The Bone Collector

pounds of pressure on the slick trigger before she realized she was staring at a painting on the wall. An eerie, moon-faced butcher, holding a knife in one hand, a slab of meat in the other.
    Brother . . .
    He picked a great place for home.
    The ESU troops clopped upstairs, searching the first and second floors.
    But Sachs was looking for something else.
    She found the door leading down to the basement. Partly open. Okay. Halogen off. You’ve got to take a look first. But she remembered what Nick had said: never look around corners at head or chest level—that’s where he’s expecting you. Down on one knee. A deep breath. Go!
    Nothing. Blackness.
    Back to cover.
    Listen . . .
    At first she heard nothing. Then there was a definite scratching. A clatter. The sound of a fast breath or grunt.
    He’s there and he’s digging his way out!
    Into her mike she said, “I’ve got activity in the basement. Backup.”
    “ Roger. ”
    But she couldn’t wait. She thought of the little girl down there with him. And she started down the stairs. Paused and listened again. Then she realized she was standing with her body fully exposed from the waist down. She practically leapt down to the floor, dropped into a crouch in the darkness.
    Breathe deep.
    Now, do it!
    The halogen in her left hand stabbed a brilliant rod of light through the room. The muzzle of her weapon targeted the center of the white disk as it swung left to right. Keep the beam down. He’d be at crotch level too. Remembering what Nick had told her: Perps don’t fly.
    Nothing. No sign of him.
    “Officer Sachs?”
    An ESU trooper was at the top of the stairs.
    “Oh, no,” she muttered, as her beam fell on Pammy Ganz, frozen in the corner of the basement.
    “Don’t move,” she called to the trooper.
    Inches away from the girl stood the pack of emaciated wild dogs, sniffing at her face, her fingers, her legs. The girl’s wide eyes darted from one animal to the other. Her tiny chest rose and fell and tears streamed down her face. Her mouth was open and the dot of her pink tongue seemed glued to the right arc of her lip.
    “Stay up there,” she said to the ESU trooper. “Don’t spook ’em.”
    Sachs drew targets but didn’t fire. She could kill two or three but the others might panic and grab the girl. One was big enough to snap her neck with a single flip of its scarred, mangy head.
    “Is he down there?” the ESU cop asked.
    “Don’t know. Get a medic here. To the top of the stairs. Nobody come down.”
    “Roger.”
    Her weapon sights floating from one animal to another, Sachs slowly started forward. One by one the dogs became aware of her and turned away from Pammy. The little girl was merely food; Sachs was a predator. They growled and snarled, front legs quivering as their hindquarters tensed, ready to jump.
    “I’m ascared,” Pammy said shrilly, drawing their attention again.
    “Shhhh, honey,” Sachs cooed. “Don’t say anything. Be quiet.”
    “Mommy. I want my mommy! ” Her abrasive howl set the dogs off. They danced in place, and swung their battered noses from right to left, growling.
    “Easy, easy . . .”
    Sachs moved to the left. The dogs were facing her now, glancing from her eyes to her outstretched hand and the gun. They separated into two packs. One stayed close to Pammy. The other moved around Sachs, trying to flank her.
    She eased between the little girl and the three dogs closest to her.
    The Glock swinging back and forth, a pendulum. Their black eyes on the black gun.
    One dog, with a scabby yellow coat, snarled and stepped forward on Sachs’s right.
    The little girl was whimpering, “Mommy . . .”
    Sachs moved slowly. She leaned down, clamped her hand on the child’s sweatshirt and dragged Pammy behind her. The yellow dog moved closer.
    “Shoo,” Sachs said.
    Closer still.
    “Go away!”
    The dogs behind the yellow one tensed as he bared cracked brown teeth.
    “Get the fuck outa here!” Sachs snarled and slammed the barrel of the Glock onto his nose. The dog blinked in dismay, yelped, skittered up the stairs.
    Pammy screamed, sending the others into a frenzy. They started fighting among themselves, a whirlwind of snapping teeth and slaver. A scarred Rottweiler tossed a dustmop of a mutt to the floor in front of Sachs. She stamped her foot beside the scrawny brown thing and he skittered to his feet, raced up the stairs. The others chased him like greyhounds after a rabbit.
    Pammy began to sob.