her green eyes flashing in sudden outrage. “Most people, including Carol’s own grandmother, might consider that run-down trailer little more than a hovel, but it was Carol Mossman’s home, Frank—her place of refuge. She and her animals were inside it, unarmed and defenseless, when somebody blew her away and killed all her dogs in the process. It’s true that, in trying to help all those strays, Carol Mossman may have broken some of the dog-ownership statutes, but at the time she was killed, she and her dogs weren’t hurting anybody.”
“No, they weren’t,” Frank agreed.
“I was on the scene last night. We were all working and doing our jobs. This morning, I realize it was like it was all business as usual. It would be all too easy to write Carol off as some kind of weirdo who was somehow responsible for what happened to her, but if the Carol Mossmans of this world aren’t safe in their own homes, nobody else is, either. I want whoever did this caught!”
By the time Joanna paused, Frank Montoya seemed a little taken aback by the strength of her emotion on the subject. “I see what you mean,” he said. “So what’s the next step?”
“Have Jaime contact that Explorer troop out on post at Fort Huachuca to see if they can help with the foreign-object search.”
“Will do,” Frank said.
“And we should probably get the Double Cs in here to update us sometime this afternoon.” The term Double Cs was departmental shorthand for the two homicide detectives, Carbajal and Carpenter.
“Okay,” Frank agreed.
“Anything else?” Joanna asked.
The chief deputy looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Well, there is one more thing,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s about the dog.”
“What dog?”
“The one you took from Carol Mossman’s home last night.”
“It’s not a dog, Frank,” Joanna responded. “It’s a puppy—a cute little fuzzy black puppy.”
“Jeannine Phillips has lodged a formal complaint.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish I were,” Frank said regretfully. “She says you confiscated the dog yourself rather than following established procedures.”
“Frank, the puppy’s mother was dead. Lucky was practically starving to death.”
“Lucky. You mean you’ve named him?”
“Yes, I’ve named him. He’s not a dog, Frank. He’s a baby—barely weaned, if that. Somehow he was left alone when all the other dogs got locked inside the trailer with Carol Mossman’s body. It’s a wonder he was still alive. I brought him home. Butch fed him bread and milk and then went straight out to buy Puppy Chow. What’s wrong with that? What was I supposed to do, ship him off to the pound so they could keep him for however long they keep animals before they put them down?”
“And how long is that?” Frank asked.
Joanna shrugged. “I don’t know for sure—a couple of weeks. A month, maybe.”
“You should probably know,” Frank put in mildly, “the correct answer is actually seventy-two hours.”
Joanna was shocked. “That’s all?” she demanded. “You mean, from the time the animals are picked up?”
“That’s right. If they’re not claimed by an owner or adopted by the end of seventy-two hours, they’re out of there.”
“As in put to sleep.”
“Right.”
“That’s awful. I was sure they had longer than that.”
“I thought so, too, boss, but I checked the statute just this morning. If you care about animals at all, and if those are the kinds of conditions Animal Control is working under, maybe that’s part of the reason Jeannine Phillips is so pissed off all the time. I sure as hell would be.”
“Do you think she’ll take her complaints to Ken Junior?” Joanna asked.
“If she’s in a mood to make trouble, what do you think?”
Joanna thought about that. Finally she said, “If I end up losing this election, will it be because I’m pregnant or because I took in an orphaned puppy?”
Frank Montoya grinned and shook his head.
“No, they weren’t,” Frank agreed.
“I was on the scene last night. We were all working and doing our jobs. This morning, I realize it was like it was all business as usual. It would be all too easy to write Carol off as some kind of weirdo who was somehow responsible for what happened to her, but if the Carol Mossmans of this world aren’t safe in their own homes, nobody else is, either. I want whoever did this caught!”
By the time Joanna paused, Frank Montoya seemed a little taken aback by the strength of her emotion on the subject. “I see what you mean,” he said. “So what’s the next step?”
“Have Jaime contact that Explorer troop out on post at Fort Huachuca to see if they can help with the foreign-object search.”
“Will do,” Frank said.
“And we should probably get the Double Cs in here to update us sometime this afternoon.” The term Double Cs was departmental shorthand for the two homicide detectives, Carbajal and Carpenter.
“Okay,” Frank agreed.
“Anything else?” Joanna asked.
The chief deputy looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Well, there is one more thing,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s about the dog.”
“What dog?”
“The one you took from Carol Mossman’s home last night.”
“It’s not a dog, Frank,” Joanna responded. “It’s a puppy—a cute little fuzzy black puppy.”
“Jeannine Phillips has lodged a formal complaint.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish I were,” Frank said regretfully. “She says you confiscated the dog yourself rather than following established procedures.”
“Frank, the puppy’s mother was dead. Lucky was practically starving to death.”
“Lucky. You mean you’ve named him?”
“Yes, I’ve named him. He’s not a dog, Frank. He’s a baby—barely weaned, if that. Somehow he was left alone when all the other dogs got locked inside the trailer with Carol Mossman’s body. It’s a wonder he was still alive. I brought him home. Butch fed him bread and milk and then went straight out to buy Puppy Chow. What’s wrong with that? What was I supposed to do, ship him off to the pound so they could keep him for however long they keep animals before they put them down?”
“And how long is that?” Frank asked.
Joanna shrugged. “I don’t know for sure—a couple of weeks. A month, maybe.”
“You should probably know,” Frank put in mildly, “the correct answer is actually seventy-two hours.”
Joanna was shocked. “That’s all?” she demanded. “You mean, from the time the animals are picked up?”
“That’s right. If they’re not claimed by an owner or adopted by the end of seventy-two hours, they’re out of there.”
“As in put to sleep.”
“Right.”
“That’s awful. I was sure they had longer than that.”
“I thought so, too, boss, but I checked the statute just this morning. If you care about animals at all, and if those are the kinds of conditions Animal Control is working under, maybe that’s part of the reason Jeannine Phillips is so pissed off all the time. I sure as hell would be.”
“Do you think she’ll take her complaints to Ken Junior?” Joanna asked.
“If she’s in a mood to make trouble, what do you think?”
Joanna thought about that. Finally she said, “If I end up losing this election, will it be because I’m pregnant or because I took in an orphaned puppy?”
Frank Montoya grinned and shook his head.
Similar Books
