Part 3
Evan rested one hand on the fence behind him. A loose end of wire caught his sleeve, and he freed it carefully before he spoke.
“How recent?”
“Less than five months. The original results were good.”
“Original?”
Voss turned his body so his words would carry toward the fence rather than the crowd.
“There’s a private security outfit bidding to supply the county’s canine program. They want a new group. Young dogs, clean histories, no existing injury claims.”
“These dogs belong to the county already.”
“That doesn’t earn anybody a placement fee.”
Evan stared at him.
Voss kept talking, each sentence shorter than the last. The arrangement gave the county a commission on every replacement dog purchased through the contractor. More purchases meant more money moving through the program. The existing dogs had to be cleared from the books first.
“Somebody decided twelve replacements looked better than twelve working dogs,” Voss said.
A bidder laughed on the other side of the yard. Evan could hear the sound distinctly, though the rest of the crowd had become a low, undivided murmur.
“And the injuries?”
“Demonstration testing. The contractor wanted to show what its new standards looked like. They put these dogs through it first.”
Voss glanced toward Keel.
“Too many repetitions. Dogs kept working when they should’ve been pulled. Then the reports changed.”
Evan looked down at his own hands. He had signed training sheets for these animals. He knew how willingly they would repeat a task for a person they trusted.
“The medical records would show the dates,” he said.
Voss nodded. “And the evaluations before the tests. That’s why nobody buying them gets the files.”
On the platform, Pelham held up a lead as if it were an item that might encourage bids.
“Who signed the removal orders?” Evan asked.
Voss didn’t answer immediately.
Evan waited.
“The sheriff.”
The fence rattled under Evan’s hand.
“No.”
“He fought it at first.” Voss spoke quickly now. “The board told him the rest of the department’s funding was next. Approve the retirements or start laying people off. They said half the jobs could go.”
Evan turned toward the office building beyond the shed. He had stood in that building with the sheriff after Daniel’s funeral. There had been promises then, too.
“He signed anyway.”
Voss looked down.
“We were told to keep quiet.”
“And tonight?”
The deputy’s jaw worked. He could not bring himself to finish.
Evan took his hand off the fence.
Behind them, Pelham struck the lectern again.
“Let’s give the first lot our attention.”
“Hold it.”
Evan’s voice reached the platform without the microphone. He walked back through the bidders, and people moved out of his way.
Pelham lifted one hand. “We’ve already wasted enough—”
“These dogs passed their evaluations.”
The man holding the measuring tape looked up sharply.
Evan stopped at the foot of the platform rather than climbing it.
“The county is replacing them under a contract that pays commissions on new dogs. That’s why they were removed. Some were injured in demonstration tests before anybody declared them unfit.”
Pelham’s hand dropped.
“You have no business making accusations here.”
“Then open the records.”
The older woman folded her sale sheet in half. Beside her, a rancher moved closer to hear.
Evan pointed toward the kennels.
“They can’t go to their former handlers. You can’t see their veterinary histories. And if nobody buys them before closing, the county gets rid of them tonight. Ask why those conditions all turned up together.”
A phone rose above somebody’s shoulder. Then another.
Voss remained near the fence. Evan could see him from where he stood, but he did not look at him again.
Flint began a low howl. Boone answered with a bark, and Otis pressed his muzzle so hard against the front of his kennel that the wire flattened the fur along his nose.
From Keel’s enclosure came a sudden crash.
Evan turned.
Keel had struck the side panel during one of his tight turns. Now his hindquarters were shaking. He tried to take another step, stopped, and backed against the rear wall with his ears pinned flat.
“Give him space,” Evan said.
People were already gathering. He pushed between two men without looking at their faces.
Keel’s front legs spread. His mouth opened as he fought for breath, and his body folded onto the tray. The dog landed on one side with a small, exhausted cry.
Evan dropped beside the door.
“Keel. Here.”
The shepherd’s eyes moved without fixing on him. They were wet and irritated, his breathing fast enough to flutter the fur along his ribs. Moisture slipped from the corner of one eye and left a dark spot beneath his cheek.
Somebody behind Evan said, “Is he dying?”
“Move back. Don’t crowd him.”
Evan kept his voice level, though he had to work at it. He watched the dog’s chest, checked the color he could see along his gums, and kept his hands where Keel could find them.
“You know my voice. Stay with that.”
Keel lifted his head a few inches. He dragged himself toward the front, his good hind leg pushing weakly, until his nose reached Evan’s knee through the lower opening.
Evan leaned close to the wire. He couldn’t get his forehead against the dog’s without pressing into the door, so he rested it on the frame and let Keel touch his skin where he could.
“That’s it. I’m staying.”
The breathing did not settle immediately. Evan waited through it, counting the uneven rise of Keel’s ribs. There had been an episode like this after the warehouse shooting, when someone dropped a steel gate outside the rehabilitation room. Evan had sat on the floor for nearly an hour that day.
Boone began barking in quick bursts. Otis scratched at his tray, then whined. Flint pushed both forepaws toward the space beneath his door, trying to reach the activity beyond it.
Evan looked up at the nearest deputy.
“He needs a veterinary assessment. Now. This looks like the stress episode he had after Mercer was killed, but don’t assume that’s all it is.”
The deputy reached for his radio.
Pelham stood motionless beside the lectern. Without his microphone voice, he seemed suddenly much smaller.
The older woman had pressed her knuckles against her mouth.
“Lord help them,” she said.
The rancher beside her turned on the auctioneer.
“You knew they were hurt?”
“I have paperwork saying they’re suitable for sale.”
“Then your paperwork’s no good.”
Keel’s breath caught, then eased a little. Evan stroked the narrow patch of muzzle he could reach. The dog’s eye followed his hand now.
Evan stayed until the radio call had been made and Keel was no longer struggling to pull every breath. He rose slowly, knees stiff, gravel embedded in one palm.
Pelham cleared his throat into the microphone.
“We are not going to let one incident prevent the county from conducting its business.”
Nobody moved toward the cashier’s window.
“First lot,” Pelham said more loudly. “We’ll open—”
“You’re finished.”
The auctioneer stared at Evan.
“You do not have that authority.”
Evan looked at the deputies nearest the platform. One still held his radio. The other had turned away from Keel as though he couldn’t bear to keep watching.
“Then somebody here needs to find it,” Evan said.
He could feel the eyes of the crowd on him. His phone vibrated once in his pocket, but he did not reach for it while Pelham was speaking.
“You can object through proper channels after the sale. Right now, you’re interfering.”
Evan glanced down the row. The kennel doors were too low for the dogs to stand comfortably at full height. There were no records attached, no handler names, no recognition of years spent finding children in the cold or standing between officers and a weapon.
Flint waited at the wire with his paw still extended.
Evan had a house outside Belloran, empty paddocks, and a barn that needed work. He had a salary that would not stretch to twelve injured working dogs. The thought came plainly, without any convenient answer attached to it.
He looked back at Pelham.
“These dogs have carried people out of danger who never even learned their names. You don’t get to close the books on them this way.”
“What exactly do you propose, Rourke?”
Evan stepped between the platform and the kennels.
“I’m taking the whole team…”
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