James Smith - The Flock

The older man went over to a tabletop attached to the far wall. He opened the door of the dorm-sized refrigerator and reached in, producing a bundle about the same dimensions as a big hardback book. His guests noted that it was a white towel, folded neatly to contain something. Brill laid it on the tabletop as the pair came to him, and he unwrapped it.

"What do you have?" Ron asked, looking.

Brill said nothing. Inside the towel was a plastic bag, which he gingerly opened. He spilled the contents out on the towel.

Unmistakably, what was there was the paw of a large dog, and a section of leash composed of a fine linked chrome chain. The paw had been very neatly sheared off. The chain, too, appeared to have been cut.

Mary and Ron crowded in close. Without any hesitation, Mary reached out and picked up the portion of the dog's front leg and looked at it. The insects and maggots had been at it, but there was still flesh attached to the bone. The stench, even from such a small piece of matter, was very powerful. Riggs and Brill flinched back. "Ugh," Mary said. Her voice seemed loud in the quiet workroom. "Where did you find this?"

"Well, I was inspecting the back yard after the maintenance crew left when they finished mowing yesterday. And I noticed a line of black ants cutting across the corner of my fence at the very back of the lot. That was where Sarah had been tied up when we last saw her. We had been letting her run on a line back there stretched between two poles…like a clothesline. You know the type?" Both nodded at Brill.

"I saw the ants. So many of them. So I crawled through the split rails to see what was there. I could smell something rotting. And in the broom sedge growing over there I found the foot and the bit of chain."

"Find anything else?" Mary asked.

"Nope. That was all. I got a big stick and poked around in there just to make sure. Searched an area roughly fifty feet on a side. Didn't find anything else like that. Didn't see any more ants, either."

Ron had reached over and picked up the chain. There was only about six inches of the leash remaining, and it looked as if it had been cut cleanly with some kind of shear. He held it in the palm of his hand and examined it, looking for patterns where the metal had been cut. "Hunh," he grunted, seeing only a smooth surface.

"Look at this," Mary said, holding the dead animal's paw out to Ron, wrist side up. She pointed at the exposed bone with her left index finger.

"Jesus."

"What is it?" Brill asked. "What did this?"

"Well." Ron stopped. He and Mary exchanged glances.

"Well, what," Brill asked again.

"What do you make of it, Mary?"

Mary took another long look at the bit of flesh and bone and put it down. "You got somewhere we can wash up back here?"

"Yes. Certainly. Right over there," the homeowner said, indicating a door on the far side of the room. Mary and Ron retreated to it, went into the bathroom, which was far larger than they had thought. They turned on the hot water, got down a bottle of anti-bacterial cleanser they found on a shelf above the big, tub-like sink. And they closed the door, blocking them off from their host.

"What do you say, Ron?"

"Well. We ain't looking for a snake, I'd say."

"What does that to bone?"

"And to metal."

Mary stuck her hands into the hot stream of water and lathered them up. Ron stood beside her and soaped up his own hands. They were silent. Ron felt uncomfortable, being this close to her after having ended the physical side of their relationship.

"Some sick bastard killed his dog," Ron finally said.

"Looks that way," Mary admitted. "Looks like I'm out of an assignment."

Ron let the hot water run over his skin, washing off the soap. He immediately poured another dollop of cleanser into his palm and repeated the lathering process. Mary followed his lead, pausing only to sniff at her hands.

"Well, let's not be too hasty. Let's say it is a sick bastard killing the dogs around here. The cops will have to take over. But maybe something else took off that paw. Maybe something bit it off."

"Nothing I know of bites clean through like that. You saw it. That paw looks like a surgeon sliced through it with a fine-toothed bone saw. What the hell cuts like that other than a scalpel or some kind of blade?"

"A big cat, maybe? You know some of the reintroduced panthers have wandered north out of the Everglades. Could be a panther. Certainly enough habitat for it around here."

"No, no, no. You know as well as I do that panthers don't hunt down dogs. Especially not a dog like an Airedale. Hell. Those dogs are bred to hunt big cats. No way."

"Looks like Salutations has some kind of slasher loose in it. Maybe one who just does dogs, but still a crazy." Ron doused his hands with water again and reached for a towel hanging from a rack to the left of the sink. He patted his hands dry and passed it to Mary.

"I wonder if the Buick is still parked out there." Mary looked at Ron. For a moment, they were silent. "Let's go talk to Mr. Brill," she said. "And then we can go see if it's still out there. Let's have a talk with whoever's driving it."

Ron thought for a moment, considering the danger of messing around with someone who'd cut up a dog on site. But then he thought of Mary's considerable physical strength and her reputation as a scrapper. "Let's do it," he agreed. They went back into Brill's woodworking shop.

"Can I take this back with me to the lab?" Ron asked, pointing to the grisly bits in the plastic bag.

"Sure. You can wrap it back up in the towel and take it all away." Brill shrugged. "And what did that, anyway? What bites clean through a dog's leg like that?"

"Not an animal, Mr. Brill. Probably some kind of knife." Ron stood back where the paw and chain were, and he gingerly rolled the bagged mess up in the towel.

"A knife? You're saying a man did this? Why? How?" Brill's face was growing crimson, even in the cool workroom.

"Your guess is as good as mine, sir. I'm going to report this back to Bill Tatum in security. After that, it's his project. He'll probably want to talk to you about it all."

Brill stood there, his hands clenched into fists, his face practically glowing blood red. "Damn. Beth and I moved down here to get away from this kind of thing. Damn."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brill. I really am. But I can't see how anything other than a knife or a saw did this to your dog." Ron blinked, thinking of something else. "This is your dog's paw, isn't it?"

Brill looked up, distracted from his rage. "Yes," he said. "It's her, all right. That's her color. We paid extra. She was the only black and gray in the litter."

"Well." Ron was silent. Mary fidgeted. Ron headed toward the door. "We'll be leaving now. I think this clears up a lot for us. Not an animal, I don't think."

This time, it was Brill who followed the other two. They went through the yard, under the breezeway, down the drive to Ron's truck. Riggs stored the towel/bundle in a toolbox in the bed of the pickup. They shook Mr. Brill's hand and climbed into the cab, feeling the blast of heat as they opened their doors.

As the two looked back down the block, they saw that the Buick was still there, its motor running, parked at the verge of an unsold lot, cabbage palms shading the car.

"Goodbye," Brill said to them. "Thank you for stopping by. I assume I'll be hearing from Tatum?"

"I'm sure you will, Mr. Brill. Goodbye." Ron started the truck as Brill retreated and pulled out of the drive as the gentleman vanished into the house.

Ron backed out, pausing in the street when he confirmed that no car was coming from either direction. Just a quiet suburban street in a well-to-do Florida neighborhood. "What's our next move?"

"You just pull up next to that Buick and let me out. I'll knock on the door and see who comes out."