Page 111 of Devil and the Deep Blue Fish

Damien nodded soberly. “Yes. It’s not a pit,really. At least not the part we know we can accessnow. The boulders hide a sort of… ramp. The ramp goes underground, and you can see that underneath the cap, there’s still tunnels left by the mines.” He shuddered. “Small places arenotPreston’s friends, but Preacher was hittingsohard.” He didn’t appear the tiniest bit sheepish when he said, “Man, we really hate to hear that dog cry.”

“Well, he’s a good dog,” Cody said, as though that sealed the deal. “Good dogs get treats, not crying.”

Damien grinned at him. “You are just too precious for this life, aren’t you?”

Jackson grunted. “Donotsay things like this around me,” he ordered. “You have no idea what sort of grief you could open us up for. Cody, you and me gotta go check out that tiny enclosed space with the dog.”

“If I whine a lot, can I get out of it?” Cody asked dubiously.

“No,” Jackson told him, voice stern. “Becauseyouhave thumbs andyoucan hold a flashlight.”

“Ican get bit by a snake too,” Cody muttered, “but I don’t see that as a plus.”

“That’s ’cause it’s not,” Damien offered helpfully, and Jackson may have kept walking, but he made a mental note to buy that fellow smartass a beer.

“THIS ISbigger than I thought it would be,” Cody said, and to his credit, the whining over the mine had eased up, and what was left as they aimed their beams over the roughhewn walls of the pit was pure professional curiosity. “Preston, where were the bodies originally found?”

“Here,” Preston gestured, and as they progressed, first through a narrow passageway and then through a small chamber, he aimed his beam toward Preacher, who was circling a recently cleared area, complete with crime scene tape, sniffing unhappily.

With a final circle, he gave a dejected little flop, and Preston told him he was a good boy, hehadfound the dead things, but they’d just been taken. Then he gave Preacher a piece of hotdog.

Everybody had their price, Jackson figured, and hotdogs were at least honest.

Then, after Preacher took the rub to the ears and the hotdog, and a few minutes sniffing Damien’s crotch (Damien bore it with good will—apparently he was used to being Preacher’s reward for a job well done), Preston took a gander around the cave and issued the command again.

Jackson cocked his head, staring, and as Preacher began another odyssey of smells, Preston said, “They discovered some tunnels back behind this main compartment after our original find. We haven’t been back here, and I thought we’d see if Preacher could find any other… interesting things.”

Jackson and Cody exchanged glances, surprised, and—mindful of the uneven floor of the mine, which could pose a hazard for the most sure-footed hiker—they both turned their attention to the giant dog.

Preacher took the new command to seek like Cody had taken the challenge to get them to the search site “as fast as you can.” Not only was the dog dedicated to his task, it gave himgreatjoy. He began snuffling in corners, and then he stood in the middle of the main chamber and turned around three times, as though orienting himself like a compass.

Then, keeping his nose in the air, he trotted in the direction of the other passages.

“Sure,” Cody said, his voice determined. “It’s only claustrophobia and a lifetime of nightmares. Let’s follow the dog!”

With that, they reshouldered their packs and soldiered on.

“SO,” GERALDManning said carefully as Ellery piloted his Lexus down Sunrise Boulevard, leaving Rancho Cordova in their rearview. “What doesn’t he want us to track?”

“None of your fucking business,” said Ellery’s mother from the back seat, and Ellery couldn’t see Manning’s expression,but he did catch the man’s quick, terrified glance behind his shoulder.

“What she said,” Ellery told him mildly.

He felt Manning’s regard and didn’t know what to do with it. When Manning had insisted that someone from his crew would catch up with Cody and Jackson in the field, Ellery had chosen Manning because he felt as though Manning, at least, could be trusted. But Manning had seemed to hold him and Jackson with a sort of curiosity that made Ellery itchy.

“My mother,” Ellery said, prevaricating with all his considerable skill, “hasmanycontacts in the DOJ for her job. Jackson and I have utilized a few of those, and we simply wish for them to remain anonymous, thank you. My mother’s work is important enough that we don’t want her friends to be bothered.”

Manning appeared to be mollified, and Ellery thanked the God he only seemed to believe in when he and Jackson were in serious danger.

“You could have just said that,” he muttered, sounding hurt.

“You could have backed the hell off,” Ellery snapped, not caring about his feelings. “I get that we had to appeal to the state’s attorney general to make this legitimate and to get help, but Jackson and I have been working this case for….” He faltered.

“This is two days, dear,” his mother said.

“My God,” Ellery muttered and then found his fury. “Our friend got hurt—gotshot—and told everybody who would listen that the woman who shot him was wearing a Moms for Clean Living windbreaker. He described her to the police minutes after surgery, and we filled them in with what we knew. And yesterday? Jackson and Cody found imprisoned children by following the breadcrumbs. And in the meantime, while ourfriends in the department are pushing to investigate, do you know what they’re getting?”

He’d spoken to Andre Christie and Adele Fetzer that morning.

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