All Shots

Still, she must have made this one. She would simply have to talk to the police. Another fragment: Mellie’s fear of the police. Was it really based on irrational anxiety about minor violations of dog-boarding regulations? Or was she justifiably worried about murder?
    I tried to buy time. “Mellie,” I said, “Strike can’t go home with you right now. Strike looks healthy. And she feels healthy. But she needs to go to the vet. And stay there.”
    Mellie’s face fell.
    “It’s not serious,” I added. “Other dogs can’t catch it-And she’s going to be fine. But I have to take her back to the vet. The good news is that she’s safe. You can take down the flyers now, the posters I gave you.” The terrier chose that opportune time to start bouncing impatiently at the end of his leash. “Besides, you have this dog to take care of. Strike is a big girl. You shouldn’t try to walk both dogs at once.”
    “One at a time,” Mellie said. She seemed to be repeating a rule. “Only one dog at a time. Unless they’re both little.”
    “Exactly. And Strike isn’t little. I’ll take good care of her. I promise. She’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about her anymore. She’s safe now.”
    “I need to light candles.” Mellie said. “You don’t just ask. Father McArdle says so. You don’t just ask. When you get what you want, you have to say thank you.”
    I nodded.
    When I was driving Strike back to Steve’s clinic, however, I realized that Mellie had applied the principle only to prayer. After all, I’d been the one who’d found the lost dog, hadn’t I? But Mellie had been grateful to the Virgin and hadn’t thanked me at all. Ridiculously, I felt shortchanged. But that’s a dog-show type for you: competitive to the core. And if the competition happens to be the Mother of God? Especially then, you have to be a good sport.
     

CHAPTER 25
     
    When I’d dropped Strike back at the clinic, I returned to my car and called Kevin Dennehy on my cell phone. He absolutely had to talk to Mellie, who lived right near the scene of the murder and who must have known the victim. As a cop, he needed to question her; and as a Cambridge insider, he was in a far better position than I was to find out what should and should not be expected of her. Mellie, who had been taking care of Strike, must know something about the “girl” who’d left the malamute with her. Until now, I’d simply accepted Francie’s statement that Mellie had special needs, and everything I’d observed about Mellie had confirmed Francie’s original statements. Yes, Mellie took things literally. Yes, she seemed conscientious and sweet. She was fearful of authority and deeply religious. And she certainly loved dogs. But what did I really know about her? About her abilities, her strengths, her limitations? About what she would or would not do? Or what she might or might not have done. Someone at dog training had mentioned her parents: Father McArdle had promised Mellie’s parents that he’d look out for her. Mrs. Dennehy had known them, Kevin had told me. Kevin himself would know something about Mellie’s parents or could easily find people who’d known them well. Had Mellie’s parents been people who’d have had a gun in the house?
    After leaving Kevin an urgent message, I drove back to Loaves and Fishes, this time to run in and grab some food, as I should have done before returning Strike. I’d known that I was low on milk and that I’d need something to eat before leaving for the rally match. The weather was cool, so I could safely have left Strike in the car. The inefficiency was unlike me. I felt scattered. If I could just talk to Kevin, I’d have a sense of handing over responsibility. Then I’d spend the evening with Leah and the dogs. My love for my human and canine family would calm me, and the almost mystical fusion I’d experience in working with Rowdy would restore my focus. Throughout my life, whenever I have had the sense of losing myself, of not being myself or not being entirely who I am, I have become whole again by giving myself up to a dog I love. When I become half Rowdy and he becomes half me, when I am united with this dog I adore, that’s when I am fully myself. My route to that union, and Rowdy’s, too, I think, is teamwork. The obedience exercises, the familiar structure, the attention to tiny details, the concentration visible on Rowdy’s face and audible in my voice, the hard-earned effortlessness