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“You think Benjamin may have grabbed Cloke?”
Before Monck could respond, a crow kamikazeed down while screeching an earsplitting series ofcaws.
Startled, we all ducked.
While straightening, Monck shifted a bit to his right, allowing me a clear view of the hallway arrowing inward from the chartreuse door. I saw the white tile, the framed prints, the arched opening giving onto the orange living room.
Again, my pulse went ballistic.
On the floor, wedged against the faux wood, were two brown paws. Beneath the paws, pooled blood fast congealing at the edges.
“Holy shit, Monck. He killed his dog.”
As before, Monck yanked open the screen.
“Stop!”
We both whirled.
“Please hold.” Rossiter’s gaze had gone stony.
“Fuck that.”
Monck charged over the threshold.
33
Most of the blood had come from Betty’s nose and mouth.
The potcake lay on her side, hind limbs flexed, forelimbs stretched, head twisted back and pressed to her shoulder. Deep gashes on her muzzle and thorax suggested a vicious attack.
Wordlessly, I reached out to Monck. He dug gloves from his shoulder satchel and handed them to me. Pulling them on, I crossed to the dog.
Betty’s eyes were open and vacant, her pupils dilated. No need to hold a finger to her throat searching for a pulse, or a mirror to her nostrils testing for breath.
“Looks like someone really hammered this pooch,” I said, a tad flippant to hide my emotion. I hadn’t liked Betty much. But cruelty to any animal sends something ugly darting into my soul. And boils my anger.
“The divot-like lacerations suggest a boot.”
My gaze swept the wall and the woodwork.
“Low-level blood spatter indicates the kicks kept coming after the dog was down, maybe already dead.”
“Jesus,” Monck said.
The special agents behind him remained silent.
I laid a hand on Betty’s thigh. Her body felt cool but only slightly stiff.
“Rigor is minimal,” I said. “I’m no expert on doggie decomp but, given Betty’s size and the ambient temperature, I’d say she’s been dead four hours tops.”
“The timeline clicks,” said Monck, shrugging. “The freak ices his dog, then takes off in the Tacoma to do himself.”
I rose, knees unhappy with their renewed responsibility.
“Why would he do that? Betty was a jerk, but Benjamin seemed genuinely fond of her.”
“He didn’t want the mutt to suffer? Knew no one would take her?”
