Page 31 of Desperate Creed

“Any time you have a case where a body is dragged, flung or possibly ripped apart, there’s what we call a scatter of scent. The dog’s smelling blood and decomposition but that doesn’t mean it’s a body. It could just be blood. It might be pieces of a body.”

“Would it help if I pointed out what areas we’ve already walked?”

“No. Grace directs me,” Creed told him. “You’re both welcome to come with us, but I need you to stay back ten to twenty feet.”

“Grace, find,” he said, though she didn’t need a search word. She was already keyed in on a scent.

She peddled hard, trying to pull Creed along. Out here, the trees were stripped of their leaves along with the kudzu, but at least, some of the trees were standing.

“Slow down, girl,” he told her.

There was hardly any shade, and the sun was relentless. Creed didn’t want Grace to get overheated. The temperature edged into the upper eighties and the humidity made it feel even warmer. Scenting dogs breathed in 140-200 times a minute compared to a dog taking a walk and breathing in thirty times a minute. But it wasn’t just breathing. Grace was taking in air, sending it in different directions, separating and identifying the scents. She could get dehydrated quickly. She wouldn’t stop until she found her target. It was Creed’s number one job to make sure his dog wouldn’t hurt herself.

He also needed to make sure the tall grass wasn’t hiding sharp objects. Grace had always fought him on wearing protective boots, but no footgear could prevent razor cuts from shards of glass or punctures from boards with nails. The storm had reduced everyday objects and thrown them around to make a dangerous obstacle course. From what he could tell, most of the debris out in this field was contained to the solid heaps the storm had spit out. Or at least, that was what Creed hoped.

Along the way he saw dozens of soda cans, unopened but crushed. There were stray pieces of fabric and paper. Twice he bent to pick up a scattering of photographs. Smiling faces, family reunions, graduation, a wedding. He tucked them into his daypack.

At the far end of the field, a long line of pine trees had fallen on their sides, like dominos, one then another on top of each other. From what Creed could see they still had their pine needles. All the branches were intact. It looked like the wind had gently pushed them over. And that’s exactly where Grace was leading him.

He glanced back. Norwich and Sykes followed behind, keeping a good distance. What Creed wanted to see was how far back the vehicle with the missing driver was. It had to be 100 feet away.

Grace kept a steady pace, her breathing more rapid. She zig-zagged and weaved, running perpendicular to the line of downed pines. She had zeroed in on something, crossing in and out of the scent cone. Grace slowed to skim her nose over some scrubgrass and stopped to sniff a bush. Creed was about to offer her water, but then she started pulling him, again, angling toward the fallen pine trees.

He glanced back a second time. She was drawing him farther and farther away from the vehicle and any other debris. A breeze had picked up, and he realized they were downwind from the area Grace led him. That was a good thing and yet, Creed couldn’t see any signs of a target source. Was it possible she was smelling drugs or chemicals that were included in explosives? With all the stuff that had gotten ripped up and blown away, many of those toxic chemicals were undoubtedly in the air. He trusted Grace, but her ability to track multiple scents meant she could be leading him to a scent he hadn’t asked her to find.

He couldn’t imagine that the driver of that vehicle had been flung this far, but he and Grace had discovered stranger things. It was hard to explain, but finding a body—no matter how damaged—was actually easier than not finding the missing person. Coming up empty, left questions. Did he miss something? Had Grace tried to tell him or lead him and he hadn’t read his dog correctly?

Percentage-wise a good deal of searches ended with no victim. Sure, some finds were gruesome. Creed thought about the guy still strapped into the vehicle. The driver would most likely be in far worse condition. But no matter how gruesome, the find meant success and would bring an end to the search.

There was an old saying among K9 groups. Grief belongs to the families. Dread belongs to the handlers.

He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Trust your dog, he reminded himself. Grace was rarely wrong.

Now, up close and along side the pine trees, Creed marveled at the sight. Not a branch was broken, not even the trunks. It truly looked as if the wind had gently pushed them down, one after another. The ground pushed up revealing roots still attached and holding on.

Grace pranced to a spot in the middle and poked her nose into the thick swath of pine needles. The branches on top of branches made it impossible to see underneath. Grace pulled her nose out and shook her head, sending stray needles flying. Then she turned to look up at Creed, finding his eyes with an intent stare that was her alert.

She had found her target and was ready for her reward.

23

FBI Crime Lab

Quantico, Virginia

Maggie sat down next to Special Agent Antonio Alonzo. What he called his office looked more like a film editing booth. A half dozen computer monitors lined the wall he faced, but his swivel chair allowed him to swing around to a more conventional desk that always seemed to be immaculately unadorned. Maggie couldn’t help wondering if the desk was mostly for show, so that he didn’t entirely throw off visitors who came into his office unprepared.

He eyed her as she placed the Starbuck’s container next to his empty coffee mug. He recognized the bribe, and still rewarded her with one of his wide grins.

“You know I changed up a bit,” he told her as he pulled the cup closer and inhaled deeply.

“A venti caramel latte,” she said, “with three shots of espresso.”

“Extra pumps of caramel?”

“Five pumps of caramel and one pump of mocha.”