Greyson

by Dale Mayer

  She looked like she was relieved at the idea and happy to push it off her plate. “If there’s nothing else, I have a bunch of cages to clean. How’s Leo doing?”

  Taking the hint, he nodded, then smiled. “Leo is now a well loved member of the family. Thank you for your time. And again, if you hear of or think of anything—” Then he walked outside.

  He walked over to the far side and took a look at where the dog could have gone. There was definitely a green space here, and, if she had wanted to get over the fence, she easily could have. And, since he’d already seen tufts of hair over the top that would match Kona’s coat, he was pretty damn sure the dog had jumped free.

  Most people didn’t realize what kind of training these War Dogs went through and just how agile and physically fit and strong they were. In this case, the dog did have damaged ribs, but apparently she had healed. However, they were retiring her after four years anyway. So, if she had made it up and over that fence on her own, she was probably doing just fine now. But this wasn’t the kind of animal they wanted to have running around loose.

  He walked to the outside of the pens, where he’d seen the hair, and, from there, he stopped and studied the area. Obviously there were no tracks. No footprints left to be seen at this point. But what he did surmise was that the dog had headed toward the road. The trees were dense and thick, but, short of the dog having a reason to run and hide, she would normally head toward a more open space. Now, if there had been an accident at the time, what would she do? A loud bang or crash could have been the reason the dog bolted from the pen.

  He quickly sent Badger a message, asking if the dog was struggling with noise aversion. Because that could explain why she had bolted. If that were the case, she would have gone in the opposite direction. With that, he turned 180 degrees, studied the area, and started walking. He didn’t see anything initially, but then, as he curved back around to the road, he saw a bit of hair snagged on the bark of a tree trunk. He took a photo of it, sure that it was likely from the same dog. He kept following the trail. It took a bit more time to track down the next bit of hair, but it was back at the road. He pondered that, as he crouched where the dog hair had caught on a few leaves and branches. It looked like the dog may have stood here for a few moments because a fair bit of fur was here, as if Kona had paced.

  Greyson pictured a scene where Kona paced back and forth, maybe whined, disturbed by something. If there had been an accident, it might have been enough to have set Kona off too. Moving quietly and low to the ground, Greyson came to a point where the fender bender most likely occurred, as he did see a bit of plastic off to the side that looked like it came from a headlight cover to a small car. He assumed that the dog had seen this accident, but then what? Greyson turned and looked toward where the car would have been, looked back toward the shelter, and instinctively turned to the right.

  “Yeah, you’re not going back into the cage. You don’t want anything to do with the vehicles, but you stayed here for a reason. Why?” That fascinated him. “Was there something about the people you didn’t like? Was there some sort of a confrontation that bothered you?”

  He moved down the road on the sidewalk, looking for any other signs that the dog had gone this way. Very quickly he found another twig with hair on it and another. By the time he had gone several miles, he realized the dog had headed off in this direction and was still going. He didn’t know where the dog was destined for, but they were now quite a ways from the shelter.

  This didn’t appear to him like anybody had stolen the dog. It seemed to him like the dog was on her own mission. He kept following along the sidewalk, and, when he lost track of the hair again, he stopped, then backtracked to where it was and searched the area again, finally coming up to a spot where it looked like the dog had laid down in the grass.

  He found just a bit of her undercoat dusting the surface by a shrub. He sat down beside it, where the dog would have been, and looked. A house was across the road, set back on a bigger driveway. As he watched, a truck backed down the driveway and took off on the road. A good size dent was on its bumper. Probably lots of vehicles sported those. Didn’t necessarily mean it was involved in the fender bender on the day Kona disappeared. He looked down at the spot where the dog had been.

  “Something about this bothered you, didn’t it, girl?”

  He realized he was giving human traits to the animal, but it felt right. So, if that is the case, where are you?

  With the truck gone, he freely walked up the driveway, looking for a ready excuse in case somebody questioned his presence. He did a search of the front yard and didn’t see any sign of the dog hair. Then he headed around the back, where he found trees and brush behind a yard. It had been tended at one time but was currently a bit overrun. So either the person here didn’t really care about gardening or was renting.

  He checked through the edge of the gardens and, sure enough, found tufts of hair caught in little bits and pieces. So you came here? He quickly wrote down the address and sent it to Badger. He would prefer to have a contact in town, and that thought reminded him that he hadn’t contacted the cops yet.

  Hearing a noise, he slipped into the trees and crossed over to the neighbor’s yard. He watched as that same truck came bombing up the driveway again. It parked, and a big male walked out. He wore jeans, work boots, and T-shirt. He stormed into the house, obviously upset about something.

  Standing in the shelter of the trees, Greyson quickly took a picture of the truck and the license plate, including the damage to the front, sending it to Badger to trace. Then he slipped back to where he’d come from. So where did you go from here, Kona? He stood with his hands on his hips and turned around slowly because he had no doubt that the dog had been here for a while, but then she either hadn’t stayed or had gone and come back.

  For whatever reason, this house was of interest. And, if it was of interest to the dog, it was sure as hell of interest to Greyson. With one last look, he headed up the hill, wondering where else the dog had gone, determined to find out.

  Chapter 3

  In the mall, Jessica and her son spent a relaxing morning, picking up a few items she needed for Danny. She walked into the dollar store to get a few crafty things, and then, with her bags attached to the stroller, she slowly meandered her way home. She stopped at a grocery store, picked up a little milk, a few eggs, and some grapes, then headed home. At least inside the mall she’d managed to get rid of that eerie feeling.

  But now that she was on her way home again, out of the public eye, she felt it all again. As if somebody were watching her. She kept glancing around but couldn’t see anything. Nobody drove by. Nobody was outside walking.

  “Danny, I’m losing it,” she joked.

  He just gurgled happily. But soon he shifted, nearly falling asleep.

  “When we get home, it will be naptime,” she promised.

  He mumbled something, but it was unintelligible. She reached between the handles of the stroller and gently stroked her son’s blond hair. He was almost asleep. They were about a mile away from the house, and, as she walked, her phone rang again. Fearing that it was another prank call, she was surprised that it was her sister. “Hey, Lisa. How are you?” she asked in an attempt at her happy-go-lucky voice.

  “Mom told me how you feel like you are being watched,” she said. “Did you go to the police?”

  “Mom told me not to,” she said in a dry tone.

  “You should have gone there in the first place, right after the fender bender and that man threatening you,” Lisa scolded her. “There’s absolutely no reason not to.”

  “I was afraid it was George,” she said.

  “And?”

  “You know he’s got cop friends everywhere,” Jessica said. “I figured it would get back to him, and nobody would believe me.”

  There was silence on her sister’s end of the phone. “I guess that’s possible,” Lisa said, in grudging acknowledgment. “But it’s pretty shitty to have to wor
ry about that at this point.”

  “I know,” she said, “but what are my choices?”

  “If anything else happens,” Lisa said, “you have to go to the police—no matter what.”

  “I will,” she said. “Unfortunately I think he’s making prank phone calls to me all the time too.”

  Her sister gasped in horror. “That louse. When will it get bad enough for you to do something?” she shouted.

  “Well, that’s why I was talking to Mom,” she said.

  “And that’s the worst thing you could have done,” Lisa said. “All I’ve heard all morning is how, if you’d stayed married, you wouldn’t be in this position.”

  “How very convenient for her,” she said in a dry tone.

  “Exactly,” Lisa said.

  “You know what George was like. He threatened me a lot.”

  “And yet you never told us,” her sister complained, her voice softer now. “You know we would have helped you.”

  “It’s just as well that we separated and filed for divorce,” Jessica said firmly. “He didn’t want his son, so that was an easy answer.”

  “Says you,” she said. “But what about what the attorney said? That George wants his son now?”

  “It doesn’t matter what he said,” she said fiercely. Then she lowered her voice, so Danny wouldn’t hear. “No way in hell is George touching my son.”

  By the time Greyson was done tracking the entire area, the best he could figure was the dog had kept going through the woods, not out in the open space on the sidewalk. Greyson had walked four miles without seeing any new signs of dog hair or any new paw prints. He did see several people walking dogs, and he’d stopped to talk to them, showing them a picture of the dog in question.

  “Hello. This is Kona. I’m looking for her,” he said with an easy smile. The older couple walking the small Yorkie had stopped to look at the picture, then frowned and shook their heads. “We haven’t seen that dog at all,” the older man said. “Who do we call if we do though?”

  Greyson quickly pulled out a Titanium Corp business card, jotted down his cell number on the back, handing it to him. “If you see the dog, please let me know.”

  “Is it dangerous?” the woman asked anxiously.

  “It’s a very well-trained War Dog,” he explained. “I wouldn’t approach her if she shows any sign of not being happy. Just call me right away. I’ll come right over and pick her up.”

  “Tsk, tsk. It’s not the happy ending we’d like to see for any animal that’s been in service,” the older man said.

  They walked away, leaving Greyson standing here with his hands on his hips, wondering who else to talk to. Then he remembered the detective. He pulled out his phone with the photo of the card and the detective’s phone number, then quickly dialed. Once he introduced himself, the detective said, “I figured you guys would have been here a few weeks ago.”

  “Paperwork,” he said. “And somehow this animal fell through the gaps.”

  “Got to call you back,” the detective said in an urgent tone.

  Greyson walked several more blocks, checking out the undergrowth, but just enough time had gone by that Greyson could be tracking any kind of animal at this point. The hair he had seen definitely matched the Malinois he was tracking, but he wasn’t finding anything now. He turned and headed back on the long walk toward the shelter. He passed several other people and stopped to ask them if they’d seen the dog.

  When the detective returned his call, Greyson asked for an appointment to see the detective, as Greyson headed back to his grandpa’s truck.

  “I can meet you now if you want.”

  “That’s great. I’m about fifteen minutes out,” Greyson said. “I’ll be there soon.”

  In truth, he was more than fifteen minutes out because he wasn’t back at the vehicle yet. But he picked up the speed of his walk and made it back to his truck in ten. With his GPS set, he quickly pulled out of the rescue center’s parking lot and headed to the police station. He was five minutes late and figured that was still pretty close to being on time.

  When he walked in, a detective stood at the doorway, looking at him. Greyson held out his hand and smiled. “Greyson Morgenstein,” he said.

  “Detective Boris Shear,” the man replied. He led him inside and motioned toward an empty chair in the small office.

  Greyson sat down and began, “What can you tell me about the missing War Dog?”

  “I think that’s my line,” the detective said drily.

  “I mean, what have you found out about the dog?” Greyson asked, with an airy wave of his hand. “Obviously the US government is very concerned.”

  “And yet you’ve been weeks getting here,” the detective said, the corner of his lips curling up.

  “Well, I just arrived,” he said, “because the file was given to me yesterday. So I admit the wheels of government turn pretty slowly at times, but I’m here to rectify that.”

  “But not everybody moves just because you say so,” the detective said. He reached over, grabbing a file. It was damn slim. He opened it up. “All I have is a signed receipt of the airport handlers, saying they accepted the dog. It was taken to the shelter. I don’t even have a picture of the dog from the shelter or where it was kept. Just notes from the next morning, saying the dog was gone.”

  “Any theories or suspicious behavior?”

  “I think they were assuming somebody let the dog out.”

  “But that would mean somebody must have been in the shelter in order to have done that, which would make it an inside job,” he said.

  The detective lifted his gaze and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said, “there’s no outside access or gate to the run where the dog was kept.”

  Silence. “Interesting,” he said, sitting back. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “Did you go to the site?”

  “I did,” he said, “and I saw the pen and run from the inside.”

  “So you didn’t get into the run then?”

  The detective shook his head.

  “That’s how you would have seen that there’s no gate on the outside,” he said.

  “So, what do you think happened?”

  “I think the dog jumped,” Greyson said honestly. “They are well-known for scaling six feet easily.”

  The detective shook his head. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he said. “This is a military War Dog. He’s dangerous, and he shouldn’t be out on the loose.”

  That isn’t what Greyson wanted to hear at all. He leaned forward. “She’s very well-behaved and certainly isn’t aggressive without reason.”

  “How about hunger?” the detective snapped back. “Just because you say it’s well-trained doesn’t mean it is. And just because you say it’s well-mannered and well-behaved doesn’t mean it is. This dog has been missing for weeks now. For all you know it could have been eating other dogs and cats in the neighborhood.”

  “I highly doubt it, or you would have reports to substantiate missing pets,” Greyson said calmly. “Would she have taken a rabbit or a bird because she needed to? Yes, absolutely she would have. The same as you and I would.”

  “When does a bird or a rabbit become a small child?”

  “You haven’t been worried about Kona eating pets and children all this time,” Greyson said. “Why now?”

  “I was assuming the dog was stolen.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Maybe somebody heard about the dog? Maybe somebody thought they could use it for breeding?”

  “All War Dogs are fixed,” Greyson said calmly. “So, if they thought they would breed it, they would be wrong.”

  “But they may not have known that when they took it,” he said. “For that matter, they may still not know it.” The detective frowned. “So, it would be a rude awakening. And what happens if they turn on the dog because they’re upset now?”

  “The dog would defend herself against a ce
rtain amount of abuse, but she’s in a very strange circumstance now, and her orderly and regulated life has been burst wide open,” Greyson said. “That doesn’t make her a mad, foaming-at-the-mouth dog that’s dangerous.”

  “It doesn’t make it a cozy pet that everybody will want to keep either,” the detective said, glaring at him.

  “And what is it you think she’ll do?”

  “How do I know?” he said.

  The detective’s attitude didn’t improve over the next ten minutes, when they sorted out what options they had for finding the dog.

  “I’m expecting somebody to turn him in,” the detective said in a surly note. “Most likely after he’s attacked somebody.”

  “Once again, it’s a female, and her name is Kona. I hope you’re wrong,” Greyson said, standing up. “That would be the worst-case scenario.”

  “It would, indeed,” the detective said, standing up as well. “So why don’t you try and find her before she kills somebody?”

  “Kona is a valued US veteran, still technically government property until in proper civilian care. So treat her accordingly.” Although the detective had never asked who had assigned this matter to Greyson, he left a Titanium Corp business card with his cell phone number on the back, placing it in plain sight on the detective’s desk. Then Greyson gave a clipped nod and walked back out.

  His visit with the detective had been less than fruitful and only added pressure as he realized the detective had no love or respect for the dog and was already expecting it to be a scenario gone bad. That attitude wouldn’t help at all. Greyson stepped outside and stood beside his grandfather’s truck. It seemed so odd to be here with his grandfather’s rig, but it made sense at the time. He had some money for expenses, but he wasn’t getting paid for this mission-of-mercy job. It was another one of those contribution to society jobs. And he was fine with that; he just wished he could do something that would help Kona.

  Just then his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and read a text message from Badger.