Page 51 of So Wicked

Slade sighed. “Okay. Let’s get some coffee. I think my brain needs to work a little better before I can come up with a good answer.”

The two of them ordered their coffees—black for Faith, a cappuccino for Slade—and took a seat in a corner of the café. There were only a few other people there with them, and they were able to talk without being overheard.

“Okay, well, there’s the idea of spaying and neutering them,” Slade said. “A lot of people think that’s cruel.”

“Hmm,” Faith said. “That’s possible. I feel like that doesn’t narrow it down enough, though.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t narrow it down?”

“Every vet’s trained to spay and neuter pets. They are, right?”

“I think you need surgical training, actually.”

Faith frowned. “Well, Lee wasn’t a surgeon, and neither was Chen. Summers had surgical training, but she didn’t specialize in it. The leaves us with Patel as the only victim who makes sense.” She shook her head. “No, it’s not fixing animals.”

“Okay, um… maybe something about animals in abusive homes? Maybe these doctors didn’t do enough to report abusive owners?”

Faith shook her head. “The killer would go after the abusive owners if that was the case. And then that would be punishment, not absolution.” She steepled her fingers. "This is something vets do that they believe helps animals but that other people might see as hurting them. Spaying and neutering fits that definition, but we've already determined that it doesn't fit in this case. Abuse is pretty clearly a bad thing that no one would think is helpful to an animal."

“You’re absolutely sure this killer is trying to protect the victims from themselves?”

“I’m as close to absolutely as I can be without being one hundred percent certain.”

Slade leaned back in his chair and sipped his cappuccino. “I don’t know. I mean, I hear a lot of people claiming that fixing animals is inhumane. The only other thing I hear a lot is eating animals and owning animals as pets at all, but those two don’t make sense either.”

“No,” Faith agreed. “Vets don’t prepare animals for consumption, and if the issue was owning pets, the targets would be breeders. And again, both of those things would earn punishment, not forgiveness.”

“I don’t want to be the sour grapes at the table,” Slade said, “but maybe our killer really is just trying to punish people. Maybe this isn’t trying to help anyone at all.”

Faith sighed and sipped her own coffee. The liquid was still too hot. It burned her tongue, but she focused on the pain and let it sharpen her focus. “Okay, think. Come on, Slade. What is something that a lot of people believe is humane and helpful to animals but that some people might think is cruel and unfair to them?”

He shook his head. “Keeping them in cages? Or on leashes?”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t narrow it down. Damn it, we need to think of something related to vets specifically. Something that not all vets do that these victims did. What did Rachel Summers do?”

“She had a clinic. A general practice clinic.”

“And Patel was a surgeon. And Lee ran a hospice, and Chen administered a care facility.”

“None of that is specific, Faith,” Slade pointed out.

“I know. Damn it, I know.”

She looked at Turk and drummed her fingers on the table. Turk looked at her with his kind, beautiful brown eyes and wagged his tail. His muzzle was liberally gray now. His teeth were still strong, his joints still moved easily, and she had seen many times that he was as capable as ever at doing his job.

But he was getting older. He was over nine years old, and Shepherds rarely lived past the age of thirteen. More likely than not, Faith would bury him before she reached the age of forty.

A rush of sadness broke through her focus. She didn't want to say goodbye to him. She didn't want him to die. Not now and not ever. She wanted him to live forever, to run, jump, play, and fight even after she grew old and tired. That wasn't realistic, of course, but she desperately wished it could be. She loved him so much. She didn't want him to go away.

But one day, she would have to let him go. One day, age would finally catch up to him. His eyes would fog over. His spine would hunch. His joints would stiffen, and his jaws would grow weak. His organs would weaken, and pain would slowly seep into every waking moment until he could no longer find joy in anything but the sight of Faith herself. Eventually, even that joy wouldn’t be enough to stifle the agony.

Would she be strong enough to let him go when the time came? Would she be able to tell the vet to go ahead and inject him with the poison that would kill him? Would she accept that peace and rest were more important than life to an old dog who could only feel pain?

She would be. She knew Turk well enough to know that he wouldn't want to spend his last moments in agony, too weak to fight the thing that was killing him. He would want to go out with his head held high, strong, and dignified. He was a fighter, a Marine, and a hunter of evil people. He wouldn't want to die a trembling, whimpering, hurting shadow of himself.

But God, it would hurt. And even knowing she was right wouldn't be enough to stop her feeling guilt for a long time. It would be her decision that would decide the moment of his death, and even if that was the right thing to do, it would feel like the wrong thing.

The answer hit Faith so hard that she jumped. Her coffee spilled over her hand, and she cried out and pulled it away. Turk leaped to his feet and barked loudly, turning in circles and snapping his head around, looking for the threat that had alarmed his handler. The other patrons and employees at the café gasped and backed away, certain that the powerful German Shepherd had just gone insane and was now looking for someone to eat.

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