Leslie Glass - Tracking Time

"The kid wants to work. Let's go," April said, pleased that at least the dog supported her.

Suddenly John's mood changed. "Whatever you say. I'm good to go." His jaw tightened as he clipped on Peachy's leash. "Down," he commanded. Peachy dropped to her stomach. He went to the car and returned in a few seconds with a bottle of Evian and a bowl. He filled the bowl with the water. "Okay," he told the dog.

On command the dog got up and slurped at the contents of the bowl. "They work better when they're hydrated," he explained. When the bowl was empty, John gave Peachy a large dog biscuit. Peachy crunched it down in one bite. Then she stood at attention, looking at him expectantly and growling at the back of her throat.

"Good girl. What a good baby. Want to go to work? Huh? How about it? Let's go work. Yeah, baby." The C scar by the side of John's mouth cavorted with his enthusiasm. His color was up and April could see him zoning with the dog.

Finally, he turned to April and Mike. "I want you two to stay here; you have a radio, right?"

Mike shook his head. "I don't want to use the radio. You have a cell?"

John nodded.

"Okay, we'll keep you in view, but if the dog takes off, use the cell to contact us. I'm calling in to let the captain know we've decided to work the area."

"Fine. Whatever you say. Good girl. Good girl. Peachy, just one more second and we're out of here." He was careful to keep Mike with the stronger scent away.

Mike gave John his number. John punched it into the phone memory. "Technology," he muttered. "And Mike, one warning. This is not a bomb dog. This is not a drugs dog. This is a people dog."

"Meaning?"

"She expects to find live people here in the city, in the park. She doesn't expect to find a dead person. I suspect she either smells a dead person or a dead animal. There are two schools of thought on whether they can tell the difference. In any case, that's why she's acting like this. She may smell your man, and he's dead. I'm just preparing you, okay?"

"Oh, let's not be too pessimistic," Mike replied. "She could also be turned on by delicious smells at the zoo." He gave April a triumphant little smile.

April hadn't thought of that. The zoo was a mile away across the park at Fifth and Sixty-fifth Street. Penguins and polar bears and who knew what else.

John shook his head at Mike. "Not a chance. Okay, Peachy. Go find for Daddy." Peachy took off, nose high in the air.

Not more than five minutes later, a hundred yards from where they'd been, under a thin layer of fresh leaves, the dog located a dribble of something that looked like intestines. Mike and April saw her stop and bark happily. They ran to the spot as John was praising her, before he even moved in to see what she'd found.

Looked like insides, stank like hell. What got them interested was that there was nothing else. No body, either human or otherwise. It was a weird find. If animals had been at something, they wouldn't eat the bones and leave the tissue. Mike used his radio to call in the find. If the tissue turned out to be human, they'd have a homicide on their hands.

Allegra was on her stomach with one foot caught under the gate, a sock in her mouth, and her bleeding, broken nose flattened into the sand. Her ankle and wrists throbbed, but breathing was her real problem. The sand under her face was warm and wet. When she tried to inhale through her nose, she made a gurgling sound, like mucus in a bad cold. Each breath drew a trickle of blood down her throat because there was no way out of her mouth. She knew that iron taste. She was drowning in her own blood. She yanked at her foot. If she could have ripped it or bitten it off like an animal in a trap, she would have done it.

She was petrified. She could breathe through the sock and the bloody nose but only when she was calm. When panic overcame her, she made noises-stifled half sobs, inarticulate and incomprehensible. No words could escape to express her agony. Why-? What had she done to make this happen? The sock deep in her mouth triggered her gag reflex. All these years she'd wanted to die, and now she was dying and didn't want to. Not like this.

"Fucking bitch!"

She was kicking like hell and gagging on the sock when the boy swung the gate back crushing her ankle and shooting a rocket of pain up her leg. She could hear the thud of rocks thrown against the gate. A gate to nowhere. And she heard the soft voice of Maslow Atkins calling out. "Stop! Wait!"

She wasn't sure what happened. What happened to her? She'd been dozing on the bench, thinking of her mother, when suddenly she'd been startled by the voices. She smelled pot smoke. Two of them, the same two kids were back. One was crying, the other laughing. They were high, manic. Allegra knew the signs. Happysadcrazymad.

The two were in the dark, but carried the kind of flashlight that made a tiny point of illumination to shine on a keyhole or a theater program. It looked like a star bouncing along the ground. All she did was follow the star through the high wet grass, up a sloping bank, and into the bushes. She hardly knew what she was doing. She never expected to find Dr. Atkins. She'd been completely astounded to hear his voice. He was pleading. She'd never heard him beg. She didn't think. She just went to get him.

And then it happened so fast she didn't know which one of them tripped her and smashed her head against the ground, which one of them pulled her shoes off and used the laces to tie her hands behind her back. She was like a doll mangled by fighting children. They'd left her, just like that. She was a dead doll. She'd never get up again.

Allegra lifted her head to breathe, crying in the dark. "Agghhhmmmmm-"

After a while, her neck ached so badly she had to let it rest. Her head dropped and her face fell in the dirt. She tried to spit the sock out, but each time she raised her tongue her throat closed up.

"Allegra. Allegra, listen to me. Move over here. Allegra. Come on, we can help each other. Come, please."

She heard him and struggled to obey, tried to roll over; but her foot was pinned. Her hands were tied. She bucked her hips and twisted her wrists against the laces, cutting off circulation in her hands and painfully wrenching her shoulders. What was wrong with him?

Why couldn't he just move over to her? Why was he letting her suffer this way?

"Allegra-"

"Argggh." She was dying. She could feel herself dying, and a moan was the best she could do. It was exactly the way she'd felt in treatment with him, too. She'd never been able to find the right words, the open sesame words, for him to help her get out of the dungeon.

Allegra hadn't had anything to eat in three days, just some water and the coffee. She felt dizzy from the pain in her nose and the drip of blood down her throat. She was dehydrated. Something happened with electrolytes when you didn't drink enough. She'd passed out a few times from hunger when she was dieting, so usually she was pretty careful. She was beginning to hallucinate. She could hear her mother calling for her.

"Dylan, Dylan. Come home."

She imagined Dr. Atkins calling to her, too. "Allegra. Shhh. Don't cry. I'll save you."

Hours passed and her panicked moans got softer.

Grace Rodriguez came into the office at eight on the button. She was wearing a black suit and was ready for war. She walked into the office that she still shared after all these years with a young associate-this latest one a fat boyish twenty-nine-year-old who was constantly eating on the sly throughout the day whenever he thought she wasn't looking, though how he thought she'd fail to notice when she was only a few feet away in a very small room she couldn't begin to imagine.