by Betina Krahn
“It’s terrible,” the deputy said. “I never imagined... Right under our noses...”
“Any idea how many dogs we’re talking about?” Nick turned his face into the humid breeze to avoid the smell of sickness.
“I heard them say more than sixty,” Barney said, wincing at the taste in his mouth. He spit into the bushes. “Didn’t stick around after that to hear more.”
“Well, we need to look around, maybe take a few pictures.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the barn and sheds, and braced himself. “We ought to find out the extent of the operation. The shape the old woman was in... I can’t believe she could keep track of this many animals, much less feed or try to sell them. And who would buy them—so filthy and unhealthy?” He gave Barney a thump on the shoulder. “I want to see if there’s any sign of that nephew of hers.”
Barney grabbed his camera from a nearby stump, and they walked the perimeter. The puppy operation didn’t seem to cover a large acreage. All around it, native trees and palmettos grew in tangled masses of shrunken, moss-laden branches. They swatted at mosquitos disturbed by their movement along what appeared to be a path running by the line of rotting fence posts and rusty wire.
At one of the corners of the property, they spotted what seemed to be another path heading back through the trees and undergrowth, beyond the fence line. Trampled vegetation, mostly. “Hard to say if it’s related. Take a shot of it and let’s finish the perimeter first,” Nick advised.
Barney took a photo for future reference, and they continued fighting their way along the path. There was something oppressive in the air—a heavy, damp scent of decay that probably came from some swampy areas they passed, repugnant enough to make them want to hurry this reconnaissance along.
At the far corner, they were stopped by the sight of animal bones in a clear space on the far side of the fence. The bones seemed fairly new but had been picked clean. Nick strained through the fence to retrieve a skull while Barney worked to keep his stomach in place.
“You smell that?” Barney caught a scent on the air, grimaced and jerked his chin back.
“A dog,” Nick said, head down, absorbed in examining the skull. “But a bigger dog. Not like any of the little guys they’re rescuing. Look how broad the head was.” He recalled what Perez and Harlow had said about finding carcasses dumped beside a road. “There could be a connection between this place and the dogfighting ring.”
“Anybody who would keep dogs like that,” Barney choked out, going a little green, “wouldn’t blink at making them fight.” He swayed slightly and grabbed his stomach.
After Barney was sick again, Nick steered him down the path, away from the bones and whatever had unsettled his stomach again. While the deputy rested, propped against a tree, Nick took the camera to get photos of the remains. He caught some of the same scent that had sickened Barney. God, it was terrible—revolting—then the air lifted and it faded. When he returned, he had to sit a few minutes to let his own stomach settle.
“It’s not just you, buddy. There’s something bad out there,” he said, staring off into the mass of vegetation.
He’d heard terrible stories from veteran troopers who had been in the patrol for years. Were the fight operators just taking advantage of the old woman’s dementia to use her land? Or did somebody associated with this puppy mill participate in the fighting operation?
“Wish I had some VapoRub,” he muttered, covering his nose. “I have a feeling I’ll be smelling this place for weeks.”
“I’ve got some in my cruiser,” Barney said with a wan smile. “Out on these backwoods roads, you never know when you’ll come across a nasty smell and I—I kind of have a touchy stomach.”
They finished their perimeter search near the house, applied VapoRub, then took flashlights and pry bars with them to investigate some of the padlocked doors on the ramshackle sheds. Inside, they found chains, crates for transporting dogs, crude spiked collars of various sizes, and dog-sized harnesses and cruel-looking muzzles. It was hard to believe the old lady might have had a use for such things in a puppy breeding operation.
“We need to get some evidence guys out here,” Nick said as they stood looking at the house, remembering the smell and dreading entering. “Looks to me like this whole place is a crime scene.” Barney nodded, and they headed for their cruisers.
Nick tried not to stare at the dogs in the pens as he passed. But even a cursory glance showed all were malnourished, and some were covered with scratches and unhealed sores. They barked and snapped at each other as they crowded the sides of the pen whenever a human came close. Humans approaching meant food, and they had to compete for whatever meager fare was provided. He halted after he passed by one pen, closed his eyes and tamped down harrowing memories and fierce emotions that threatened to disable him.
* * *
KATE WAS SWAMPED. Triaging such a large group of animals was like that. Able to be rehabilitated or permanently disabled? Contagious or noncommunicable? Savable or too damaged to allow to suffer more? She had seen it all before and worked diligently through the heartrending rubrics created to help make medical decisions possible under extreme circumstances. Then she came to some listless puppies that were barely breathing and probably hadn’t been fed in a while. No mother was tending them; she probably had ended up in the ash-and bone-laden steel drum that served as a crematorium on the property.
“Come on, baby, breathe. Breathe for me,” she murmured as she bent over, her stethoscope on the puppy’s side as she rubbed its flaccid belly, trying to coax a breathing response. “Come on. You can do it...you can do it. You just open your lungs and pull...breathe...and we’ll find you a home and a family...just breathe...please God...just breathe—”
Someone grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up and away from the puppy. She struggled until the sound of her name penetrated the haze in her senses. “Kate! It’s gone—it’s finished. Take a step back.” Her eyes focused on Jess’s anxious face, and she gradually relaxed her grip on the failure that had knocked her sideways.
She looked back at the sad little body that never had a chance to live or grow...much less to know a full belly or the touch of a loving hand.
“Take a break, Katie,” Jess said gently, grasping her shoulders. “You’re getting too close. You have to step back and regain some perspective or you’ll be useless here.” She pushed some of Kate’s hair back out of her eyes. “Go, get something to drink. That’s an order.”
“Okay, okay. You’re right.” She put up her hands in surrender and turned to walk away—only to run into a brick wall that smelled astringent and enfolded her like a cloud. She looked up to find herself in Nick’s arms. He was staring at her with concern and not a little exasperation.
“You’ve been hard at it for hours, Kate,” he said, holding her fully against him. “You need a break, and I know just the place.”
He led her down the driveway to the vans that were open and, for the moment, mostly empty. Sarah and Ben greeted her warmly and showed off their charges: furry little dogs with big, luminous eyes. The sight of those sweet faces and Ben’s and Sarah’s pleasure in giving them comfort was a balm for her bruised heart. She sat down in the open door of a van while Nick got her some hot chocolate and a doughnut to revive her energy. When she finished her snack, he pulled her to her feet and walked her down the road to help clear her head.
“Thank you, Nick.” There was still a tinge of sadness in her smile.
“Somebody has to take care of the doc so she can take care of the patients.”
“What is that smell?” She sniffed his shirt and scrutinized the swipe of gel under his nose.
“We found some bones, and Deputy Krum broke out the VapoRub.” He grinned. “He’s not a bad guy, just a little green. He’s been helping me search the place.”
“Bones? Dead dogs?” She stopped.
“Me? What about you?” She searched him for signs of duress. “Was it really just bones?” She scowled. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. I’m a guy. I can compartmentalize.”
She stared at him, surprised.
“What? My mom still watches Oprah reruns.”
She almost laughed.
“Yeah, you compartmentalize beautifully—until you can’t anymore. Look, I don’t want you to have to deal with more terrible memories.”
“That makes two of us. So how about we make a memory of a different kind?”
He reeled her into his arms and gave her a kiss that smeared stinky salve all over her upper lip. It was such a good kiss that she didn’t even realize what had happened until she pulled back and—“Ewwww!”
He chuckled, and she swiped her upper lip with the back of her hand.
Then he really laughed, and she did, too.
It was a purging kind of laughter they both needed to clear the tension that coiled around their nerves and heightened their emotions. When it passed, she slipped an arm around his waist, and he rested an arm around her shoulders to walk back to the rescue vans. There were more volunteers holding animals now, taking a break from the intense work of clearing the sheds and pens, and everyone grinned at Kate and the big state trooper as they returned to the group.
When Kate went back to work, Jess was ready to take a break herself. Before she left, she stretched and looked around to be certain Nick wasn’t in earshot.
“Holy crap, Everly, that is your trooper? You might have said he’s a dead ringer for Chris Hemsworth with a bad haircut.”
“I like that haircut. It goes with the uniform.” Kate treated herself to a wicked grin. “So, he meets with your approval?”
“Approval? Hell, you’d better scoop him up and marry him, or I’m gonna have to make a run at him myself!”
It was the last lighthearted moment Kate was to have that day.
The next time she saw Nick, he was standing across from one of the filthy pens of barking dogs, his gaze dark and focused on something that clearly disturbed him. She handed off the little female miniature schnauzer she had just cleared for transport, rolled her shoulders and announced she needed a five-minute break.
It was a measure of how absorbed he was that he jumped when she slid her hand into his. “Are you okay?”
“How could anybody be okay with something like this staring you in the face?” He squeezed her hand. “The dogs in that pen weren’t bred here. Shepherds, retrievers and mixes—how did they get here? And there are those guys.” He pointed to several emaciated dogs pacing the fence. They had short hair, square heads, heavy jaws and plenty of aggression. “Fighting dogs.”
Kate thought a moment, uncertain why that would make a difference. “Does it matter? They’re neglected animals that need our help.”
His face was set with concentration, and whatever conclusions he was drawing were locked inside.
No matter how he tried to convince her otherwise, elements of his past were awakened by evidence of the cruelty of this place. He was clearly trying to hold it at bay, but she could feel its intensity rising in him. What if she couldn’t be there to help him through it this time? She glanced back at the exam station where volunteers now sat on the ground waiting with their charges in their laps, cleaning them with water and antiseptic wipes, rocking them and sometimes even singing softly to them. They needed her. She had to go back.
Torn, she pulled him around to face her. “Promise me that you won’t go into the barn without me.” He frowned, and she squeezed his arms as if to force his concession. “Promise me, Nick.”
He nodded, and she rose on tiptoes to give him a soft kiss.
* * *
NICK WATCHED HER go back to work and felt the tie between them—anchored in his heart—stretch across the distance. She wanted to protect him, just like he wanted to protect Ben and Sarah and her. He never wanted Kate to have to experience the kind of horrors he’d seen. But then she had already seen the effects of human cruelty at its most evil and destructive. She was dealing with it right now, working with her whole heart and mind to repair some of that damage. And she still had time and worry left over for him.
He closed his eyes and saw in his mind glimpses of remembered horrors she couldn’t protect him from. All around him were reminders—dogs that were dying even as they were being saved; animals in pain that might never know a healthy day or a loving home.
Desperate to escape those thoughts, he started to walk, heading for the perimeter again. He reached the rear of the outbuildings, where he had found Deputy Krum earlier. He put his hand on a weathered fence post and stared at the ground for a time, trying to clear his thoughts. Something about the grass and weeds near his feet drew his attention. The vegetation had been flattened near the downed fence wires. In fact, there were bare spots in the grass and weeds—long, thin patches—tire tracks. Damn, why hadn’t he seen it earlier?
He followed those tracks until they disappeared beneath vegetation again, but the path of flattened grass was still plain to see. Half a mile later, the tracks emptied into an old orange grove with ranks of gnarled, half-bare trees still standing. Most of the tracks among the trees were overgrown, but some looked fresher, deeper. Suddenly all of the evidence came together. Dog bones, crates, chains, spiked collars, machetes...fighting dogs...stolen dogs used as fighting bait.
He’d been right. He closed his eyes and stood listening, drinking in the sun and the heat and the sense that he was meant to find that back entrance—that he’d found clues to the case the universe had been rubbing his nose in.
Dogs. That was why it had to be dogs...because dogs got his attention like nothing else would, got his emotions involved the way nothing else could. They got him reconnected...to a woman and to himself and to goodness, caring and love the way nothing else had. He opened his eyes on a world of brighter, truer colors and felt his chest expand as he inhaled the grove’s orange blossom–sweetened air. It was a moment of pristine clarity that fit pieces of his shattered inner self back together.
He headed back for his cruiser to call in a report. For the first time in months—years—he felt a sense of rightness inside. He and all of this dog stuff were meant to come together.
He passed the broken fence, the sheds and the half-empty pens before he noticed the relative quiet. Most of the rescue crew had withdrawn to the vehicles to rest, take stock and regroup.
Nance rushed out of the main barn with a bundle in her arms. “Nick! In there!” she called, jerking her head toward the barn. “This one’s giving birth right now and the first pup isn’t coming right. I heard the sounds of puppies trapped in the back. They need help—right away!”
Nick froze, then looked around for Harry Mueller or Linda Hoskins—somebody, anybody he could press into doing what he’d promised Kate he wouldn’t do. This wasn’t his job. He was here to provide legal support for the operation and to discover evidence relating to the dogfighting operation. He was here to help put away criminals whose contempt for life corrupted the most loyal and loving creatures on earth.
He was here to help save...dogs...
Nance hurried to lay her precious burden down on the table before Kate and turned to yell, “In there—hurry!”
Puppies. With a growl of surrender, he turned toward that barn and whatever calamity Nance Everly trusted him to solve. Because that was what he did. He saved people. And dogs. And puppies. He found himself repeating his old lament with a twist. Why did it have to be puppies?
He stepped into the barn and found chaos all around—rows of poorly made wire cages had been stacked on one another. Th
e floors of the cages were bare wire so that whatever feces or urine came from above fell on the poor animals below. The cages were empty now, many pulled down and smashed after the dogs were removed. But the remaining stench and filth were testimony to the conditions the inmates of this hellhole had endured.
Light bulbs hanging from single wires provided some illumination, but as he neared the back, shadows took over and it was hard to see if the lower cages were still occupied. The silence gave him hope they weren’t.
He came to a break in the cages and turned on his flashlight. He’d discovered an equipment area; rusting farm tools and machine parts lay in piles and hung from the walls. He listened, trying to locate the puppies, and heard a faint mewling sound coming from the far side of the room. He searched the area with his light, found nothing, then stepped over and around cast-off tools to listen again.
A chill went through him as he heard the plaintive sounds of a puppy calling in the dark. The sound mingled with memory...yelps of pain and fear he had carried in his head for five years...cries that he could never comfort, caused by pain he could never relieve.
That was not today. He jerked his thoughts back to the present and forced himself to breathe.
These cries he could do something about.
Steeling himself, he headed to the rear and saw light coming through the wall that separated the barn from a lean-to structure propped against it outside. He knelt in the corner and put his eye to the widest crack between the boards.
A small, round body, dark with white feet, lay on a floor of dirt and moldy straw. It raised its head and gave him a glimpse of a little black nose. This was a young one, alone and scared, and its eyes weren’t opened yet. Where was the mother? He stuck his hand through the opening and touched the puppy’s soft coat. But his hand had barely fit through; he could never get the puppy out that way. He needed to widen the opening.
There were tools all around, but not a single saw. He grabbed a pickax and used it as a lever to pry away some of the age-hardened wood, pulling it away in splinters. The sound and vibration caused renewed mewling from several little throats. More than one pup. He made a hole large enough to get the closest one out, feeling the little thing quiver in his hand as he laid it against his chest to warm it.
