Fall Guy

slicker, shoved the Vicks in the pocket and I suited Dashiell for work. Ten minutes later, I was at the gate to Saint Luke's Church, looking around me like a thief, then opening the latch and slipping inside, carefully closing the gate behind me. There were no lights on anywhere, not in the garden and not from any of the windows. The rain had nearly stopped by now, but steam was rising from the paths, the mist was so thick that had there been any lights on, they would not have illuminated the garden anyway. It was a large place, snaking around the church, the school, the building that housed the thrift shop. I switched the leash from Dashiell's collar to his harness so that when he pulled hard, which he would as soon as he was on the scent, he wouldn't be giving himself a correction. A correction would stop him cold, the last thing I wanted. I bent and whispered, „Are you ready? Find bones,“ adjusting the leash so that it would slide through my hands as he went and I followed.
    Dashiell's head was above the ground. He was air-scenting. He turned it from side to side and then began to move, quartering the area of the courtyard where we had entered, searching a section at a time at a speed I could barely keep up with. Then he pulled me to another part of the yard, and now he was moving in a straight line. He stopped, pushed his nose into the pile of leaves in front of him, then sat and barked once, looking toward me, then back at the ground in front of him. He pawed at the leaves once, then barked again. I caught up quickly, testing the air. Nothing. I thought about using the Vicks anyway, but decided to wait. I didn't want to lose my own sense of smell unless I absolutely had to. I didn't know what Brody had borrowed. He hadn't said. But unless he'd buried a rotting corpse in the church courtyard or borrowed whatever Dashiell had found from the morgue, it wasn't all that likely that the odor Dash had followed would be discernible by me.
    I knelt on the wet ground and carefully began to brush the leaves away with my hands. There was loose soil underneath. I brushed that away, too, until I saw it. Dashiell began to speak, not a bark, but a low mumbling noise he made when he was excited or wanted something. Kneeling next to the shallow grave, both of us looking at the single bone, I put my arm around him.
    „You did good,“ I told him. „You did great.“
    All I could smell was the musky odor of the damp ground. For Dashiell, there was much more. I could hear his tail stirring the wet leaves behind him. I put some leaves back where they'd been on the odd chance someone would happen by before Brody returned. Then I stood, and so did Dashiell. Suddenly I broke away, running across the lawn. I stopped and turned to face him, patting my chest. When he leaped in the air, I put out my arms and caught him. He turned and began to lick the rain off my face. Then he put his wet cheek against mine and held it there. „You did it,“ I whispered, squeezing him against me. „I knew you could.“
    Leaving St. Luke's courtyard, I carefully pulled the gate closed behind me, not happy that it would remain open for the rest of the night. But then I saw him across the street, sitting in a parked car. Well, I didn't exactly see him. What I saw was the ember of his cigarette, flaring as he inhaled. I could have walked over to the car, to thank him. But I didn't. I didn't wave either. Had he wanted to talk to me then, he would have gotten out. He hadn't. He was waiting until I left to retrieve the bone and lock the gate. I started to run and didn't stop until I was standing in front of my own gate, trying to catch my breath.
    As late as it was, I was too elated to feel sleepy. I had thought that Dashiell's previous search work would help him learn human remains recovery more quickly, and now it seemed I'd been right. I dried Dashiell, ran a bath and peeled off my wet clothes. Sitting in the tub, head back, eyes closed, I heard the phone ring. I heard my own outgoing message, Dashiell barking. Then I heard his voice.
    „I know what you did,“ he said. „Just remember, there are consequences for every act.“
    There was something familiar about what he'd said, something too familiar. I got up, put on my robe and, still dripping, walked into the office and hit play on the answering machine, listening to Parker's message a second time. Then I took the stairs two at a time, picking up O'Fallon's notebook and paging through it quickly.