“I am asking how he ended up at your feet,” I said.
Ernesto finally looked at me, his eyes clouded but calm.
“He came to me like he already knew my name.”
I did not believe him.
“Dogs do not wander three miles through town to find a stranger, Mr. Ernesto.”
“I did not call him, ma’am,” Ernesto said.
“He just trotted right up, sat down, and put his head against my knee.”
As if on cue, Delta leaned his heavy head back against the old man’s trousers.
The dog closed his eyes, let out a deep breath, and stood perfectly still.
“Gerald, get the slip line on him now,” I ordered.
Gerald stepped forward cautiously.
“Watch his posture, Commander,” Gerald said.
“He is flagging his tail.”
Delta remained tense but allowed the rope to slide over his neck.
His eyes never left mine as the rope tightened.
“Look at his shoulder, Commander,” Gerald said.
He pointed his light at the dog’s left side.
“Under the fur, there is a thick, jagged mark.”
I leaned down to inspect the patch of skin.
It was a crescent-shaped scar, old and deep, white against the dark skin.
“That is from shrapnel,” Ernesto said softly.
He traced the scar on his own palm with a slow motion.
“A bad day in the dirt.”
“This dog has no military record,” I said.
“He was purchased from a breeder in Sacramento.”
Ernesto did not answer, his eyes following the dog as Gerald led him back.
“Let’s go, Gerald,” I said.
“Get him in the back of the cruiser.”
We turned back toward the entrance of the pier, Delta walking reluctantly at Gerald’s side.
“The K9 intake log is missing page forty-two,” I said, noting the gap in the sequence.
“That is correct,” Gerald said. “Protocol requires a dual-officer sign-off for any physical extraction from these archives. There is no record of who accessed this binder.”
“Where are the medical duplicates?” I asked.
“Dr. Marcus keeps the digital backups at the county clinic,” Gerald said. “He does not use the central server.”
I closed the binder, the heavy plastic cover slapping against the metal table.
The county veterinary office smelled of isopropyl alcohol and wet cedar shavings.
Dr. Marcus did not look up from his desk when I entered. He was holding his wire-rimmed glasses up to the fluorescent light, wiping the lenses with a small square of blue silk.
