Chapter 2 - Eleven Containers
By sunset, Centennial Park no longer resembled a public park.
It looked like a crime scene.
Police cruisers blocked every entrance.
Temporary floodlights turned the tree line white.
Wildlife officers moved through the brush wearing thick protective gaiters.
Crime-scene technicians photographed every container Titan had found.
The little yellow frisbee that Sophie had been chasing still lay beneath the oak tree.
Nobody touched it.
For some reason, that bothered me more than the police tape.
An hour earlier it had been a child’s toy.
Now it had an evidence marker beside it.
Titan remained at my side.
He had been examined twice.
No puncture wounds.
No venom exposure.
His vest showed two shallow marks where the snake’s fangs had struck the reinforced panel.
I kept running my fingers over them.
As if checking again could somehow change what almost happened.
Sergeant Paul Ramirez walked toward me carrying two paper cups.
He handed me one.
“Coffee.”
“I have coffee.”
“That stuff in your thermos stopped being coffee three hours ago.”
I accepted the cup.
Ramirez had been my supervisor in the K9 unit for six years.
Mid-forties.
Broad shoulders.
Permanent five o’clock shadow.
The kind of man whose expression barely changed even when everyone around him was losing their minds.
His expression had changed today.
“You okay?”
“Titan is.”
“I asked about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You almost watched your partner get killed.”
“I know.”
“And you almost watched a child get bitten.”
“I know.”
“And thirty seconds before that, you thought your dog was attacking her.”
I looked at him.
“You making a point?”
“Eventually.”
Ramirez sipped his coffee.
“Department wants Titan off public deployment until the review is complete.”
I stared at him.
“He saved her life.”
“I’m aware.”
“You saw the video.”
“Everyone saw the video.”
“What review?”
“The review that happens when a police K9 knocks a seven-year-old girl to the ground in front of two hundred witnesses.”
“He didn’t bite her.”
“I know.”
“He prevented her from lifting her head into a rattlesnake.”
“I know.”
“Then this is ridiculous.”
Ramirez’s expression remained calm.
“Cole.”
“What?”
“Three different clips currently online end before the snake appears.”
I said nothing.
He handed me his phone.
The first video showed Titan ripping the leash through my hand.
Then sprinting across the field.
The camera shook as people screamed.
Titan hit Sophie.
She disappeared beneath him.
The video ended.
Caption:
SEATTLE POLICE DOG ATTACKS LITTLE GIRL AT PARK.
Views: 1.8 million.
Comments moved too quickly to read.
I didn’t need to.
I could imagine them.
Dangerous animal.
Irresponsible handler.
Fire the officer.
Put the dog down.
Ramirez swiped.
Second video.
Longer.
It showed the snake striking Titan’s vest.
Me dragging Sophie away.
The crowd suddenly realizing what had happened.
Caption:
POLICE K9 SAVES CHILD FROM RATTLESNAKE.
Views: 3.2 million.
“So which one matters?” I asked.
“Both.”
“That’s insane.”
“No.”
Ramirez pocketed the phone.
“That’s the world.”
I looked down at Titan.
He was sitting beside my left leg.
Completely unaware that millions of strangers had already formed opinions about him.
“You know what he cares about?”
“What?”
“Dinner.”
Ramirez almost smiled.
“That’s healthier than social media.”
Behind us, Dr. Maya Chen emerged from the drainage area.
She removed her gloves.
“We have a number.”
I looked toward her.
“How many?”
“Eleven transport containers.”
“Eleven snakes?”
“Not necessarily.”
“How many animals recovered?”
“Three.”
My stomach tightened.
“The diamondback?”
“One.”
“Others?”
“Another Western diamondback deeper in the drainage culvert.”
“And?”
“A juvenile Mojave rattlesnake.”
“Alive?”
Maya’s face changed.
“No.”
“What happened?”
“Probably cold exposure.”
“So eight possible snakes are still missing.”
“Possibly.”
“Possibly meaning more?”
“Some tubs may have been empty before they arrived.”
I looked toward the dark tree line.
“You believe that?”
“No.”
Neither did I.
Ramirez gestured toward the blood-stained container.
“What about that?”
“Forensics is processing it.”
“Human?”
“Visually, I can’t tell.”
A crime-scene technician approached.
“Sergeant?”
Ramirez turned.
“We found something on Container Fourteen.”
“What?”
“Partial fingerprint.”
“Run it.”
“Already submitted.”
The technician handed him an evidence photograph.
The bottom of the tub showed faded black writing:
RSC-14.
I remembered the three letters from the torn shipping label.
“RSC.”
Maya leaned closer.
“That could be a facility code.”
“Recognize it?”
“No.”
The technician continued.
“There’s also this.”
He showed us another photograph.
A narrow strip of adhesive on the side of Container Eleven.
Someone had torn away a label.
Under ultraviolet light, faint writing remained.
RAINIER SERP—
The rest was missing.
Maya went still.
“You know it?”
Her response took several seconds.
“Rainier Serpent Conservancy.”
Ramirez frowned.
“What is that?”
“Was.”
She looked toward the containers.
“It was a private reptile facility south of Tacoma.”
“How private?”
“Licensed educational collection.”
“Venomous species?”
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t I heard of it?”
“Because it closed.”
“When?”
“About eighteen months ago.”
“Why?”
“The owner died.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Malcolm Vale.”
I noticed the surname only because Maya did.
Her eyes stayed on the photograph.
“What happened to the animals?”
Ramirez asked.
“According to state records, transferred.”
“To where?”
“Different licensed facilities.”
“All of them?”
“That was the report.”
I gestured toward RSC-14.
“Apparently not.”
Maya didn’t answer.
My phone buzzed.
Claire.
I stepped away.
“Hey.”
“Are you alive?”
“Last time I checked.”
“Titan?”
“Fine.”
“Actually fine?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
Then my wife exhaled.
“Noah has watched the video fourteen times.”
“That’s fourteen too many.”
“He says Titan is a superhero.”
Titan’s ears moved at his name.
“I’m sure that will help his ego.”
“Is it true they’re investigating you?”
“Standard review.”
“Ethan.”
“It’s nothing.”
I had learned during twelve years of marriage that Claire could hear lies through walls.
“You sound worried.”
“I’m tired.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I looked toward the floodlit trees.
Eight snakes.
Eleven containers.
Blood.
Broken glasses.
A closed reptile facility.
“I’m more worried about what they found.”
“What did they find?”
“Something I’ll tell you when I know more.”
Another pause.
“Come home tonight.”
“I will.”
“And bring Titan.”
“Obviously.”
“He’s getting steak.”
“That’s favoritism.”
“He saved a child.”
“I helped.”
“You yelled.”
I almost laughed.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
When I hung up, Ramirez was watching me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You have that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that says Claire insulted you.”
“She said Titan did all the work.”
“Smart woman.”
I ignored him.
An animal-control truck passed.
Then a woman shouted near the police barrier.
“Officer!”
Rachel Mercer.
Sophie was beside her.
They should have left hours earlier.
I walked over.
“Everything okay?”
Rachel held up a small paper bag.
“Sophie refused to go home.”
Sophie stared at Titan.
“I brought him something.”
She reached inside.
A stuffed toy shaped like a police badge.
Rachel looked embarrassed.
“The hospital gift shop had them.”
Titan sniffed it.
Then gently took it from Sophie.
His tail wagged.
She smiled.
“Does that mean he likes it?”
“He likes everything he can destroy.”
“Titan.”
Sophie crouched.
“I’m sorry.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
She looked at the dog.
“I screamed at him.”
Rachel’s eyes filled immediately.
I lowered myself beside Sophie.
“You were allowed to scream.”
“But people got mad at him.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“Did he know the snake was there before you?”
I glanced at Titan.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Because dogs are smarter?”
“Sometimes.”
She looked delighted.
I regretted the answer immediately.
“Do not tell my son I said that.”
Rachel smiled faintly.
Then Sophie said something that changed the conversation.
“The old man knew too.”
I looked at her.
“What old man?”
Rachel frowned.
“Sophie?”
“The man by the hot chocolate.”
My attention sharpened.
“What man?”
Sophie pointed toward the vendor area.
“He told me not to go near the trees.”
Rachel looked confused.
“When?”
“Before I chased my frisbee.”
“You never told me that.”
“He said it was okay.”
I knelt closer.
“Sophie, what did he look like?”
“Old.”
Rachel sighed.
“To a seven-year-old, that could mean thirty.”
I ignored her.
“Hair?”
“Gray.”
“Glasses?”
Sophie nodded.
My eyes moved toward the evidence table.
The broken eyeglasses from the drainage bank.
“What did he say?”
“He asked if Titan was a police dog.”
My pulse increased.
“Anything else?”
“He said good.”
“Good?”
“He said, ‘Good. Stay near the dog.’”
Rachel’s face changed.
I felt something cold move through me.
“Did he tell you his name?”
“No.”
“Did he give you anything?”
Sophie hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
Rachel turned.
“Sophie.”
“He said it was just for a little while.”
“What did he give you?”
“A key.”
Ramirez was beside me immediately.
“Where is it?”
Sophie looked nervous now.
“I put it in my jewelry box.”
“At home?”
She nodded.
Rachel closed her eyes.
“Oh my God.”
We sent two patrol cars with them.
I remained because command refused to let me leave the scene.
Thirty-eight minutes later, Ramirez’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked at me.
“They found the key.”
“What kind?”
“Bus-station locker.”
“Number?”
“117.”
“Who is the old man?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Before I could respond, a forensic technician hurried toward us from the mobile lab.
His face was different now.
“We got the blood result.”
Ramirez straightened.
“Animal?”
“Human.”
My gaze went to the container.
“Enough for DNA?”
“Yes.”
“Any match?”
“Not criminal database.”
He held up a tablet.
“But it matched a sample from a missing-person report filed yesterday.”
A photograph filled the screen.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Wire-frame glasses.
Fifty-two years old.
The broken glasses from the drainage bank suddenly felt very important.
Name:
WALTER PIKE.
Occupation:
Former animal-care specialist.
Employer:
Rainier Serpent Conservancy.
Sophie’s “old man.”
Ramirez looked at me.
“He was here.”
“And bleeding.”
The technician nodded.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Walter Pike disappeared Friday night.”
“When were the snakes found?”
“Sunday.”
My eyes moved toward the dark drainage entrance.
Two days.
Someone had been in that tunnel.
Someone connected to the original snake collection.
And that someone had quietly approached a seven-year-old girl, told her to stay near Titan, and slipped her a key before vanishing.
Then Ramirez received another call.
His expression hardened.
“We identified RSC-14.”
Maya stepped closer.
“What?”
“Rainier’s inventory records.”
He turned the screen toward us.
Animal Number 14:
Western Diamondback Rattlesnake.
Sex: Male.
Length: 4.6 feet.
Distinctive scar above right eye.
Maya looked toward the captured snake.
“I saw the scar.”
Nobody spoke.
Container Fourteen had held the exact animal that nearly struck Sophie.
Which meant these were not random reptiles.
They were the supposedly transferred animals from a facility that had been closed for eighteen months.
Ramirez continued scrolling.
“There were fourteen venomous snakes registered at Rainier.”
“How many containers have we recovered?” I asked.
“Eleven.”
Maya whispered.
“Then there may be three we haven’t even found containers for.”
I looked at the list.
Numbers.
Species.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Thirteen.
Fourteen.
Then my eyes moved upward.
Number One.
The species field had been redacted in the copy Ramirez had received.
“Why is that blank?”
Maya frowned.
“It shouldn’t be.”
Ramirez tried another database.
Nothing.
Someone had deliberately removed the information.
My radio crackled.
“Sergeant Ramirez, we need you at the tunnel.”
His head snapped up.
“What happened?”
“Found another blood trail.”
“Walter?”
“Unknown.”
Pause.
“Sir, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“We found signs somebody was living down here.”
I stared at the concrete opening.
The officer continued.
“Fresh food.”
“Blankets.”
“Medical supplies.”
“And one wall has photographs pinned all over it.”
“Photographs of what?”
The answer came after a brief silence.
“Officer Cole.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Sir…”
May you like
“They’re photographs of Officer Cole and his dog.”
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