Page 5 of So Savage (Faith Bold #21)
Dr. Parker’s practice was located just south of the hotel near a small lakeside park. Marcus met Faith in the lobby of her hotel at five-forty-five in the morning so they could reach the office when it opened at six.
The practice, like the Army Reserve Center, was cozy and modest, nestled in between a pet store and an adoption center. Very smart business planning. Adopt a pet, take it to the vet, and buy it food and supplies all in the same day.
Most of the city Faith had seen so far was laid out like that. It wasn't spread out like a suburb or empty like a rural area. The properties were close together, and there weren't very many open spaces, but the buildings were small to medium size, and the crowds were light and manageable.
She could see herself retiring somewhere like this. Maybe not somewhere so cold, but a medium-sized city like Duluth that didn’t have the kind of traffic a metropolis like Philadelphia did but had services more conveniently available than a small town. She’d thought about a small Midwest town with wide-open spaces, but she had a feeling that the idea of living somewhere with open-air “freedom” was more appealing than the reality.
Not that she had any plans to retire anytime soon. Turk was a working dog, and she would keep him working as long as she could and stay in the FBI at least until he was done. Still, the end would come for her eventually. She didn’t have the right makeup for leadership, and she wasn’t enough of a rule-follower to go into training. She couldn’t handle a desk job, so analyst was out of the question.
That left field agent. Maybe she could be a field agent for the next twenty years. Other agents had done it. Desrouleaux was nearing his twenty-second anniversary with the Bureau, and Michael was within shouting distance of his twentieth. She was already at twelve years and counting.
But being a field agent without Turk? She wasn’t sure if she could do that. She couldn’t imagine ever having another working dog. She was realistic enough to know that she’d probably get another dog after Turk died, but that dog would strictly be a pet. It would be too hard to work a case with another dog and not wish it was Turk.
Marcus parked the truck, and Faith pulled her mind back to the present as they walked into the office. The doctor herself was busy when they arrived but promised to see them as soon as she was finished with her patient.
“Is Dr. Parker always busy this early in the morning?” Faith asked the receptionist, a bubbly young woman of maybe twenty who beamed at Faith with an attitude far too perky for six in the morning.
“Patients often schedule their pets early in the morning for routine checkups and quick procedures,” she replied. “That way they can finish everything before work and not ruin their weekend.”
“God forbid they ruin their weekends,” Marcus said drily.
Indeed, the waiting room was full. Faith counted six cats and ten dogs waiting to be seen. “These are all for Dr. Parker?”
“Most of them will see her assistant or one of the veterinary nurses,” the receptionist said. “It really depends on what they’re here for.”
“Do you know when the last time she saw Rooster before today was?”
The receptionist frowned. “I don’t believe she treats any roosters.”
Before Faith could explain, the door opened, and Dr. Parker said, “Okay, Detective Waring, I can see the two of you now.”
Faith and Marcus followed the short, rotund Dr. Parker into an office that was even smaller than Lieutenant Torres’s in addition to being piled nearly floor to ceiling with boxes of paperwork and more paperwork stacked on top of that.
“We’re in the process of transitioning all of our records to an electronic format,” Dr. Parker informed them. “I tried to get a jump on that while my IT guy is on vacation, but I am very much not competent enough to do that, so I’ll have to wait until he comes back.” She sighed and ran her hands through messy curls of hair. “Anyway, you didn’t need to know all of that. You two are here about Rooster’s handler.”
“Yes,” Faith replied. “We were wondering if you noticed anything during your examination that might help us in our investigation.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Dr. Parker replied. “I found something very interesting.”
Faith’s ears perked up. “Do tell.”
“So the tranquilizing agents are ketamine and xylazine. That’s pretty standard for large canids. It’s considered a fast-acting sedative too, but fast-acting is relative. Typical time of onset is two to three minutes.”
Faith shared a look with Marcus. Two to three minutes was fine if you were anesthetizing a wild animal for research in the field. Not so fine if you were trying to murder two NCOs.
“So there’s a third chemical that shortens the time of onset,” Faith guessed.
"Yes. An extremely fast-acting serotonin antagonist and reuptake inhibitor. In its pure form, this particular SARI can sedate a dog within ten minutes. However, the sedative effect is mild, certainly not enough to overcome the stress of watching their handler get murdered. But when combined with ketamine, the time of onset decreases to less than one minute, and the sedative effect of both drugs is multiplied. Ketamine and xylazine typically only puts a dog down for twenty or thirty minutes. In Rooster's case, he was unconscious for over eight hours."
Marcus whistled. “That’s a long time.”
“Yes, it is. Ironically, though, the strength of the sedative might have saved his life because it lowered his heart rate and slowed his metabolism so that he suffered far fewer ill effects from the cold than he would have otherwise.”
“Thank God for small blessings.”
“What about the darts?” Faith asked. “Anything distinguishing about them?”
Parker sighed again. “I’m afraid not. They’re manufactured by Hydro-Dart, along with nearly every tranquilizer dart used on the planet. The delivery mechanism was a gas-powered dart gun. Without the gun itself, I can’t tell you much more than that.”
“We know it’s a rifle,” Marcus said. “They would have had to be taken out from a distance.”
Parker nodded. “Got it. I’m not surprised. Rooster’s a sweet dog, but I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.” She smiled at Turk. “What about you, boy? Do you have a bad side?”
Turk cocked his head, and Faith chuckled. “Only for bad people, right boy?” She lifted her gaze to Dr. Parker. “Is there anything someone could wear that would mask their scent from a trained K9?”
She shook her head. "It would be very difficult. Dogs have senses of smell that are hundreds of thousands of times more sensitive than human senses. They can literally be trained to smell the onset of a seizure. When dogs have been defeated, it's usually because of a very strong smell that overpowers every other smell. Bleach and other strong cleaning chemicals are an example. Even then, it's not common."
“And if there was bleach at the crime scene, Turk would have picked it up,” Faith said. “Hmm. Nothing else?”
“The only other tactic I’ve ever heard of that works is making everything around a target smell like the target. So silly example, but if you could create a drug-scented air freshener and spray it all over a room, a dog might have trouble finding the actual drugs. Again, though, you’d have to find a way to make a scent that perfectly matches a target and then saturate that scent over everything. Considering that Walsh was killed outside, it’s just not likely.”
Faith sighed. “All right. Good to know. How’s Rooster? Is he doing okay?”
Tears came to Parker’s eyes. “He’s very upset, poor baby. He really loved Kevin. Dogs always bond with their handlers, but the bond between the two of them was more than just handler and K9. You should have seen the way he looked at him. Like Kevin was just the greatest creature to ever walk on the Earth.” She took a ragged breath and released it slowly. “He’s very depressed.”
“Do you mind if we talk to him?” Faith asked. She saw Marcus’s confused frown and explained, “Turk might be able to pick something up from him.” Dr. Parker looked hesitant, and Faith added, “If nothing else, it might cheer Rooster up to talk to another dog.”
That convinced Dr. Parker. She nodded and said, “All right. I’ll take you to him.”
The three of them followed her to the boarding house behind the medical center. The house was actually just the back five rooms of the building organized into separate facilities for cats, large dogs, small dogs, and other animals. Dr. Parker led them into the large dog room where a Belgian Malinois—a breed that always reminded Faith of a smaller version of a German Shepherd—sat in the corner with its head resting on its paws, a listless expression on its face.
When Faith saw the look in Rooster’s eyes, a powerful image of Turk’s expression when they first met crossed her mind. Turk’s handler before Faith was an FBI agent named Jack Preston. Preston was the lead on the Donkey Killer case with Faith and Michael as senior assisting agents. Turk had caught Jethro Trammell’s scent, but Trammell had lain in wait for them and killed Preston, nearly killing Turk in the process. When Faith first met Turk, he was still grieving Jack’s loss. He looked much the way Rooster did now.
Turk noticed it too. He trotted immediately to Rooster and laid his head over the smaller dog’s back. His eyes grew moist, and he whined mournfully.
Faith smiled at Rooster and kneeled in front of him. “Hey, buddy.”
Rooster lifted his eyes to her but didn’t react otherwise. Faith reached down and scratched him behind his ears. Rooster allowed the touch but still didn’t respond.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Faith told him. “We’re going to catch the asshole who did this to Kevin, okay?”
Rooster looked up at her again. “You’re a good dog,” Faith assured him. “You did really well. Kevin would be proud of you.”
A brief emotion flashed across Rooster’s face. It looked like irritation. It was gone as quickly as it came, and Rooster turned his head and looked past Faith at the wall. It didn’t matter if he was a good dog or not. He had failed to protect his handler.
She smiled sadly at Turk, who wore a look of grief that cut Faith to the core. She wondered if he was remembering Jack, remembering what had to be the worst day of his life. She turned to Dr. Parker, who was crying softly and drying her eyes with a paper towel. “Has the Army contacted you about Rooster’s disposition?”
“They’re…” she steadied herself with a breath. “They’re going to perform an assessment to see if he can still function as a K9 unit. If he passes, he’ll be assigned a new handler. If he fails, he’ll be discharged.”
“It better be an honorable discharge,” Marcus said darkly. The detective wasn’t so stoic that he was unaffected by Rooster’s plight.
“In this case, it would be an honorable discharge due to mental distress,” Dr. Parker confirmed. “This is fairly common among dogs who lose their handlers.”
“I believe it,” Faith said. “Poor guy.”
“If he needs a home, let me know,” Marcus said, leaving Dr. Parker his card. “I have a Newfoundland, but he’s the gentlest giant on Earth. He’ll get along well with Rooster.”
“Oh, thank you,” Dr. Parker said. “I’ll pass this along to the officer in charge of Rooster’s disposition.”
Faith’s respect for Marcus increased a hundredfold. Maybe she was a little biased, but she absolutely believed that people who were kind to dogs were better people in general.
She looked at Turk and wished she could leave him here to comfort Rooster. But they had a job to do. “Turk, do you smell anything, boy?”
Turk gave her a slightly hurt look, but he complied. He sniffed Rooster, who allowed the examination to take place without reacting. When Turk finished, he dipped his head to Faith to let her know he hadn’t found anything, then nuzzled Rooster. Rooster looked at Turk, and Faith saw something break inside of him. He shuffled closer to the big dog, buried his head in Turk’s chest and began whimpering mournfully.
Turk looked up at Faith, the same grief in his own eyes. He lifted his head and howled softly. The other two big dogs in the room added their voices, all of them mourning the loss suffered by one of their own. Faith felt a lump in her throat and had to look away so she didn’t break into tears.
She tried very hard not to make cases personal. In her line of work, that was dangerous. Even in the West case, when the killer had made it personal before she ever did, she'd learned the hard way that taking an investigation personally invariably led to bad outcomes. It was only when she was able to separate herself from West that she'd been able to bring him in.
But this was personal. Someone was murdering K9 handlers and leaving their dogs broken shells. Rooster might get lucky like Turk and find a partner—whether working or otherwise—with whom he could bond and heal from the loss of his handler. Even if he did, he would still carry the mental scars of losing Sergeant Walsh.
She wondered if Turk carried those scars too, if somewhere beneath his happy exterior, he remembered losing Jack. Were his dreams, like Faith’s, plagued with the taunts of a killer?