by Tracy Weber
Bella clearly needed an advocate. I hesitated, but just for a second.
“Let me take her. I promised George that if anything ever happened to him, I’d find Bella a new home.” I lied. George and I never talked about anything of the sort. Like most people, George simply assumed he’d outlive his dog.
Martinez looked at Bella, who was still snarling and showing her teeth. “Sorry, I can’t take the risk.”
Out of desperation, I named the one person I thought she’d trust. “Call Detective O’Connell at the West precinct. He was my father’s partner, and he’ll vouch for me.” I pulled out my phone. “He’s probably off duty now, but I have his home number in my cell.” Martinez looked doubtful, but she gave the number to a uniformed officer, who walked away to make the call. Sensing that the drama was over, the other officers left to continue processing the crime scene. Bella finally stopped barking and sat in her cage, watching me intently.
“Your father’s a cop?” Martinez asked.
“Was. He died two years ago.”
“I’m sorry. Was he young?”
The answer was yes. He was only fifty-three the day he died. But I couldn’t talk about my father’s death. Not with a stranger. Especially not so soon after finding my friend’s body. I changed the subject instead.
“Hey, look. That’s Bella’s leash over there. If you open her cage, I swear I won’t mess anything up. I’ll carefully put on her leash and take her home. I’ll come right to the station if you have more questions, but please let me leave. I need to go home, shower off this horrible night, and collapse into bed.”
The officer came back wearing a lopsided grin. “O’Connell vouches for her. Says she’s a pain in the ass but otherwise harmless.”
Bella continued to sit still, now quiet and apparently calm.
“You’ll come right to the station if we call?” Martinez asked.
“Yes, immediately. I promise.”
Martinez looked to the side for a moment, thinking. “I’m probably going to get my ass chewed for this, but OK. You’ve had a tough night. No need for me to make it any tougher. Go ahead home and take the dog with you; she’s your responsibility now.” She gave me a stern look. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Martinez opened the crate. I hooked on Bella’s leash and coaxed her out. Bella seemed stressed and unsure, but she came out quietly, gently swishing her tail back and forth.
So far, so good.
At least until Detective Henderson walked around the corner. One look at him and Bella rose up like a hound from Hell. Her hair stood on end and foam sprayed in all directions, as she lunged, barked, and viciously snapped her teeth. I could barely hold onto the leash as she pulled me to the ground. One more second and I’d have flown through the air like a kite behind her.
Martinez grabbed the leash. Henderson took three quick steps back and drew his weapon.
Adrenaline surged through my body. “Don’t shoot her!” I begged. I couldn’t bear the thought of another death. “I don’t know why she’s doing this. She must be terrified!”
“Get that dog under control or I will shoot it!” he yelled.
Martinez and I dragged Bella around the corner. Once Henderson was out of sight, Bella stopped lunging. Although she appeared to calm down, her facial expression belied her true feelings. She stared at the building with laser-like focus, as if daring him to make another appearance.
Martinez frowned. “Are you sure you want to take that animal home with you?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted. I slowed my breath, trying to calm my fractured nerves. “But honestly, I’ve never seen her do anything like that before. And George wouldn’t want Bella to go to the pound. She won’t last a day there. I’d rather keep her with me for now.”
I looked at Martinez with what I hoped was an expression of steady confidence. “Who knows? Maybe George’s family will take her. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“It’s your funeral,” Martinez said shaking her head. “But fair warning. Don’t let her go after an officer again. A cop won’t hesitate to shoot a dog that attacks him or another person. We protect human life over animal. Every time.”
seven
“Hey, back there, keep it down,” I muttered to the snoring monster in my back seat. Bella wasted no time in claiming my ancient Honda Civic as her own. As soon as I opened the door, she crawled behind the driver’s seat, curled up, and immediately fell asleep for the three-mile drive southwest to my home in Ballard. She seemed surprisingly comfortable. Perhaps riding the bus taught her what to expect from a moving vehicle. Perhaps the small, dark space reminded her of her crate. Or perhaps she simply passed out, exhausted from the trauma of her evening.
I should be so lucky.
As we neared our destination, I worried about how the neighbors would react to my new roommate. They had a hard enough time adjusting when I moved back in. They liked me well enough, but a yoga teacher was a poor substitute for a twenty-five-year veteran of the police force. Maybe if I told them Bella was a police dog and signed her up as block watch captain, they’d be more welcoming.
Dad and I moved into the 1920s bungalow back when Ballard was best known as a sleepy Scandinavian fishing village. In the last decade, it had been radically transformed. Most of the small, single-family homes had been torn down, and the Nordic-themed businesses had relocated, along with most of the area’s Scandinavian residents. Today, the Ballard neighborhood was an ethnically diverse Mecca of multi-story apartment buildings, trendy new restaurants, live music venues, and enough microbreweries that it was now known as a music and beer destination.
When Dad first died and left me his house, I wasn’t sure I could stand to live there—too many memories, you know? I considered selling it for about a minute, but the thought of my childhood home being torn down and replaced by some fancy new McMansion quickly squelched that idea. So I made it my own by painting the exterior a soft shade of violet and filling the flowerbeds with pink roses, multi-colored tulips, and bright yellow sunflowers.
The two-story, 1,400-square-foot house wasn’t much by most people’s standards, but I’d grown to adore it. Probably because it safeguarded the very memories I’d been afraid to confront. The top level contained the master bedroom and a spa-like bathroom, complete with a jetted bathtub—the one luxury Dad had permitted himself. The main floor was made up of the requisite kitchen, living room area, and a half-bathroom suitable for guests. Just off the kitchen sat my childhood bedroom, now a combination office and storage space.
I didn’t have much of a yard, but my tiny piece of grass was enough for what Bella needed right then. Standing next to her and holding the leash, I deeply regretted not getting the yard fenced. Some things should be done in private. One look at her output and I realized I’d need to buy some dog waste bags. Big ones.
That duty completed, I took her into the house and unhooked her leash. She ran from room to room, frantically sniffing, as if expecting an evil intruder around every corner. Her only pit stop was a brief visit to the guest bathroom, where she drank her weight in water—from the commode.
Satisfied we were alone, she sat in the middle of the kitchen floor and stared at me with big brown wolf-like eyes.
“Bark!”
“What do you want now?”
She barked again.
This wasn’t one of Bella’s typical vocalizations. It didn’t sound particularly angry, or even excited. This single, distinctive, sharp bark said, “I demand something. Now!”
I had no idea what she wanted. I ignored her and tiredly sorted through the day’s assortment of bills and junk mail.
Bella’s bark grew louder and more insistent.
“Quiet! You’ll wake up the neighbors!”
She walked closer and barked directly in my ear. I could only assume she thought I was deaf.
“I don’t know what y
ou want!”
She continued her loud conversation.
“Oh, for God’s sake, shut up and let me think!” I slumped in a chair and rubbed my aching temples, unsure which was worse—my pounding head or my growling stomach. It was well after midnight, and I hadn’t eaten since lunch.
I sat up straight. “Hey, wait a minute. Are you hungry?”
Bella answered with another series of staccato barks.
We had a problem. I had no idea when George had fed Bella last, or even what she ate, other than leftover ham sandwiches. I vaguely remembered something about her illness that made food problematic, but I was too brain-dead to recall the specifics. And it was far too late to visit a pet store.
I went to the fridge instead, Bella tagging close behind. “Let’s see what I’ve got: lettuce, tofu, a couple of apples, milk …”
I took a whiff and almost gagged again. Straight into the trash.
“Forget the milk. Hummus, carrot cake …”
Bella leaned in closer and started drooling. I snatched the tasty morsel away before she had a chance to grab it. “Absolutely not. The carrot cake’s mine. Salad mix, bagels …”
Bella groaned. A vegetarian household obviously wasn’t conducive to late-night doggie dining.
I looked at her and shrugged. “Sorry, girl. I don’t have anything for you.”
Bella showed her frustration with three more ear-splitting barks.
“I get it! Shut up. I’m thinking.”
I finally remembered Ballard’s twenty-four-hour Super Mart. I knew grocery store kibble was frowned upon in most doggy circles, but these were desperate times.
_____
Twenty minutes and a grocery store run later, Bella had mercifully stopped barking. She was too busy wolfing down dog food from my favorite crystal serving bowl. I added food and water bowls to my shopping list.
I looked at the clock and almost cried. It was one-thirty, and my early morning class started at six. I’d never felt so bone-weary in my life. My head still throbbed, and my stomach ached from hunger. But all I could think about was sleep—deep, dreamless sleep. “Come on, Bella. It’s bedtime.” I showed her the bedroom. She hopped on the bed and flopped down, lying squarely on my pillow.
“Sorry, pooch. This is where I draw the line. I sleep on the bed. You sleep on the floor.”
I grabbed a blanket from the closet, laid it on the floor and pointed to it. “For you.” It took some convincing, but Bella finally relented. I collapsed on the bed and closed my eyes.
Huge mistake.
Images of George’s body, sounds of sirens, the smell of blood, and the full knowledge of the evening’s horror invaded every crevice of my being.
Bella paced the room, panting and whining. I tried to coax myself to sleep with “Kate’s Sleeping Pill,” my favorite breath practice for insomnia. No good. The horrible memories refused to leave. But at least now the room was quiet. At least that infernal whining had stopped.
My mind froze. My eyes flew open. Why had the whining stopped?
I rolled over and locked eyes with Bella. Her accusing glare scolded me. We stared each other down for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, I realized what was bothering her. Bella was used to sleeping on the ground, but not alone. She and George had lain next to each other every night for as long as she could remember. Changing that now seemed cruel.
“OK, you win. Come on up, but only for tonight.” I slapped the bed beside me.
Bella hopped up, turned a quick circle, and sank down next to me with a heavy sigh. Her brow furrowed, her ears drooped, and her head hung low. I could tell she knew something had changed. She didn’t know what or why, but she knew it was bad. Frighteningly bad. Life-changingly bad.
I suspected Bella couldn’t understand me, but she deserved an explanation nonetheless. So I told her that George was gone, but that he had loved her more than anything. I also promised her that, although I couldn’t keep her, I would make sure she was safe until I found someone who could.
I owed that to George.
You see, I firmly believed that George’s death was at least partially my fault. That if I had listened more and judged less, I might have prevented this awful night. I deeply regretted my stubbornness in not apologizing. I regretted suggesting he euthanize Bella. I even regretted not buying that damned paper. No one else would have blamed me for what happened, but I definitely blamed myself.
As I finished the story, Bella rested her chin on my belly, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. The warmth of her body on mine felt oddly comforting, and I finally relaxed enough to do what I’d needed to do for hours. I broke down sobbing as I held Bella and allowed her rhythmic breathing to rock us both to sleep.
_____
When I arrived at the studio the next morning, the area seemed unfathomably normal—as if the prior evening’s nightmare had never occurred. I’m not sure what I expected. News helicopters buzzing overhead, vying for the opportunity to video an empty lot? Armed policemen standing guard over parking space 137? At least some black and yellow crime scene tape warning people to stay away from the now desecrated area.
I yearned for a physical marker—an acknowledgment of what had been lost. But no telltale chalk drawing outlined the place where George’s body had lain. The only echo of the prior night’s evil was a subtle red tinge, left by the blood from his shattered brow.
Thankfully, my students didn’t yet know about the murder; I could never have faced retelling the story so soon. But I knew my reprieve of silence would be short. The death of a homeless man might not make the early morning headlines, but it would be all over the local news blogs by noon.
I needed a better story than the one I had now, both for my business’s sake and my own. “Drunk Dies in Drug Deal Gone Bad at Yoga Studio” wasn’t exactly the free publicity I’d been hoping for. And no matter what the police thought, I didn’t buy their theory. George had not died in some drunken altercation. I had to find out what really happened last night, not just for George, but also for myself. Otherwise, I’d never feel safe closing up the studio again.
Detective Martinez had been kind, but Henderson was obviously in charge, and I’d freeze to death in Hell before I got more information out of him. Luckily, I had another source—if he was still speaking to me. I hadn’t been a very good friend to John O’Connell since my father’s death. In fact, I’d been more like a stranger. But if I thought about that, I’d chicken out for sure. So I pushed all non-yoga thoughts to the side and tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on teaching my class.
I barely remember the seventy-five minutes of mindless blather that tumbled out of my mouth, but suffice it to say that the session wasn’t my best effort. I fidgeted through the beginning breath work; I said left when I meant right and fingers when I meant toes; I impatiently drummed my fingers against the hardwood floor during Savasana. And although I don’t know for certain, I’m pretty sure that I made the class do Warrior I three times on the same side. My students didn’t comment on my lack of verbal acuity, but they popped up like Pop-Tarts at the end of class and tried not to make eye contact as they said their goodbyes. Part of me felt bad about their awful experience, but most of me was simply relieved the ordeal was over.
As soon as the last student grabbed her yoga mat and scurried out the door, I joined the monster-dog snoozing in my car and drove south on I-5. Destination: the Seattle Police Department’s West Precinct. I pulled up to a shady spot in front of the familiar cement building, placed my hand on the car door handle—and froze, seemingly super-glued in place.
“I don’t know, Bella. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”
I hadn’t seen John in months, and I hadn’t visited the West Precinct in even longer. Being at the station reminded me too much of Dad. I wasn’t proud of my actions, but I had to move on with my life, and avoiding painful reminders seemed like the best s
trategy. But that strategy wouldn’t work today. Today I needed information.
I sat in the car for what felt like a century, trying to gather enough courage to enter the building. I’m still not sure how I convinced myself to actually walk through the front door, but seeing John’s beaming face was worth every step.
“Katydid! I haven’t seen you in forever!” He crushed me in one of his famous bear hugs. “Where have you been?”
“John, I go by Kate now. You know I always hated that nickname.”
“Nonsense. You’ll always be little Katydid to me.” He made a circling motion with his index finger. “Now, let me take a look at you.”
I reached my arms out to the side and spun around for him, just like I did as a little girl.
“Beautiful as always,” he said, smiling. He pointed to the elevator. “Now let’s go talk.”
I looked at the floor as the elevator doors closed behind us. “I’m sorry I didn’t return your calls, it’s just—”
John held up his palm. “You don’t have to say anything, Katydid.” I heard a catch in his voice. “Believe me, I know. I miss him, too.” We rode the rest of the way to the tenth floor in silence.
When we arrived at his desk, John got right to business. “That was some phone call I got last night. How’d you go and get mixed up in a murder?”
“I’m not mixed up in it; I just found the body. But thanks for vouching for me. I would have gone crazy if they hadn’t let me go home. They kept asking the same questions over and over again, but I didn’t have any answers. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That can happen, Katydid, that can happen.” He playfully nudged me on the shoulder. “Hey, I hear you adopted the vic’s vicious dog. Funny, you always struck me as one of those crazy cat ladies.”
“Why does everyone say that? It’s not funny.” I gave him a dirty look, and he was smart enough to look chagrined. “Besides, I’m not keeping the dog. I just didn’t want her to end up in the pound. That’s why I’m here, though. I didn’t get off to a great start with the detective in charge, and I need your help.”
