“And what? You’re just gonna go all Yosemite Sam and double-barrel their ass? Pop ’em with that gun you keep strapped onto your hip?”
“Don’t discount my dogs, Detective—”
“Jagg.”
“Jagg,” she emphasized with attitude. “My dogs are professionally trained guard dogs. I am a professional. Do you even have the slightest clue what these animals are capable of?”
“Enlighten me, professional one.”
“A trained guard dog can be better than a security system, which, I might add, are often faulty. Don’t get me started on technology.”
I smirked. She continued.
“Over sixty-five percent of convicted felons admit that an intimidating dog would have scared them away, not a security system. If trained well, a good dog alerts when a stranger enters their territory and will attack on command, either giving their owner time to get away, or get in a damn good shot. Your welcoming committee back there was capable of inflicting seventeen hundred and fifty pounds of pressure on your marble-sized scrotum sack.”
I’m really glad that caught on.
She continued, her passion palpable—for the dogs, not my scrotum sack. “The dogs I work with are bred for this, Jagg. It’s literally in their bloodline. Two of my dogs have served as police dogs, and one of them, Max, helped solve a case of a missing teen.”
“A detection dog?”
“You’re familiar?”
“Very. One sniffed out an IED during my last tour in Afghanistan.”
Saved my life, not his. But she didn’t need to know that. Bottom line I was very aware a dog’s ability to sniff out narcotics, explosives, or cadavers.
Sunny opened her mouth to ask a question, but I cut it off. I rarely spoke about those days. Especially not to a woman.
“So Max is a certified detection dog?” I asked.
“Yes. He’s fully trained, certified, and very good. You know his sense of smell is ten-thousand times more accurate than a human’s? Ten thousand. In the case of the missing teen, Max sniffed the girl’s clothing and picked up her scent in the woods. Led police right to her. The girl had wandered away from her family’s campsite and got lost.”
I thought for a moment. “Do you think he could sniff out our missing third person from your attack? The guy pushed you away and killed Julian?”
Her eyes rounded with excitement. “Yes… yes! He absolutely could. That’s a great idea. What do you need from him? From me? From us?”
“Well, I guess he’d just need to smell the clothes Julian Griggs was wearing when he attacked you and was shot. According to your statement, this third person physically engaged Julian, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Then the third person’s scent will be on Julian’s clothes.”
“That’s right. And maybe Max can confirm who that person was if you get a list of names and bring someone in.”
Or, if that person comes to your house, I thought, but didn’t say it. This was just as much a security measure for Sunny as an asset to the case.
“Let’s do it. What do you need from me?” She asked again, a child-like hope sparking in her green eyes. Sunny was no fool. She knew BSPD doubted her story about a third person and would have no problem calling her a liar and throwing her under the bus just to move the case along.
“You’ll have to bring Max up to the station, along with his papers, certification, and anything else you have on him. Griggs’ autopsy is scheduled to begin tomorrow afternoon. The chief is putting a rush on it considering the effect it’s going to have on the community. After that, we’ll have access to the clothes he wore last night. Give it a day for me to run it through the bullshit red-tape paperwork. Bring him to the station the day after tomorrow.”
“Done.” She nodded, then stopped, turned away from me and stared mindlessly into the water. She shook her head, and as if speaking to no one in particular, whispered, “I don’t get it. I’ve never even met Julian. I don’t get why he attacked me.”
I stepped next to her. “Do you think it was random, Sunny?”
She looked at me, cocked her head with sarcasm. “That the pastor’s kid was lurking in the park woods at midnight and decided to attack me? Doesn’t feel random, does it?” She blew out a breath. “God,” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I just feel so—”
Sunny dropped her hands, turned away from the water and walked over to the cages. Dismissing me, the subject. I kept my eye on the dog locked inside, an inky-black pit bull with silver eyes that seemed to glow in the daylight. A beast. I guessed the dog weighed close to ninety pounds, thick, proud, and all muscle. I couldn’t begin to imagine the wrath he could inflict on someone, especially a young child. It was the type of dog that made people cross the street or turn the other way. The type of dog I’d seen in more than one drug raid.
The pit’s silver eyes were fixed on me.
“What’s his story?”
“This is Brutus. A rescue.”
“A rescue from what?”
Her gaze slid to mine. “I’ll give you one guess.”
“He was a fight dog.”
She kneeled in front of the cage. While she’d coddled her other mutts like babies, she approached this one with caution. Slowly, with ease as one might approach a ticking bomb. Felt familiar.
Sunny flattened her hand against the cage and began speaking in a low, soft voice.
The dog’s eyes never left mine.
“I got him six weeks ago,” she said softly. “He’d been raised by a reputable breeder, who’d taken care of him. The bastard who bought him thought he could turn an adult dog into a fight dog overnight. Put him through absolute—” Her voice cracked. “He’s been through a lot. Literal torture. He’s a bit of a loose cannon.” She stuck a finger inside the cage, then another, slowly rubbing the dog’s nose. “He has a neck and shoulder injury that didn’t heal correctly.” She glanced over her shoulder, anger sparking in her eyes. “An injury he didn’t have when the breeder sold him.”
“Is that why he’s not moving around much?”
“Yes. He’s mobile and can do everything any other dog can do, but I think he’s in constant pain and he tires out easily.”
Ticking time bomb, loose cannon, chronic pain… a cage. Hell, it was like looking in the mirror.
She continued, “He’ll have to have surgery but not until I can break him. It’s slow moving with this guy. He moves at his own pace. Walks to the beat of his own drum, you could say.” She exhaled deeply. “But he’s going to be okay. We’ll get him taken care of. I’m not giving up on him. He’s going to be just fine. Aren’t you Brutus? You’re my good baby. That’s it, good boy.”
What would it be like to have someone have that much faith in you, I wondered. To have that kind of commitment.
“Why do you keep him caged?”
“He’s penned because he’s not fully trained yet. This is Brutus’s daytime home until I can break him. It’s for the safety of my other dogs, not mine. He wouldn’t hurt me, I’m sure of it.”