Chapter 23 Jagg #2
The old Sunny from the night before was back in full force—the one who didn’t care to talk. Then, true to form, she changed the subject.
“Anyway. Any idea who’s blue sedan it was?”
“Undetermined at this time. Have you seen the car anywhere else?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Spend some more time thinking about it, and let me know, alright? If you see it again, call me. If it comes up your driveway, call me. Don’t go to the door.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Do I need to remind you that your damn door was unlocked, Sunny? Your windows wide open?”
“Do I need to remind you of your welcoming committee? These dogs would smell someone in my house before I even made it halfway up the hill.”
“And what? You’re just gonna go all Yosemite Sam and double-barrel their ass? Pop ’em with that gun you keep strapped onto your hip?”
“Don’t discount my dogs, Detective—”
“Jagg.”
“Jagg,” she emphasized with attitude. “My dogs are professionally trained guard dogs. I am a professional. Do you even have the slightest clue what these animals are capable of?”
“Enlighten me, professional one.”
“A trained guard dog can be better than a security system, which, I might add, are often faulty. Don’t get me started on technology.”
I smirked. I agreed. She continued.
“Over sixty-five percent of convicted felons admit that an intimidating dog would have scared them away, not a security system. If trained well, a good dog alerts when a stranger enters their territory and will attack on command, either giving their owner time to get away, or get in a damn good shot. Your welcoming committee back there was capable of inflicting seventeen hundred and fifty pounds of pressure on your marble-sized scrotum sack.”
I’m really glad that caught on.
She continued, her passion palpable—for the dogs, not my scrotum sack. “The dogs I work with are bred for this, Jagg. It’s literally in their bloodline. Two of my dogs have served as police dogs, and one of them, Max, helped solve a case of a missing teen.”
“A detection dog?”
“You’re familiar?”
“Very. One sniffed out an IED during my last tour in Afghanistan.”
Saved my life, not his. But she didn’t need to know that. Bottom line I was very aware a dog’s ability to sniff out narcotics, explosives, or cadavers.
Sunny opened her mouth to ask a question, but I cut it off. I rarely spoke about those days and didn’t want to start then.
“So Max is a certified detection dog?” I asked.
“Yes. He’s fully trained, certified, and very good.
You know his sense of smell is ten-thousand times more accurate than a human’s?
Ten thousand. In the case of the missing teen, Max sniffed the girl’s clothing and picked up her scent in the woods.
Led police right to her. The girl had wandered away from her family’s campsite and got lost.”
I thought for a moment. “Do you think he could sniff out our missing third person from your attack? The guy who pushed you away and killed Julian?”
Her eyes rounded with excitement, lighting up like a match had been struck inside her. “I didn’t even think about that—yes… yes! He absolutely could. That’s a great idea. What do you need from him? From me? From us?”
I watched her, captivated for a second longer than I should’ve been.
That spark in her voice, the way her whole face came alive—it hit me harder than I expected.
I loved seeing that in her. That light. That rush of hope.
I loved knowing I’d said something that caused it.
Like I’d unlocked a piece of her that had been buried beneath all the fear and adrenaline.
I cleared my throat, bringing myself back.
“Well, I guess he’d just need to smell the clothes Julian Griggs was wearing when he attacked you and was shot. According to your statement, this third person physically engaged Julian, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Then the third person’s scent will be on Julian’s clothes.”
“That’s right. And maybe Max can confirm who that person was if you get a list of names and bring someone in.”
Or, if that person comes to your house, I thought, but didn’t say it. This was just as much a security measure for Sunny as an asset to the case.
“Let’s do it. What do you need from me?” She asked again, renewed with energy and hope. Sunny was no fool. She knew BSPD doubted her story about a third person and would have no problem calling her a liar and throwing her under the bus just to move the case along.
“You’ll have to bring Max up to the station, along with his papers, certification, and anything else you have on him.
Griggs’ autopsy is scheduled to begin tomorrow afternoon.
The chief is putting a rush on it considering the effect it’s going to have on the community.
After that, we’ll have access to the clothes he wore last night.
Give it a day for me to run it through the red-tape paperwork.
Bring him to the station the day after tomorrow. ”
“Done.”
We walked in silence for a few beats, the sound of the river filling the quiet. Then, she slowed, stopped, and turned toward the water. The breeze off the river lifted strands of her hair as she stared blankly at the current, as if searching for answers in its endless motion.
She shook her head, her voice low, almost to herself. “I don’t get it. I’ve never even met Julian. I don’t get why he attacked me.”
I stepped beside her, the sunlight slanting through the trees casting long shadows over the ground. “Do you think it was random, Sunny?”
She looked over at me, expression hard. “That the pastor’s kid was lurking in the woods at midnight and decided to attack me?” Her voice was flat, but the tension beneath it simmered. “Doesn’t feel random, does it?”
She blew out a breath, sharp and heavy. “God…” She scrubbed her hands over her face, frustration radiating off her in waves. “I just feel so—”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she dropped her hands and turned away from the water, crossing toward the cages.
I kept my eye on the dog locked inside, an inky-black pit bull with silver eyes that seemed to glow in the daylight.
A beast. I guessed the dog weighed close to ninety pounds, thick, proud, and all muscle.
I couldn’t begin to imagine the wrath he could inflict on someone, especially a young child.
It was the type of dog that made people cross the street or turn the other way.
The type of dog I’d seen in more than one drug raid.
The pit’s silver eyes were fixed on me.
“What’s his story?”
“This is Brutus. A rescue.”
“A rescue from what?”
Her gaze slid to mine. “I’ll give you one guess.”
“He was a fight dog.”
She kneeled in front of the cage. While she’d coddled her other mutts like babies, she approached this one with caution. Slowly, with ease as one might approach a ticking bomb. Felt familiar.
Sunny flattened her hand against the cage and began speaking in a low, soft voice.
The dog’s eyes never left mine.
“I got him six weeks ago,” she said softly.
“He’d been raised by a reputable breeder, who’d taken care of him.
The bastard who bought him thought he could turn an adult dog into a fight dog overnight.
Put him through absolute—” Her voice cracked.
“He’s been through a lot. Literal torture.
And now, because of that, he’s a bit of a loose cannon.
” She stuck a finger inside the cage, then another, slowly rubbing the dog’s nose.
“He has a neck and shoulder injury that didn’t heal correctly.
” She glanced over her shoulder, anger sparking in her eyes.
“An injury he didn’t have when the breeder sold him. ”
“Is that why he’s not moving around much?”
“Yes. He’s mobile and can do everything any other dog can do, but I think he’s in constant pain and he tires out easily.”
Ticking time bomb, loose cannon, chronic pain… a cage. Hell, it was like looking in the mirror.
She continued, “He’ll have to have surgery but not until I can break him.
It’s slow moving with this guy. He moves at his own pace.
Walks to the beat of his own drum, you could say.
” She exhaled deeply. “But he’s going to be okay.
We’ll get him taken care of. I’m not giving up on him.
He’s going to be just fine. Aren’t you Brutus?
You’re my good baby. That’s it, good boy. ”
What would it be like to have someone have that much faith in you, I wondered. To have that kind of commitment.
“Why do you keep him caged?”
“He’s penned because he’s not fully trained yet. This is Brutus’s daytime home until I can break him. It’s for the safety of my other dogs—not mine. He wouldn’t hurt me, I’m sure of it.”
It made me nervous, how much blind faith she had in this broken dog.
“Hell of a gamble,” I said.
“Hell of an instinct. You of all people should understand the power of human instinct.”
I did and it was telling me there was more to this story. Kind of like all her stories.
“How exactly did you get Brutus from his abusive owner?”
“I … loaded him up in my truck.”
“With or without the owner’s help?”
She shot me another look, that strong defiance from the night before.
“Without. I found out Brutus had been sold when I’d gone to the breeders a few months ago.
In casual conversation the breeder shared her concern over his new owner.
Guess she had an instinct about the guy too, but money talks.
She felt guilty, I could tell. Anyway, I couldn’t get it off my mind.
Literally, for a week I couldn’t sleep, thinking about it.
So I did something about it. I tracked the bastard down, went to his house and saw the conditions Brutus was living in.
The bastard had put Brutus in a cage not much bigger than his body.
They’d put blades in the top and sides. If he moved, he’d get sliced. It was a tactic to break him mentally.”
It sounded a lot like what I’d been through in SERE training.
“He was muzzled, starved, dehydrated and in so much pain from his shoulder injury, which I can only assume is blunt force trauma…” She stopped talking, her face turning to granite.
“When I saw him… Jagg, I’ll never forget it,” her voice was as soft as a whisper.
“He spotted me in the woods where I had snuck up. We communicated nonverbally. Me and the dog. I have no doubt in my soul that Brutus knew I was there to save him. … I swear he cried when I released him.” She sniffed, then squared her shoulders, swallowing back the emotions.
I got the feeling she did that a lot. I took a step back to give her a moment, and if I’m being honest, to give myself one, too.
The story was real. The emotions were real.
Her sadness was palpable and dammit if I didn’t feel something, too.
I’d seen my fair share of animal abuse but imagining it happening to this pit, staring into my damn soul like my long lost brother, churned my stomach.
“And then what happened? You just walked up to the front door and said, ‘hey, let me take that dog off your hands.’ And the drug addict said, ‘okay, here you go’?”
“More or less.”
“Less, as in, you stole Brutus from the guy in the middle of the night.”
Her lack of response was response enough.
“You know the guy reported a dog thief the next day at BSPD.”
Her eyes rounded as she looked over her shoulder. “He did?”
“Yep. I remember it. Well, I should say I remember him. Kenny Shultz. Everyone at BSPD knows his name. Came in whining that someone stole his dog, a black pit with grey eyes.”
“I’m surprised he cared enough to report it.”
“As you said, money talks. The dog was worth something to him.”
“Huh,” was all I got.
“You know, I could technically arrest you right now, Miss Harper.”
She pushed to a stance, turned to me and jerked her chin up, those red lips pressed into a thin line.
“Do it.”
We stared at each other a moment, both daring each other to make a move. Two stubborn, bull-headed type A’s.
Brutus couldn’t be in better hands. If anyone was going to break him, it would be her. I wondered how many proud men Sunny Harper had house broken over her life.
“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Just bring Max up to the station the day after tomorrow to sniff Griggs’ clothes and we’ll call it even.”
“Done.” She glanced at her watch. An appointment? Or done with me? “Well, it was good speaking with you, Detective.”
Done with me.
“Call me Jagg—for the tenth time. And keep your eye out for a blue sedan.”
I took another glance at my soul-brother with the silver eyes.
“Have a good day, Miss Harper.” I turned into three pairs of beady eyes and three wagging tails. I dipped my chin. “Tango. Athena. Max.”
I felt Sunny’s eyes boring into my back as I started down the river bank.
I turned, catching her stare.
“Hey, Sunny?”
Her brows arched.
“You might want to move those wind chimes you’ve got hanging above your truck. Hate to have anything happen to that beauty. And that reminds me, I have one more question to ask you. What church do you go to?”
I watched her wheels start to turn. “Religion isn’t confined between four walls.”
“Or within the three knots of the triquetra symbols you’ve got hanging from those chimes.”
“You’re observant, Detective.”
“Jagg. Eleven. And it’s the job. What’s with the triquetra?”
“Why don’t you just come out and ask me if I’m a witch?”
“Are you a witch, Miss Harper?”
“Sunny. And no.”
“Do you practice Wicca?”
“What does this have to do with anything?”
“Gathering facts.”
“The triquetra symbol represents life, death, and rebirth—and protection.”
“It also represents the Wiccan Triple Goddess and the interconnected parts of human existence, as practiced in witchcraft.”
She narrowed her eyes in a way that reminded me of the moment after I tackled her in the park.
I smiled. “Just looking out for that Chevy. Love to take it for a spin sometime.”
“I’ll bet you would. Good day, Detective.”
I turned, her obedient soldiers watching my every step.