Page 42 of The Right to Remain

“Let me ask the question a different way. Did it start before or after Owen’s passing?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and then she thought about it. “After.”

“It could be a nervous tic caused by anxiety or depression over Owen’s absence. Does he always chew the same spot?”

“Yes,” she said, and Boo was at it again. “Right below the hip joint. I tried to look and see if he got a burr or something stuck in all that hair, but he wouldn’t let me touch it.”

Dr. Swan petted Boo’s smokey gray coat. “The reason this breed has such a lovable fluffy appearance is the thick double coat. Beneath this long, rougher layer is a soft underlayer. Things do get stuck, everything from sticks to Lego pieces. Let’s have a look.”

He got Boo to lie on his side, put on latex gloves, and focused the overhead examination light on the upper thigh. He told Helena to whisper sweet nothings into his ear while he combed through Boo’s double coat with his fingers. Boo lay still, panting, until the doctor poked at the spot around his hip, which made his tail stiffen and his body twitch.

“Easy, boy,” said Dr. Swan, and then he spoke to Helena. “Definitely something in there. Hopefully it didn’t break the skin, or he could already have a hot spot. Very common in the Florida sun. Try to keep him calm while I explore.”

Helena got closer and gave Boo some love, as Dr. Swan gently went to work with forceps. It took only a minute.

“Got it,” he said, holding “it” up to the light with his forceps.

“What is that?”

He turned the object one way and then the other, taking a close look. “It’s a bullet.”

Helena’s heart nearly skipped a beat. “A bullet? Seriously?”

“Yup. Small caliber. A twenty-two, maybe. But definitely a bullet.”

“Are you saying somebody shot Boo?”

“That’s not an easy question to answer.”

“How else would a bullet get in his hind leg?”

“That’s the thing,” said Dr. Swan. “It’s notinhis leg. The bullet didn’t break the skin. If somebody shot your dog, they must have been standing very far away. Otherwise, it would have had the kinetic energy to break the skin.”

“Drive-by shooter, maybe?” asked Helena.

“Maybe. Do you let Boo romp around outside in the yard?”

“Not really. I take him for walks, and he goes running with me for exercise. But with that coat, he lives mostly indoors where there’s air-conditioning.”

Dr. Swan placed the bullet in a plastic vial on the counter. “We should give this to the police.”

“No,” said Helena.

He seemed surprised by her sharp tone. “Why not?”

“Austen just lost his father,” she said. “I don’t want the police opening another investigation into the shooting of his pet.”

“Helena, I watch the news. I know there’s an investigation into Owen’s death. What if this is not a separate investigation?”

She caught his drift. “You think this random bullet in Boo’s fur is related to Owen’s death?”

He didn’t answer right away, as if he were uncomfortable saying it.

“You know, your husband used to think of himself as a sheepdog of sorts. He used to joke about that when he came here with Boo.”

The prosecutor’s questions before the grand jury were still fresh in Helena’s mind.Your husband called himself a sheepdog because he thought of himself as a protector.

“Yes, I know.”