Loose the Dogs

by P. D. Workman

  Bandit watched him and panted agreeably. When Carmichael didn’t speak again, Bandit looked out the other window, watching the scenery wash past.

  “In an hour, we can break for lunch. Think we’ll have any calls before then?” Carmichael asked.

  Bandit made a sort of a rumble in the back of his throat. He had been trained not to bark or whine, but this noise was much quieter; Carmichael couldn’t hear it if he wasn’t listening closely. And to him, it sounded friendly. A little mumble of an answer from an otherwise taciturn partner.

  “Yeah, you’re right, I think it’s going to be pretty quiet today,” Carmichael agreed.

  He kept a sharp watch on the street, looking for anything out of the ordinary, any sign of trouble. It was still morning, so predictably there wasn’t much gang activity. Gang bangers wouldn’t be getting out of bed until sometime in the afternoon.

  “All quiet so far,” he reported.

  There were a few squawks on the radio, but mostly ‘be on the lookout for’ and ‘reported trouble in the area,’ and nothing that panned out into a bona fide call.

  Carmichael sat back and rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen up sore muscles. He was glad for a car; his patrol area was too large for foot patrol; but he hated the days when he had to sit for too long. Being stiff and then getting out to try to deal with a physical confrontation was not a good idea.

  Chapter Eleven

  FRANK CHECKED THE SIGN on the door and walked into the classroom. There were a few people there ahead of him milling around, waiting for the instructor or facilitator to come in and take charge.

  They all looked like normal, everyday people. No one seemed to be particularly anxious. No more than would be usual for someone going into a new group therapy situation. Nervous smiles and nods, people looking for someone to connect with.

  Donuts and coffee were set up on a table at the back of the room with a sign inviting people to help themselves. Frank didn’t take any coffee. He had a hard enough time getting to sleep at night and had banned caffeine after noon in the hopes it would help. So far, there had been no noticeable difference. He put a cruller on a small foam plate and glanced around, trying to decide whether to find a seat or to strike up a casual conversation with one of the other attendees.

  A woman in her forties with long blond hair hanging loosely around her shoulders raised her voice to greet the group, inviting them all to grab a donut and have a seat. Social time was apparently over.

  The chairs were in a circle. Frank wished they were at least in desks instead of just chairs, so he had somewhere to rest his arms and didn’t feel so exposed and vulnerable. To begin with, everyone sat at intervals around the circle, leaving empty chairs as buffers between them. But the therapist knew what she was doing and had only put out as many chairs as there were registrants, so the empty buffer chairs quickly filled up until everyone was sitting elbow-to-elbow. There were only two empty seats left in the circle. Late or absent registrants.

  “Welcome, everyone! My name is Myrna, and I’m going to be your facilitator tonight. We’re going to dive right in with introductions because everyone is going to feel a lot better about sharing once they know their neighbors. I am going to go around the circle, and I want you to give your first name and something about the reason you are here.”

  Everyone looked around uncomfortably.

  “A lot of you will be first responders and won’t be able to give details about the incidents that may be triggering your stress response. Or it may be a build-up of trauma over time and no one specific trigger. Feel free just to give us your profession, so we at least have a starting point. If you are here because of childhood abuses, be as general as you like. You don’t have to specify what sort of abuse you went through. Maybe once you know the class better, you will feel comfortable sharing more details. But don’t feel required. This is day one. Take your time.”

  Myrna turned to the man sitting on her left and gave him an encouraging smile.

  “Why don’t we start with you and go clockwise around the circle?”

  The man swallowed and nodded. “Brick,” he introduced himself. “And I’m…” he cleared his throat. “I’m a firefighter.”

  “Great,” Myrna nodded and motioned to the next person. “Let’s just keep going around the circle.”

  Everyone used as few words as possible. Frank stared at the floor, his face getting warmer as his turn approached. Then it was his turn.

  “I’m Frank. I’m a cop.”

  “Frank,” Myrna acknowledged, and everyone turned their eyes to the woman on his left.

  Frank blew out his breath in a sigh of relief. That would be the hardest part. The rest of the session would be easier.

  “We have a special treat for you,” Myrna announced once they had been all the way around the circle. She looked toward the door, where someone was looking in the narrow window, and she gave a nod. The door opened. “K9 Therapy will be joining us today and throughout the next six weeks, to help make your journey a little easier.”

  Frank watched as volunteers escorted not just one, but six dogs into the small classroom. They were all medium-to-large dogs, various breeds common to service animals. But Frank could barely even see them. Instead, he flashed back to finding the Johnsons. All those eyes and ears pointed toward him. Bloody muzzles. Matted fur. Sharp teeth jutting from their jowls.

  Frank got up from his seat. He tried to mutter an explanation but was afraid it was incoherent. He staggered for the door, avoiding the harnessed dogs. He couldn’t look them in the eye.

  All he could see was their teeth and bloody muzzles.

  “Frank? Are you all right?”

  He hurried into the hallway, safe from the beasts. He leaned against the wall outside trying to catch his breath.

  Myrna followed him out of the room. “What’s wrong?” she asked, attempting to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Are you allergic? Is something wrong?”

  Frank shook his head. “I can’t be around dogs.”

  “These dogs are specially trained to be therapy dogs. They will stay in their harness and with their handler at all times. There’s no danger whatsoever to you.”

  “No. I can’t do it.”

  “Are you afraid of dogs?” she persisted.

  He wiped at the sweat dripping from his forehead with the back of his hand. His heart was thudding hard and fast, and he could barely get enough oxygen to stay conscious.

  “Dogs are my trigger.”

  She swore. “Oh, hell! You’re kidding me! I’m so sorry. In all the time I’ve been doing this, I’ve never had anyone who was triggered by dogs. Nervous around them, but not…” She motioned toward Frank. “Not like this. Do you think you could manage to be in the same room with them if you didn’t have to have anything to do with them? You and I can do another exercise while the others are working with K9.”

  “No, I can’t.” Frank pushed himself away from the wall. “This isn’t going to work. I’m sorry.”

  “We can get you into another group. I can set one up that doesn’t deal with dogs…”

  Frank walked away, shaking his head. “No. I’m done. I can’t do this.”

  Frank worried when he didn’t hear from Anya. He kept telling himself he was being paranoid. She was just doing the job. She had warned him it was going to take a while. He had to trust her. When she had something to report, she would call him.

  The days dragged by. He tried to throw himself into his work, to forget about the dogs and just wait until she had some news for him. There was nothing else he could do until she had something for him. Investigating on his own had brought no results. Officially, there was nothing he could do.

  Finally, Anya called him with news.

  “What did you find out?” he asked immediately.

  “I’m sorry it took so long. The records are hard to follow. All the dogs are given a number, so I have to go through the files one at a time to find them. And I haven’t figured out yet how th
e number is assigned—they’re not sequential, so I can’t look for the Johnson dogs sequentially. I have to go through them one at a time when nobody’s looking because I don’t know the assignment method.”

  “But you did find them.”

  “I found the Labrador retriever. That’s the one you said was the most important.”

  “You found him,” Frank blew out his breath. “And he didn’t go to Louisiana.” He knew the answer even before she told him. He felt a letdown, an assurance the dog didn’t go to Louisiana. It wasn’t the one that had killed the baby. He was relieved.

  “Frank…” Anya’s voice was gentle, “…he did go to Louisiana.”

  The world stopped. Frank couldn’t breathe. “What?” he gasped. “He didn’t go to Louisiana, right?”

  “He did. He did go to Louisiana. You were right.”

  “No… we still can’t prove that. We still have to connect the dots. We haven’t proven it’s the same dog. Only that it was a dangerous dog, the same breed, in the same area. We have to connect the dots.”

  “Yeah. So do you want me to go to Louisiana? Or stay here and try to track the other dogs?”

  Frank thought about it. “I’ll go to Louisiana,” he said. “You’re in place. Keep looking. Hopefully, if I can connect this up, the force will be able to investigate and get a list from the animal shelter. If not—and I’m not counting on it—then we’re going to need a list of our own to follow up.”

  “You’re going to Louisiana?” Janice repeated.

  “I need to follow up on a lead.”

  “For work? You don’t have any authority out of state.”

  “No… a lead I’m following by myself. Louisiana is—”

  “Louisiana is where the baby was killed,” Janice finished.

  Frank shrugged, his face getting hot. “Louisiana is where the Labrador retriever the Johnsons had went. And the dog that killed the baby in Louisiana was a Labrador retriever.”

  Janice frowned. He could see she was working on the problem. How to tell him he was way off. That this wasn’t something he needed to do.

  “That’s… quite a coincidence,” she admitted.

  Frank nodded eagerly. “Yes, it is. A big coincidence.”

  “But not big enough for the police to officially investigate.”

  “No. Not yet. But I can’t just let it go.”

  “Why is it so important? The dog has been locked up or destroyed now; it can’t hurt anyone again.”

  “But what about the others?”

  “What others?”

  “The other dogs the Johnsons had!” Frank blurted. How could she not know what other dogs he was talking about? “They were all involved. They could all be violent.”

  “But isn’t it more likely,” Janice said slowly. “That there was just one dog who was violent, and the rest of them only participated after the Johnsons were dead?”

  “How are we supposed to know? And how do we know which ones are violent? Just by waiting to see if they all go off like ticking time bombs? We have to destroy all of them. That is the only way we will know for sure they are not a danger to the public.”

  Janice shook her head, but Frank understood she wasn’t disagreeing, she was just stunned.

  “What about work? Are you taking time off?”

  Frank nodded. “All taken care of. I’ve told them I need some personal time to get my head on straight. The captain’s been telling me as much anyway. So I gave notice I am going to be away for a bit. They’re happy to have me out of the way.”

  Janice nodded. “Should I come?”

  Frank was startled. “No… We don’t have much money right now. And you wouldn’t be able to sleep in the same room as me. What with the nightmares and all.”

  “I suppose,” Janice agreed.

  She obviously hadn’t actually wanted to go along, but was concerned about him and whether he would be able to hold things together while he was on his own.

  “So when are you going?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow. Hopefully, it will only take a day to get confirmation the dog was the same one—or definitely was not. Then we’ll know, once and for all.”

  Janice nodded her agreement. As much as she didn’t want to see him go, to have closure on the issue would be a real blessing. He would finally be able to rest without worrying one of those dogs would cause problems.

  Frank went to his hotel to check in, and then went straight to the SPCA.

  “I’m inquiring about the dog that attacked that baby,” Frank told the man in charge.

  “Who are you? Reporter?”

  “No, cop. But not here. I’m following up on a case back in New York. It might have been the same dog, so I want to find out its history, where it came from.”

  The man looked him over. “I don’t believe you.”

  Frank pulled out his wallet and took out his shield. He showed it to the dog man.

  “Okay,” the man said slowly. “So you are a cop from New York State. But what does that have to do with me? I don’t have to tell you anything. I’ve already talked to the cops here. They came right after the baby was killed. I told them everything I know.”

  “But they didn’t follow up with New York, did they?” Frank guessed. “And you didn’t follow up with the SPCA in New York. Because nobody really wants to know what the dog’s history is.”

  The man frowned. “Have a seat,” he invited.

  Frank sat down.

  “I’m Bill.”

  “Frank.”

  “Why do you care about this? The dog’s been put down. It won’t cause any more harm. We didn’t make any further inquiries because we already had all the information we needed. We already knew the dog didn’t have a history of biting. That’s all anyone needed to know and we already had the papers to prove it.”

  “Well… that might not be true.”

  “It might not be true?” Bill repeated. “They sent me falsified papers?”

  “They sent you papers showing what they thought. But they couldn’t know for sure whether it was true. The dog did have a history. But there was a lot they didn’t know about him, that they were guessing at. They guessed he didn’t bite, didn’t attack anyone. But it might not be true.”

  Bill just stared at him.

  “There might be others,” Frank said.

  “Others? What do you mean there might be others?”

  Frank sat and thought about it, trying to think of how to explain it. How to tell him without giving him the details. How to make Bill believe this really was serious without him calling anyone else to complain about Frank’s inquiries.

  “There was a group of dogs,” Frank said slowly. “There was an elderly couple that died. But we don’t know if the dogs had anything to do with it. If this was one of those dogs, and he has shown he is dangerous… it may mean the others are dangerous too. And they are still out there. If you just confirm the details for me, I can confirm whether these other dogs might be dangerous or not. If they are… maybe we can prevent another tragedy.”

  Bill considered this, staring up at the ceiling. “It has hit us all really hard,” he said. “All of us here at the shelter. To have one of our dogs involved in something like this. When we heard about the baby being killed, we were horrified. Then to have the police come here and say it was one of our dogs… you can’t know how that felt for us.”

  “Imagine how I felt when I heard these dogs had been released for adoption. Animals I had seen, I had looked in their eyes and knew they were dangerous. But everybody just kept telling me to shut up, saying I didn’t know what I was talking about. And then when I heard about this baby… I just knew it was one of those dogs. No one would believe me. There are dog attacks all over the world. There was no way it was one of the dogs from my case. No way. Everyone said that. My dogs were completely safe; they could be adopted into families. Perfectly safe.” He swallowed a lump.

  “She asked about the dog’s history,” Bill offered. “The mother. Sh
e asked whether he would be good with children. She had the baby here with her when she picked the dog out. I told her he would be safe. I told her retrievers were good with kids. I told her…” His voice broke, and he shook his head. “I told her if there was any problem, we had a thirty-day return policy. A return policy! Well, he was returned, all right. To be destroyed. I was glad to do it. That poor woman. She did everything she could to get a safe dog. And we gave her a killer.”

  “You couldn’t have known if New York didn’t tell you. Can you please tell me if it was from New York? Please? Can’t we prevent this from happening to someone else?”

  Bill nodded. “Yes. You’re right. It was from New York state.”

  Frank blew out his breath. He was so relieved. And at the same time, he had a knot in his stomach. There were six more dogs. Six more dogs that might be killers. All those children and adults who might be in danger.

  “Can you tell me which town? Do you have the dog’s identification number?”

  “Yeah… I’ve got the paperwork. I’ll show you.”

  “Thank you. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Frank’s eyes teared up. He tried to talk past the lump in his throat. He was embarrassed by his show of emotion. But it was such a relief to finally be making progress. To have someone on his side. Bill nodded understandingly.

  Bill got up and went to his filing cabinet. He flipped through the files for a moment before pulling one out.

  “Here it is,” he said.

  He told Frank the name of the animal shelter the dog had come from, and Frank nodded.

  “That’s it,” he said. “It has to be one of the Johnson dogs. Do you have the ID number they used?”

  Bill read it off to him, and Frank checked it against the one in his notebook. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Couldn’t believe his fears were finally being confirmed.

  Everybody had told him no. Everyone had told him he was crazy, paranoid.

  They told him he was wrong, but they were wrong. He knew those dogs were dangerous. He knew, just like he knew the dog that had killed that baby had been one of them. He had known it, but no one else had believed him.