CHAPTER TWENTY

They went to Garvey's office and looked up dogs that matched that description in the city's registry. Dogs were, apparently, quite popular in Atlanta. There were nine hundred thirty-two shepherd/husky mixes in the city, and the number skyrocketed if you extended the search to a fifty-mile radius. This would take some time to dig through.

"Screw that," Garvey said, "I'll get us some help."

Soon, a dozen officers were helping the three of them look through the city's records. Faith divided up the list evenly, with each of the searchers looking through sixty-two different dogs. That definitely saved time, but it still took them over an hour to get through the list.

More concerningly, they didn't find an answer. Of the nine hundred thirty-two dogs, five hundred twenty-seven were crossed off immediately as not matching the description closely enough. Ben was particular about the color of the fur, and most of the animals he listed had dark fur since both huskies and shepherds tended toward dark fur.

Of the ones that remained, three hundred eighty-one had died months or years ago and had yet to be removed from the county's list. That left only twenty-four dogs that could potentially have been the one Harris called Huntress, but the owners of each of those dogs were able to confirm that their dogs were alive and well and had never so much as run away from home, let alone been stolen.

They were at another dead end.

Faith, Michael and Garvey reconvened in Garvey's office after the search. All three of them wore their frustration on their faces.

"It could be that the dog wasn't registered," Garvey said reluctantly. "The county estimates that only twenty-three percent of pets are registered. The rest are just… out there."

Faith's lips thinned. Her arms were crossed over her chest, hugging her shoulders tightly. "So there could be another two thousand dogs out there that meet that description and there's no way to find them."

"We could check online again," Michael said. "See if any dogs matching that description have been reported missing like Fluffy Face was."

He didn't sound very hopeful, though, and Faith shared his lack of confidence. "That's a crap shoot. We got lucky with Fluffy Face. We might not get so lucky with Huntress."

"Well, what else can we do?" Michael asked.

Faith sighed irritably. He had a point. She looked out the window at the sun, which was now halfway below the horizon. Another day was approaching its end, and they still didn't have a suspect. "All right," she said reluctantly. "Let's get people looking through social media."

"Wait," Garvey said, her eyes widening. "The K9 records!"

Faith and Michael turned to look at her, and she explained, "The police and sheriff's department registers their K9s under a different database than the civilian registry. If the dog stolen was a K9 or a former K9, then we might be able to find it there."

Faith felt a renewed flash of hope. "All right," she said, "let's look there."

Garvey opened the website, and they began to scan through the database. There were two hundred thirty-eight K9s between the police and sheriff's department and another eighty-four operated by the FBI and the DEA in the greater Atlanta metropolitan area. Quite a few, but less than the civilian registries.

Even better, the registry for each dog listed their status, so the agents were able to quickly dismiss any dogs listed as active duty. Of the ones that were left, a few phone calls confirmed that the ones listed as retired were still alive and well and enjoying some time with their new owners.

That left twenty-six dogs listed as deceased or unknown. Of those dogs, only one matched the description of light brown fur, so light it was almost tan.

Faith, Michael and Garvey stared at the image of Lucy, a nine-year-old Shepherd/Husky mix who up until six months ago was a distinguished member of the PDs K9 division. She had retired once she reached the mandatory retirement age of nine and was listed as sold to a man named Eric Ciccolo, a K9 trainer who had trained Lucy and many other dogs for the police department. He had developed an attachment to Lucy and was allowed to buy her when she retired.

Two months ago, Lucy had been reported as missing by Ciccolo. No note existed to say what came of that investigation, if there was one.

Lucy definitely tended more toward German Shepherd than to Husky. She had the shape and build of a shepherd, along with the coarse short hair. The only visible sign of her mixed heritage was her beautiful sky-blue eyes.

And her fur, as Ben had reported, was a very light brown, so light it was almost tan. The tan was a similar pattern as Turk's chestnut and chocolate, but much lighter. In some places, it was so light it nearly blended into the white of her paws and underbelly.

She was a beautiful dog. Turk whined mournfully as he looked at the picture.

Faith ruffled his fur as she looked up Eric Ciccolo. The smiling image of a bearded man in his early forties with a barrel chest and a muscular figure came up. Ciccolo had spent fifteen years as the owner of CK9 Dog Training School, an academy specifically tailored to training police and government K9 dogs. The CK9 website proudly announced that Ciccolo had trained over two hundred dogs and that all of his dogs had gone on to have distinguished careers with their respective organizations and had incurred no disciplinary notes.

This guy was good. He couldn't be as good at that job as he was unless he truly cared about his dogs. And Faith knew how far someone would go to protect dogs they cared about.

Or to avenge them.

"Damn," Garvey said, "that's her. That's Huntress."

"Lucy," Faith corrected. "Let's not use the name her killer gave her."

Garvey lifted an eyebrow at Faith's rather unnecessary correction, but the look on her face made her think better of whatever retort she planned to give.

"All right," Faith said, "we have our suspect. Garvey, you take some officers and go to Ciccolo's home address. Michael, Turk and I will visit CK9."

"Works for me," Garvey replied. "Are you two armed?"

"We are," Faith confirmed, "but I hope to God we won't have to use our weapons."

***

CK9, not surprisingly, was closed. Permanently. Boards shuttered the windows, and a simple paper sign hung on the door informing prospective customers bluntly that CK9 had permanently ceased operations. The paper was tattered, and the words faded, but still legible. The date listed was for fifty-seven days ago, shortly after Lucy was taken and then killed. Eric Ciccolo had found another avenue of employment.

Faith knelt down and jimmied the lock, a skill she had used a few times before on a case. Once the three of them were inside, they looked for any sign of Ciccolo.

There was some dust, but far less than there should have been. Even more telling was the computer plugged into the desk, still running. Ciccolo might have closed his business, but he still used the property.

For what, though?

Turk put his nose to the ground, sniffing for clues. Michael and Faith walked through the emptied offices and training rooms, noting the posters of Eric with different dogs and talking with different officers.

"This guy really loved his dogs," Michael said, pointing at a poster of Eric, bursting with pride and grinning from ear to ear, handing a dog its certificate ribbon. The dog itself—not Lucy, but another Shepherd—looked at Eric with a love bordering on devotion, and Faith felt a twinge as she recalled her fear when Turk was taken from her.

They walked back to the kennels, and there they finally found the disrepair they expected to find in the entire building. The room was caked with dust, so thick that Turk's paws left visible tracks as he moved ahead of them. He whined softly and mournfully as he walked through the empty cages, their hinges rusted and, in some cases, destroyed, the doors hanging lopsidedly. The room smelled stale and musty, and Faith suspected the three of them were the first living things to enter in some time.

Ciccolo had avoided this place. He had been so distraught by Lucy's death that he had shut down his business and avoided reminding himself of her. At least as much as possible.

But he had kept the building. There must be a reason.

Faith's phone buzzed. Garvey.

"Hey, he's not here," Garvey said. "I can't break in without a warrant, and that will take at least the rest of the day. Should I get one?"

No sooner had he asked that than Turk started barking excitedly. "Hold that thought," Faith said.

She hung up and followed the sound of Turk's cries. They led her and Michael to a small room adjacent to the kennels. Once inside, Faith knew for sure that they were on the right trail.

The room appeared to be a small storage closet used for training supplies. There were leashes, collars and a few bodysuits that handlers would wear for dogs to practice bringing suspects down. There were other miscellaneous supplies—food and water bowls, vests, et cetera—but the objects that attracted Turk's attention were none of those things.

The particular collars Turk was barking at were stacked in the middle of the room. There were seventeen in all.

Each band had an electrode attached to it. The electrodes seemed to be from different sources that Faith couldn't identify. Some were bulky things with wires sticking out everywhere and loops of magnets and carbon brushes visible inside. Others were far slimmer and seemed like little more than standard electric collar shock units.

Next to the collars was a pile of remotes. There were a few modified tv remotes and a few video game controllers. One was a large RC controller for RC cars.

This was Ciccolo's armory.

Faith's phone buzzed again. Garvey sounded testy when Faith answered.

"Hey, do me a favor. Don't tell me to hold on, then hang up on me and not call back. That makes me think you're in danger, and I should call units to come to your location."

"You should call one unit to come to my location," Faith said, "to pick up the evidence I just found. You should also tell all of the units currently out in the field to be on the lookout for Eric Ciccolo."

Garvey paused a split second. "What did you find?"

Faith looked at the pile of collars and remotes. "Murder weapons."