggie’s nose, and Maggie had smelled something. Mrs. Earle had a key, and would open the guest house for repairmen and the pest service that sprayed for ants. She always warned Scott in advance, but she might have forgotten.
“I’ll be right back.”
Mrs. Earle answered the door wearing a sweatshirt, shorts, and fluffy pink slippers. The roar of the television was behind her.
“Hey, Mrs. Earle. Did you let anyone in the guest house today?”
She glanced past Scott as if she expected to see the guest house in ruins.
“I didn’t let anyone in. You know I always tell you.”
“I know, but Maggie smelled something that kinda upset her. I thought maybe you let the plumber or pest people in.”
She looked past him again.
“Are you having a problem with that toilet again?”
“No, ma’am. That was just an example.”
“Well, I didn’t let anyone
in. I hope you weren’t robbed.”
“It’s just the way Maggie acted. The windows and doors look okay, so I thought you might have opened the door. She smelled something new. She doesn’t like new smells.”
Mrs. Earle frowned past him again.
“I hope she didn’t smell a rat. You might have a rat in there. I hear them in these trees at night, eating all my fruit. Those nasty things can chew right through a wall.”
Scott glanced at the guest house.
Mrs. Earle said, “If you hear it or see poop, you let me know. I’ll have the pest people come out.”
Scott wondered if she was right, but wasn’t convinced.
“I will. Thanks, Mrs. Earle.”
“Don’t let her pee-pee on the grass. These girl dogs kill a lawn faster than gasoline.”
“Yes, ma’am. I know.”
Scott went back to the guest house. He locked the French doors, and drew the curtains. Maggie was on her side in front of her crate, halfway to dreamland.
“She thinks we have rats.”
Maggie’s tail thumped the floor. Thump.
Scott went to his phone, and found a message from Joyce Cowly.
“Scott, Joyce Cowly. I pulled the DVDs. No rush. You can come see them anytime, just call first to make sure one of us is here.”
Scott put down the phone.
“Thanks, Cowly.”
Scott grabbed a Corona from the fridge, drank some, then took off his uniform. He showered, and pulled on a T-shirt and shorts. He finished the first beer, grabbed a second, and brought it to the pictures on his wall.
He touched Stephanie.
“Still here.”
Scott took his beer to the couch. Maggie pushed herself up, gimped over as if she was a hundred years old, and lay on her side by his feet. Her body shuddered when she sighed.
Scott eased onto the floor beside her. He sat with his legs straight out because crossing them hurt. He rested his hand on her side. Maggie’s tail thumped the floor. Thump thump thump.
Scott said, “Man, we’re a pair, aren’t we?”
Thump thump.
“Maybe a doctor can help you. They shot me up with cortisone. It hurt, but it works.”
Thump thump thump.
