Sheepdogs: Keeping the Wolves at Bay, Gordon Carroll [howl and other poems .txt] 📗

to warrant the staff and equipment of larger agencies. So even though I was removing evidence, it wasn’t like it was going to break the case for the police, because they would never have it tested anyway. Not on a burglary. And even if they did, it would take CBI six months to get the DNA test results back to Lakewood. By then it would be too late for Shane, if it wasn’t already. I had a friend at CBI that could get me the results a lot quicker.

Max and I searched the rest of the perimeter but found nothing else. After letting him mark every tree in the adjoining neighbor’s yard, I put him back in the car and returned to the house.

Another police car pulled up to the driveway and a uniformed officer got out carrying a big, black tackle box. Lakewood dedicates certain officers to lifting prints and collecting evidence on minor crimes. It would be a waste of time on this case. Like I said before, the guys that did this job were pros. No way they weren’t wearing gloves. But this guy I knew from way back. It was Fred Monique. I caught a few bad guys with him when he worked a beat. He looked a little grayer, and there was a noticeable paunch that bulged out from under the bottom of his bulletproof vest, but other than that he was the same old Fred.

“Gil Mason,” he said, smiling and holding out a hand, “haven’t seen you in years.”

I shook his hand. “How you been, Fred?”

He patted his tummy. “Eating good. The wife’s trying to kill me off so’s she can collect on the insurance.” He gave me a once over. “I thought I’d heard something about you going the PI route after you got fired; that why you’re here?”

I nodded. “The son’s missing.”

“Yeah, I saw we’d taken a missing person report when I checked the call history. But he was listed as a probable runaway. You think this burglary’s related?”

“I do. The kid’s mixed up in something. I don’t know what yet.”

“You think there’s any latents?”

“I doubt it. These guys were good. I did find a partial shoe-print in the back.”

“That won’t help much on a case like this,” said Fred. “Simple second degree burg, the detectives won’t give it a lot of time.”

“Would you cast it for me anyway?”

“Oh sure. I do my job either way. If the boys upstairs or in the D.A.’s Office want to blow it off, that’s their business. Me, I do my best and forget the rest.”

“Thanks.” I hesitated, pulled the zip-lock from my pocket and handed it to him. “My new dog found this in the bushes out back. It’s fresh.”

Fred scrunched his eyes at it. “Gum?”

“Yeah. I think maybe one of the burglars spit it. Send it special attention to Sarah Gallagher at CBI and mention my name. She’ll take care of you.”

Fred took the bag. “You shouldn’t have moved it. I need pictures.”

“I know, sorry. If I’d known you were processing the scene I would have left it.” I looked toward the backyard. “Third bush from the kicked door near the garden path. Pick your branch and take your photos. Close enough.”

Fred nodded. “Guess it’ll have to be.” He snorted. “You still got that killer dog Samson?”

I shook my head. “Had to put him down about nine years ago. Hips went. He couldn’t even get up to eat.”

“Shame,” said Fred, “quite an animal. ‘Member the time he caught that weenie-wagger that tried to grab the two little girls outta the park? Man he ‘bout tore that perv apart. Probably the most justice that scumbag ever got. It was a sweet sight.”

“He was a good dog,” I agreed. I did remember the case. Samson snapped the guy’s femur and nearly severed the femoral artery. The molester took a year on a plea bargain, with two months credit for time served and another three off for good behavior.

Go figure.

A week after getting out he snatched a little girl off the street on her way to school and sexually assaulted her. He got nabbed a week later when he tried to kidnap another girl from a park. Her father heard her scream and was able to catch him before he made it to his car. The father did a job on him, but not as good as Samson. Samson was the reason the girl’s father was able to catch him in the first place. He’d given the scumbag a permanent limp.

The perv was sentenced to ten years this time. Better — not great — but better. I couldn’t help but think that if only Samson had caught the guy a little more center and two inches higher, he wouldn’t have had anything to rape the other little girl with.

Missed opportunities. That’s life.

As I held the front door open for Fred, I felt someone eyeballing me. I couldn’t see anyone, but my hackles were up and I’d learned to trust my instincts over the years. Someone was watching. And whoever it was, didn’t want me to know it.

10

Max

Riding in the car was enjoyable for Max. It was so unlike the first trip in a car Max had taken. In that instance he had been locked inside a cage, beaten, muzzled and near death. This was much better.

The whooshing wind that rushed past the partially opened window was soothing, and combined with the air conditioner felt good running through his thick coat.

He’d been asleep when the Alpha came for him back at the house, curled up in a tight ball on one of the Escalade’s backseats. He’d been dreaming of his old home and hadn’t wanted to wake up. But his instincts for self preservation were stronger than his desire for comfort so he awoke even before the Alpha opened the door, his scent giving him away.

Max had hopped out, landing lightly on the sidewalk, the thick pads of his paws instantly registering the temperature, texture, contour, and