bottle, and some dog shit.
Susan had borrowed a flashlight, too, but was holding it in her teeth so she could scribble furiously in her notebook. Archie wanted her to write a story. He still had no leads on the identity of their Jane Doe, and coverage in the local media had been limited to a single paragraph in the Metro section of the
Herald.
He needed coverage. And he needed a lot of it.
Left. Forward. Right. Then Archie knelt in the mud and grime and began to pull the ivy and morning glory vines aside to look underneath them. The wet vines were heavy and hard to manipulate and Archie’s hands looked raw and dirty, like he’d been buried alive and had clawed his way out.
He heard Henry say, “This is ridiculous.”
And it was. They could come back in the morning. If there was a corpse out there, it could wait twelve hours. But Archie needed to know. If there was a woman dead out there, he needed to find her. He’d stay out there all night looking. At the very least, it was easier than going home.
He shone his flashlight at his watch. They’d been searching for almost an hour.
A dog barked. Archie looked up to see a dark figure on the path and the shadow of an animal. He swung his flashlight down toward the animal. The light reflected off its eyes, two silver orbs in the darkness.
“His name’s Cody,” the person with the dog said. “Mine’s Ellen. Which one of you is Sheridan?”
“I am,” Archie said.
She stepped forward, climbing up toward him, the dog a respectful few feet behind her. They shone their flashlights in her path to light her way, and Archie got a better look at her. She was a big woman, tall and slightly plump, with a long torso that dominated her body and a broad, masculine gait. She wore her hair pulled back in a ponytail and was dressed appropriately for the weather, with tall rubber boots, yellow rain pants, and a quilted down jacket. Ah, June in Portland.
When she reached Archie she held out her hand and he shook it. “Okay,” she said. “This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to let Cody off lead. He’ll move around the area, looking for scents. If he finds something, he’ll crouch down, like this.” She looked down at the dog and said, “Cody, alert,” and the dog sank down on his elbows and yowled. Ellen looked up. “I will praise him. Then you can move in and check out what he’s found.”
Archie had worked with cadaver dogs before. Once Gretchen had mutilated a man and left his heart and spleen in a shoebox, tied with a red ribbon, on a bed in a motel room in North Portland. Tied to the box was a typed gift tag addressed to Detective Archie Sheridan. The hotel staff called 911 within moments of finding the package. Gretchen had wrapped the organs in plastic but it had leaked and the box was soaked with blood. Archie opened the box and then brought in a dog to try to locate any other pieces. It had worked. The dog found the man’s tongue in the ice machine, his penis in the key drop-off box, and the rest of him in the Dumpster of the restaurant next door.
“Assuming there are remains,” Henry said, “how long is this going to take?”
“Could be minutes,” Ellen said. “Could be days.”
“Days,” Henry said.
“Longer maybe,” Ellen said. She bent down and unhooked the dog’s lead. “Cody, go,” she said.
The dog put his nose to the ground and began rooting through the vegetation.
Susan stepped forward and took her flashlight out of her mouth. “How long have you been with Search and Rescue?” she asked Ellen.
“I’m not,” Ellen said.
“She’s a volunteer,” Archie said. “We don’t have the money to fund a cadaver dog unit. So people like Ellen take some training courses with their dogs and volunteer.”
“I work at Home Depot,” Ellen said.
“We found a body a few days ago about a quarter mile down the creek,” Archie said. “Is that going to distract him?”
“Did you remove the remains?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah,”
Susan had borrowed a flashlight, too, but was holding it in her teeth so she could scribble furiously in her notebook. Archie wanted her to write a story. He still had no leads on the identity of their Jane Doe, and coverage in the local media had been limited to a single paragraph in the Metro section of the
Herald.
He needed coverage. And he needed a lot of it.
Left. Forward. Right. Then Archie knelt in the mud and grime and began to pull the ivy and morning glory vines aside to look underneath them. The wet vines were heavy and hard to manipulate and Archie’s hands looked raw and dirty, like he’d been buried alive and had clawed his way out.
He heard Henry say, “This is ridiculous.”
And it was. They could come back in the morning. If there was a corpse out there, it could wait twelve hours. But Archie needed to know. If there was a woman dead out there, he needed to find her. He’d stay out there all night looking. At the very least, it was easier than going home.
He shone his flashlight at his watch. They’d been searching for almost an hour.
A dog barked. Archie looked up to see a dark figure on the path and the shadow of an animal. He swung his flashlight down toward the animal. The light reflected off its eyes, two silver orbs in the darkness.
“His name’s Cody,” the person with the dog said. “Mine’s Ellen. Which one of you is Sheridan?”
“I am,” Archie said.
She stepped forward, climbing up toward him, the dog a respectful few feet behind her. They shone their flashlights in her path to light her way, and Archie got a better look at her. She was a big woman, tall and slightly plump, with a long torso that dominated her body and a broad, masculine gait. She wore her hair pulled back in a ponytail and was dressed appropriately for the weather, with tall rubber boots, yellow rain pants, and a quilted down jacket. Ah, June in Portland.
When she reached Archie she held out her hand and he shook it. “Okay,” she said. “This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to let Cody off lead. He’ll move around the area, looking for scents. If he finds something, he’ll crouch down, like this.” She looked down at the dog and said, “Cody, alert,” and the dog sank down on his elbows and yowled. Ellen looked up. “I will praise him. Then you can move in and check out what he’s found.”
Archie had worked with cadaver dogs before. Once Gretchen had mutilated a man and left his heart and spleen in a shoebox, tied with a red ribbon, on a bed in a motel room in North Portland. Tied to the box was a typed gift tag addressed to Detective Archie Sheridan. The hotel staff called 911 within moments of finding the package. Gretchen had wrapped the organs in plastic but it had leaked and the box was soaked with blood. Archie opened the box and then brought in a dog to try to locate any other pieces. It had worked. The dog found the man’s tongue in the ice machine, his penis in the key drop-off box, and the rest of him in the Dumpster of the restaurant next door.
“Assuming there are remains,” Henry said, “how long is this going to take?”
“Could be minutes,” Ellen said. “Could be days.”
“Days,” Henry said.
“Longer maybe,” Ellen said. She bent down and unhooked the dog’s lead. “Cody, go,” she said.
The dog put his nose to the ground and began rooting through the vegetation.
Susan stepped forward and took her flashlight out of her mouth. “How long have you been with Search and Rescue?” she asked Ellen.
“I’m not,” Ellen said.
“She’s a volunteer,” Archie said. “We don’t have the money to fund a cadaver dog unit. So people like Ellen take some training courses with their dogs and volunteer.”
“I work at Home Depot,” Ellen said.
“We found a body a few days ago about a quarter mile down the creek,” Archie said. “Is that going to distract him?”
“Did you remove the remains?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah,”
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