Part 6
Flint closed his eyes and leaned into Evan until Evan had to brace a hand on the gravel. The little badge rested against the dark fur of his chest.
Nobody nearby spoke. Beyond the clear lane, an investigator turned another page on the evidence inventory, and a technician quietly asked for a fresh water bowl.
Evan stayed on the ground until Flint lifted his head. Then he stood, gathered the lead, and helped the veterinary team prepare the dogs for transport.
By evening, a video from the auction had traveled far beyond Tavener County.
It began from the back of the crowd, with heads obstructing most of the view. The person holding the phone stepped sideways just as Keel went down. After that, the recording caught Evan kneeling at the wire, the deputies approaching him, and the dogs surging forward behind his back.
Other clips supplied what that one missed: Flint’s paw beneath the door, Fenwick holding the altered reports, Evan sitting inside the kennel. A local reporter called him while he was still washing grit from his hands at the veterinary clinic.
By the next morning, people were outside the sheriff’s office with signs. News vehicles occupied spaces usually used by courthouse staff. Messages filled Evan’s phone faster than he could read them.
A rescue organization offered temporary handlers. A rehabilitation center asked for the dogs’ treatment plans. People mailed checks, delivered food, and left blankets in tied grocery sacks at the clinic desk. Some of the notes had no return address.
Evan answered what he could between visits. He slept badly, kept a list of medication times on his kitchen table, and discovered that accepting help required more phone calls than refusing it.
Fenwick told him to stop trying to handle every offer himself.
“You need to be able to find the useful ones again,” she said, looking at the loose scraps in his pocket.
He bought a plain folder on his way home and began writing names in columns.
The dogs remained under supervised foster care while the county considered permanent transfer. Evan saw them daily. When he left, he made the same small routine each time: a hand on each familiar head, the same door, a quiet promise to return. The staff let the four former teammates rest near one another, and the other dogs were housed where they could see companions rather than blank walls.
A few days after the auction, Evan took his folder into a county meeting room.
The air-conditioning was too cold for his short sleeves. Across the table, board members had arranged legal pads and water glasses in tidy lines. Through the upper windows, he could hear a faint rise of voices from the people gathered below.
Fenwick sat beside him, her evidence file closed beneath one hand.
A board member adjusted his glasses.
“You’re requesting permanent custody of the entire group.”
“Yes.”
“That is an unusual transfer for an individual.”
Evan opened his folder. On top was a treatment estimate for Keel. Beneath it were letters from trainers and clinics, each one marked where he would need it.
“The way they got to the auction was unusual, too.”
The man’s gaze dropped toward his legal pad.
Fenwick pushed a copy of her findings across the table.
“We’ve verified altered records, misconduct in the retirements, and evidence of violations under state animal-welfare law. Keeping the dogs in administrative limbo serves no investigative purpose.”
Another member leaned forward.
“No one is proposing limbo. We are asking whether one patrol officer can maintain twelve high-drive dogs with medical and behavioral needs. Good intentions won’t cover it.”
Evan turned a page rather than answering immediately. It was a fair question, even from that table.
“I have land, secure housing being prepared, and people qualified to help. Here are the commitments.”
He slid the letters forward.
The member did not pick them up at first.
“These are not ordinary household pets.”
“I trained with them. I know what they need.” Evan kept his voice even. “They need treatment, work suited to their recovery, and people who won’t punish them for having survived something.”
Fenwick opened another section of her file.
“Three independent canine behaviorists have assessed them. Their recommendations support keeping the group together, especially the four dogs from Mercer’s unit. Another forced separation will cause further psychological harm.”
The board member finally picked up the first letter.
Evan watched his eyes move down the page.
“They trust one another,” Evan said. “We’ve already made that harder for them once.”
The chairwoman, who had said little, turned toward him. She looked tired, but her question came sharply.
“Let’s discuss five years from now. Veterinary care, food, help if you’re injured or working nights. Can you sustain it?”
Evan drew two signed letters from the folder and set them side by side.
“These clinics have committed to lifetime veterinary care without charge. The rehabilitation center will coordinate therapy. Trainers have scheduled volunteer sessions, and the rescue group has a care roster for my shifts.”
He placed the roster beside the letters.
“I’ll hold the responsibility. Their care won’t come back to the county as an expense.”
The chairwoman read the clinic letters. A man farther down the table underlined something in the roster and passed it back to her.
Outside, the crowd’s voices rose, then faded. Inside, someone’s water glass clicked against the table.
The board asked about fencing, sleeping areas, transport to the clinics, and how the dogs would be exercised separately when needed. Evan answered from the pages he had assembled. When he did not know something, he said so and pointed to the professional who had agreed to oversee it.
Fenwick spoke only when a question concerned the investigation or the dogs’ legal status. Once, when a member referred to the auction as an administrative error, she corrected him.
“Those records were intentionally changed.”
He crossed out a word on his pad.
At last the chairwoman put down the letters and conferred quietly with the members on either side of her. Evan sat with his hands beneath the table so he would stop flattening the corner of his folder.
The chairwoman looked up.
“The transfer is approved. Full custody will pass to you today, with routine welfare visits during the first year. If their care fails, the county retains the right to intervene…”
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