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They were on the outskirts of the crowd now, and several passengers, unaware of the chaos unfolding at the adjacent platform, turned to her in alarm when she said that. The maintenance employee turned away from Faith, scanning for an exit, but the momentary hesitation allowed Turk to reach him, and when he turned to see the big German shepherd snarling at him, he released a scream that sounded exactly like an “EEP!” from an old cartoon and fell to the ground, hands in front of him to ward Turk off.
Turk, ever the professional, stopped just in front of him, growling and barking but not snapping or biting at the downed quarry.
“Please!” the man shrieked. “Don’t let him eat me!”
Faith blinked, surprised at the absurdity of the demand. She quickly regained her composure, however, and said, “Turk, heel.”
Turk immediately calmed and returned to her side. The maintenance worker stared wide-eyed at Faith, rooted to the spot.
“You and I are going to have a little chat,” Faith said.
“Please,” the man whispered. “Don’t let him kill me!”
Faith sighed. “He’s not going to kill you. You talk to me, and he won’t even touch you. What’s your name?”
“Ernesto,” he said in the same keening whisper.
“Nice to meet you, Ernesto,” Faith said. “I’m Special Agent Faith Bold. What were you doing on that platform?”
“I was on my lunch break,” he said. “I was working on some of the grounded locomotives on 7G and decided to head to the Italian place on 9E for some pasta. They have good ravioli.”
He remained on his back with his hands splayed out in front of him, and Faith said, “You can stand, Ernesto, just don’t start running, or Turkwilltake you down.”
“No, no, no running,” he said, slowly getting to his feet, one hand extended fully in front of him in a warding-off gesture. “No running.”
“So, you were on your lunch break,” Faith said, “and you had to cross several platforms, including the one where a dead woman sat unnoticed on a bench, because you just had to have your ravioli.”
“Please,” he whispered, “I didn’t know there was a dead woman on that platform. I just saw the crowd and stopped to see what everyone was looking at.”
“Hmm,” Faith said, “ever use phenol, Ernesto?”
“Phenol?” he said, brow furrowing. “Is that a drug? I don’t do drugs, ma’am. Not since my aunt OD’ed on heroin six years ago. I threw out all my marijuana. I don’t even drink anymore. You can …” He took a deep breath and lowered his arm, then stiffened. “You can have your dog search me if you need to. Just please don’t let him hurt me. I’m scared of dogs. My cousin was bit by a dog when I was a kid. I’ll never forget the way she screamed.”
“Fun family,” Faith muttered to herself. Out loud, she said, “You have my word, Ernesto. You stay still and let Turk search you, and he won’t so much as lick you. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
He closed his eyes and grinned that wide fear-grin again, trembling like a leaf as Turk approached. Faith wasn’t concerned about drugs, of course, but if Turk caught a scent of phenol, then this man might be their killer.
Already, Faith had her doubts. The man was clearly legitimately terrified of Turk. Terrified men made terrible liars, and this man was sharing some rather personal family secrets, which indicated to Faith that he was in no shape to hide anything right now.
Still, Turkhadsmelled something, and when he reached Ernesto, he immediately smelled it again, recoiling and shaking his head, pawing at his nose. Faith pursed her lips grimly. “Ernesto, what are you hiding?” she said, stepping closer.
“Nothing!” he squeaked. “I swear, nothing!”
“Try again,” Faith said. “My K9 smelled something on you. Something very strong. Tell me about phenol, Ernesto. Tell me what you have.”
“I don’t know what phenol is,” he said. “Is that …” his eyes widened. “Wait!” he cried with almost desperate excitement. “Is that in bleach? I mean, I know bleach has chlorine, but does it have phenol too?”
Faith approached closely, and when she reached him, she could smell it—a strong, astringent odor that flared her nostrils and burned her eyes. She sighed and called Turk off.
“Was it the bleach?” Ernesto asked hopefully. “Maybe that’s what angered your dog?”
“Yeah,” Faith said, “might be.”
Once more, Turk had followed a lead, and once more, Turk had been wrong. She couldn’t understand it. She had worked three cases with him, and in all three cases, he had not once been wrong. Was he losing it too?
“Yeah,” Ernesto said, visibly relaxing now that Turk wasn’t snapping at him. “Yeah, I thought maybe that might be it. My wife accidentally put my uniform in with the whites. That’s why there’s all these stains on it.”
