Paws before dying

about it.”
    “What is it?”
    “I’ll show you. But, first, uh, I’ve got to call the police, unless... You don’t know if Kevin’s home?”
    She shook her head. “I didn’t see him. Holly, did something really bad happen?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    It was after midnight. Instead of knocking on Mrs. Dennehy’s door or phoning there so late, I called the police. Maybe because I explained that I was Kevin’s next-door neighbor and asked whether he happened to be there, a cruiser and two uniformed officers arrived pretty quickly, at least for Cambridge, which is not Newton, but not Boston, either.
    One of the officers looked about fifty, the other about fifteen, ‘ but I could tell that the police-academy etiquette course they’d both taken hadn’t changed over the years. I’m sure they both got A’s, too, because they never addressed either Leah or me without calling us “Ma’am,” and both displayed that mastery of facial expression that consists of showing none whatsoever.
    Kevin Dennehy certainly didn’t pull any higher than a C. Although he Ma’ams dutifully enough—not to me, of course, at least not anymore—his feelings register on his face and in his voice. That night, before he caught sight of Leah and me, he wasn’t even making any effort to disguise them. He directed a muted bellow at his brethren: “What the hell is this all about?” Then he got closer and saw us and the dogs. “Sorry. Didn’t see you. What the hell is going on here?”
    We were on the sidewalk, and I pointed to the fence.
    “Holy Christ,” Kevin said. Then he read aloud: “Gas them all. Jew lovers.” His solid, good voice felt like a husky, gloved hand that picked up the sprayed words and deposited them in a clear plastic evidence bag.
    The child officer was shining a flashlight on the swastika. The color was primary red, not the barn red of my house, but it was close enough to gall me. I’d always liked the color of my house, exactly the shade my mother always used on the barn in Owls Head, and I didn’t want anyone attaching bigoted, ugly associations to my house and Marissa’s bam. Bigotry works like a permanent adhesive that glues the ugly to the innocent. During World War II, Americans started saying “Alsatians” instead of “German shepherds,” but fools chased the dogs, tied cans to their tails, and persecuted them, anyway.
    “Kevin,” I said, kicking the bottom of the swastika, “I don’t want this garbage on my fence. When can I paint it out? Can I do it now?”
    “We have paint,” Leah added. “I’ll get it.”
    “No,” Kevin told her. “Not yet. I’ll let you know.”
    “Kevin, I am not having a goddamned swastika on my fence. I can cover it up. What if we hang some sheets over it? Nail them on or something.”
    He sighed. “Sure.”
    While he conferred with the guys in uniform, Leah and I took the dogs inside, where I dragged a white sheet out of a closet and, after some inspired ferreting in the cellar, brought up some odds and ends: plastic drop cloths, a hammer, a fistful of nails, two trim brashes, and an almost-full can of medium-blue paint left over from a chair I’d done a long time ago.
    “Leah,” I said. “Was Willie Johnson at the party tonight? Did you see him tonight?”
    She shook her head.
    “I didn’t mention his name to those guys, but I have to tell Kevin. I haven’t told him about that radio. The tape player. But he has to know.”
    “No!” she said. “That is not fair. You don’t know.”
    “Leah, I have no intention of protecting whoever did this, and who else would? This was not some random thing. It was meant for us. Anyway, I’m not asking you. I’m telling you that I am telling Kevin the whole story. Look, in the meantime, I have an idea. Have you ever heard about something that happened when the Germans occupied Denmark?”
    She shook her head. I could see that she was angry, but I went on.
    “Well, they ordered all the Jews to wear armbands with Stars of David, and... Maybe I don’t have the details right, but this is the idea. They gave the order, and the King of Denmark did a beautiful thing. He wore a Star of David, a Jewish star. He put on the armband, and then he went riding, or he went for a walk in a public park, or some other place like that, so everyone would see him.”
    “Like, ‘Screw you,’ ” she said appreciatively.
    “Yes,” I said a little uncertainly. “Well, what I think he meant was, ‘If you do this to