Suspect

by Robert Crais

  Scott thought, I’m coming. He ran toward the voice.

  The hall opened into a large, barren utility room with dirty windows. Ian Mills was on the far side of the room, waving a gun. George Evers was stumbling sideways along the wall with Maggie hanging from his arm. Evers was big, a big strong man with a big belly, maybe even bigger than Scott remembered, but he couldn’t escape her. Then Scott saw his pistol, and the pistol swung toward Maggie.

  The muzzle kissed her shoulder.

  A voice in Scott’s head screamed, or maybe the voice was his own, or maybe Stephanie’s.

  I won’t leave you.

  I’ll protect you.

  A man does not let his partner die.

  Scott slammed into the gun, and felt it go off. He did not feel the bullet, or his ribs break when the bullet punched through him. He felt only the pressure of hot gas blow into his skin.

  Scott shot George Evers as he fell. He saw Evers wince, and clutch at his side. Scott bounced on the concrete floor as Evers stumbled sideways. The I-Man was in the shadows, but was swept by light when an outside door opened. Joyce Cowly may have come in, but Scott was not sure. Maggie stood over him, and begged him not to die.

  He said, “You’re a good girl, baby. The best dog ever.”

  She was the last thing he saw as the world faded to black.

  Joyce Cowly

  The gunshots were loud, so loud Cowly knew they were on the other side of the door. She pushed into the warehouse, and found Ian Mills in front of her. Scott was on the floor, Evers was down on a knee, and the dog was going crazy.

  Mills turned at the sound of the door, and looked surprised to see her. He was holding a gun, but it was pointed the wrong way.

  Cowly swung hard, and split his forehead with the lug wrench. He staggered sideways and dropped the gun. Cowly hit him again, above the right ear, and this time he fell. She scooped up his gun, checked him for other weapons, and scored his cell phone.

  The dog stood over Scott, barking and snapping in a frenzy as Evers crabbed past, trying to reach the far door.

  Cowly pointed her gun at him, but the damned dog was in the way.

  “Evers! Put it down. Lower it, man. You’re done.”

  “Fuck you.”

  The dog was acting like she wanted to gut Evers, but she wouldn’t leave Scott to do it.

  “You’re shot. I’ll get an ambulance.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Evers fired a single wide shot and scrambled into the warehouse.

  Cowly called the Central Station’s emergency number, recited her name and badge number, told them she had an officer down, and requested assistance.

  She checked Mills again, then ran to help Scott, but the dog lunged at her and stopped Cowly cold.

  Maggie’s eyes were crazy and wild. She barked and snarled, showing her fangs, but Scott lay in a pool of blood, and the red pool was growing.

  “Maggie? You know me. That’s a good girl, Maggie. He’s bleeding to death. Let me help him.”

  Cowly edged closer, but Maggie lunged again. She ripped Cowly’s sleeve, and once more stood over Scott. Her paws were wet with his blood.

  Cowly gripped the gun, and felt her eyes fill.

  “You gotta move, dog. He’s going to die if you don’t move.”

  The dog kept barking, snarling, snapping. She was wild with an insane fury.

  Cowly checked the pistol. She made sure the safety was off as tears spilled from her eyes.

  “Don’t make me do this, dog, okay? Please don’t.”

  The dog didn’t move. She wouldn’t get off him. She wouldn’t leave.

  “Dog, please. He’s dying.”

  Maggie lunged at her again.

  Cowly aimed, crying harder, but that’s when Scott raised a hand.

  Scott James

  Scott was floating in darkness when he heard her call.

  Scotty, come back.

  Don’t leave me, Scotty.

  Scott drifted toward her voice.

  I won’t leave you.

  I never left.

  I won’t leave you now.

  He drifted closer, and the darkness grew light.

  The voice became barking.

  Scott opened his eyes, and reached up.

  Maggie

  Maggie attacked the intruder with primal ferocity, and fought to bring him down. Her fangs had been designed for this. They were long, sharp, and curved inward. They sank deep, and when he tried to pull away, his own struggles forced them deeper, making his escape even less likely. Her fangs, as was her bone-crushing jaw, were gifts from her wild ancestors before her kind were tamed. The tools for killing were in her DNA.

  Scott safe.

  Pack safe.

  She had ranged ahead to protect him, but now her heart soared when Scott entered the room.

  They were pack.

  A pack of two, they were one.

  Scott attacked, fighting beside her and for her, fighting as pack, and Maggie’s soaring heart filled with bliss.

  A loud, sharp crack ended it.

  Scott fell, and his changing scents confused her. His pain and fear washed through her as if they were her own. The smell of his blood filled her with fire.

  Alpha hurt.

  Alpha dying.

  Maggie’s world shrank to Scott.

  Protect. Protect and defend.

  Maggie released the intruder, and turned to Scott. She frantically licked his face, whined, cried, and snarled her rage at the intruder as he crawled past them. She stood over Scott, and snapped her jaws as a warning.

  Protect.

  Guard.

  The intruder ran away, but the woman approached. Maggie knew her, but the woman was not pack.

  Maggie snarled, warning the woman. She barked and snapped. Maggie slashed the woman’s arm and held her at bay. Then she felt Scott’s calming touch.

  Maggie’s heart leaped with happiness. She licked his face, healing him with her heart, as his heart now healed her.

  Scott opened his eyes.

  “Maggie.”

  She was instantly alert.

  Maggie looked into his eyes, watching, waiting, wanting his command.

  Scott glanced toward the big room beyond the door.

  “Get’m.”

  Maggie leaped over Scott without hesitation and sprinted after the intruder. His fresh blood scent was easy to follow.

  She powered up the scent cone, stretching and pulling, and closed on him in seconds. She flashed through the warehouse, outside into the sun, and saw the man who hurt Scott stumbling toward a car.

  Maggie ran harder, joy in her heart, for this was what Scott wanted.

  She will get’m.

  The man saw her coming, and raised a gun. Maggie knew this was an act of aggression, but this was all she understood. His aggression fueled her rage, and darkened her purpose.

  She stared at his throat.

  She will get’m.

  Scott safe.

  Pack safe.

  Maggie launched herself into the air, baring her fangs, jaws open wide, her heart filled with a terrible, perfect bliss.

  She saw the flash.

  44.

  ELEVEN HOURS LATER

  Keck/USC Hospital

  Emma Wilson, ICU/Recovery Nurse

  Three female nurses and two female surgeons told her the waiting room was filled with hunky young cops. Emma was dying to see, even though they also warned her about the nasty old Sergeant who scowled and shouted. He’ll be on you like an attack dog, they told her.

  Emma was curious about him most of all, and she wasn’t afraid. She had been a head floor nurse for almost twenty years, and damn few doctors had the
balls to stand up to her.

  She put away Officer James’ chart, told her staff she would be back in a minute, and pushed through the double doors into the hall.

  Emma Wilson had seen this kind of thing before when officers were brought in, but the sight always moved her.

  Dark blue uniforms spilled from the waiting room, and crowded the hall. Male officers, female officers, officers in civilian clothes with their badges clipped to their belts.

  “What in hell is going on in there?”

  His voice cut through the hall, and every officer turned.

  Emma wheeled around, and thought, yep, you’re him.

  A tall thin uniformed Sergeant pushed through the crowd. Bald on top, hair short and gray on the sides, and the nastiest scowl she had ever seen.

  Emma held up a hand, motioning for him to stop, but he stalked right up to her until his chest touched her hand. He scowled down his nose.

  “I am Sergeant Dominick Leland, and Officer James is mine. How is my officer doing?”

  Emma stared up at him, and lowered her voice.

  “Take one step back.”

  “Goddamnit, if I have to go back there to—”

  “One. Step. Back.”

  His eyes bulged so wide she thought they would pop from his head.

  “Please.”

  Leland stepped back.

  “The surgeon will be out to give you more details, but I can tell you he came through the surgery well. He woke a few minutes ago, but now he’s sleeping again. This is normal.”

  A murmur swept through the officers filling the hall.

  Leland said, “He’s okay?”

  “The surgeon will answer your questions, but, yes, he appears to be doing fine.”

  The fierce scowl softened and the Sergeant sagged with relief. Emma thought he seemed older, and tired, and not nearly so fearsome.

  “All right then. Thank you—”

  He glanced at her name tag.

  “Nurse Wilson. Thank you for helping him.”

  “Is Maggie here?”

  Leland stood taller, and the edge returned to his eyes.

  “Officer James is in my K-9 Platoon. Maggie is his police service dog.”

  Emma didn’t expect Maggie to be a dog, but she was touched by the idea, and nodded.

  “When he woke, he asked if Maggie was safe.”

  The Sergeant stared, and seemed unable to speak. His eyes filled, and he blinked hard to fight the tears.

  “He asked after his dog?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. I was with him. He said, ‘Is Maggie safe?’ He didn’t say anything else. What should I tell him when he wakes?”

  Leland wiped his eyes before he answered, and Emma saw two of his fingers were missing.

  “You tell him Maggie is safe. Tell him Sergeant Leland will look after her, and keep her safe until he returns.”

  “I’ll tell him, Sergeant. Now, as I said earlier, the surgeon will be out shortly. All of you rest easy.”

  Emma turned for the double doors, but Leland stopped her.

  “Nurse Wilson, one more thing.”

  When she turned back, Leland’s eyes were filled again.

  “Yes, Sergeant?”

  “Tell him I will continue to pretend I have not seen that dog limp. Please tell him. He will understand.”

  Emma assumed this was a private joke, so she didn’t ask for an explanation.

  “I’ll tell him, Sergeant. I’m sure he will be happy to hear it.”

  Emma Wilson stepped through the double doors, thinking how wrong the others were about the scowling Sergeant. He was a sweetheart, once you got past the fierce scowl, and stood up to him.

  All bark and no bite.

  45.

  Sixteen Weeks Later

  Scott James jogged slowly across the field at the K-9 training facility. His side hurt more now, after the second shooting, than it had after the first. A full bottle of painkillers was back at his guest house. He told himself he should stop being stubborn and take them, but he didn’t. Being stubborn was good. He was stubborn about being stubborn.

  Dominick Leland scowled as Scott lurched to a stop.

  “I see my dog here is responding to her injections. I have not seen her limp in almost two months.”

  “She’s my dog, not yours.”

  Leland puffed himself up, and swapped a glare for the scowl.

  “The hell you say! Every one of these outstanding animals is my dog, and best you not forget it.”

  Maggie gave him a low, menacing growl.

  Scott touched her ear, and smiled when her tail wagged.

  “Whatever you say, Sergeant.”

  “You may be the toughest, most stubborn sonofabitch I’ve ever met.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  Leland glanced at Maggie.

  “The vet tells me her hearing is better.”

  After the warehouse, Leland and Budress noticed that Maggie didn’t hear so well with her left ear. The vets tested her, looked in her ears, and determined she had suffered a partial hearing loss. Something about nerve trauma, but the loss was temporary. They prescribed drops. One drop in the morning, one every night.

  Leland and Budress decided it happened when she ran down George Evers in the parking lot. He tried to shoot her at point-blank range. He missed, but she was only inches from the gun when he fired. Evers survived, and was currently serving three consecutive life sentences, as were Ian Mills, David Snell, and the fifth member of their crew, Michael Barson. These were the terms of a sentencing agreement they accepted to avoid the needle. Scott was disappointed. He wanted to testify at their trials. Stan Evers died at the warehouse.

  Scott touched Maggie’s head. It was a close call.

  “She hears fine, Sergeant. Comes when I call her.”

  “She gettin’ those drops?”

  “One in the morning, one at night. We never miss.”

  Leland grunted approvingly.

  “As it should be. Now, they tell me you are still refusing to accept a medical retirement.”

  “Yes, sir. That would be true.”

  “Good. You stay stubborn and tough, Officer James, and I will be with you every step of the way. I will back you one hundred percent.”

  “Gettin’ my back?”

  “If you choose to see it that way. And when all the back-gettin’ is done, and you can move faster than an old man like me, you and this beautiful dog will still be here. You are a dog man. This is where you belong.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. Maggie thanks you, too.”

  “No thanks are necessary, son.”

  Scott offered his hand, and Leland shook.

  Maggie made the growl again, and Leland broke into a wide, beaming smile.

  “Would you look at yourself, growling like that? You lived in my house for damn near two months, and you were my lapdog! Now you are back with our friend here, and you got nothin’ but growls!”

  Maggie growled again.

  Leland burst into a great booming laugh, and headed back to his office.

  “My God, I love these dogs. I do so love these fine animals.”

  “Sergeant—”

  Leland kept walking.

  “Thanks for pretending. And everything else.”

  Leland raised a hand, and called over his shoulder.

  “No thanks are necessary.”

  Scott watched him walk away, and bent to stroke Maggie’s head. Bending hurt, but Scott didn’t mind. The hurt was part of the healing.

  “Want to jog a little more?”

  Maggie wagged her tail.

  Scott set off at a slow lurch. He jogged so slowly, Maggie kept up fine by walking.


  “You like Joyce?”

  Maggie wagged her tail.

  “Me, too, but I want you to remember, you’re my best girl. You always will be.”

  Scott smiled when she nuzzled his hand.

  They were pack, and both of them knew it.

  Of Note

  Readers knowledgeable about the LAPD K-9 Platoon or PTSD will note several differences between the facts of these subjects and their portrayal in this novel. These differences are not mistakes of research. They are choices made to increase drama or facilitate the telling of this story.

  Post-traumatic stress disorder in humans and canines is real. Symptoms such as exaggerated startle response are difficult to treat, and the time-line for improvement is longer than is presented here.

  LAPD K-9 Platoon is an elite organization of superbly trained individuals and police service dogs. My thanks to Lt. Gerardo Lopez, Officer in Charge, for his help and cooperation. The training time needed for Scott to become a certified K-9 dog handler was compressed for this story. The actual LAPD training facility, also known as “the K-9 field” or “the mesa,” is located in Elysian Park near the Police Academy. The facility depicted in this novel does not exist. Rules governing canine care, feeding, and housing are stated in the LAPD’s K-9 Platoon Procedures and Guidelines Handbook. The approved K-9 diet does not include baloney. Additional thanks to Deputy Chief Michael Downing and Capt. John Incontro, Commanding Officer of Metro Division.

  Acknowledgments and thanks once again go to Meredith Dros and her production team, Linda Rosenberg (Director of Copyediting) and Rob Sternitzky (proofreader), whose efforts at the wire are heroic. Copy editor Patricia Crais has the most difficult c/e job in publishing, with the lost sleep to prove it. Neil Nyren and Ivan Held could not have been more supportive; they almost certainly believe I am disordered. Not without reason. Aaron Priest remains my hero. Thanks go to Diane Barshop for sharing her knowledge about German shepherds. Also to Joanie Fryman. Kate Stark, Michael Barson, and Kim Dower—thanks for believing.

  Any and all mistakes in this book are my responsibility.

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  For a complete list of this author’s books click here or visit www.penguin.com/craischecklist