Night Howl by Andrew Neiderman Page A

and stuck it in his mouth without lighting it. “Doctor forbids me to smoke, but I like to pretend.”
    Sid smiled. “Anyway, I saw a paw print where the earth was soft.”
    “Paw print? You mean, a dog’s paw print?”
    “Uh huh. Just about King’s size, too.”
    “I see.”
    “I thought the dog could have made that anytime.”
    “Sure. That makes sense.”
    “Even though it looked very fresh.”
    “Maybe it was another dog.”
    “I’m getting to that. This afternoon, when I came home, my wife . . . my wife was quite upset. She told me she heard King barking ...”
    “Mr. Kaufman,” Michaels said, leaning forward, “you keep saying King, but that was the name of the dog that was destroyed, right?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “Good. You’re getting me a little confused.”
    “Well, that’s because I am. She also said she came out of the house and looked at the doghouse and saw King in it.”
    Michaels stared at him. Then he moved the cigar from the corner of his mouth to the center and back to the corner again before taking it out.
    “Saw?”
    “My dog.”
    “Your dead dog?”
    “Of course, I thought it was just another German shepherd.”
    “Of course.”
    “Even though one dog won’t usually go into another dog’s doghouse. I learned that afterward. I called my vet.”
    “You did? So what does that mean?”
    “I began to call all the people who live on our street. There are a few with dogs, but no one has gotten a German shepherd recently. I reached everyone but Ken Strasser, so I went down to his place, but he wasn’t around.”
    “Old Ken. He’s probably with his son, Charley. You know Charley?”
    “Just a nodding acquaintance. I didn’t see any signs of a German shepherd at his place, though.”
    “So what’s your point, Mr. Kaufman? I don’t mean to sound rude, but. . .”
    “Well, it’s kind of a weird coincidence, don’t you think?”
    “What is?”
    “Another German shepherd haunting our house.”
    “Haunting? Might be a stray. We’ll have the dogcatcher make a few passes on your street.”
    “I was thinking maybe it was more than that . . . maybe someone’s playing a sick joke on us.”
    “Oh God, Mr. Kaufman. That’s stretchin’ it. I don’t know.”
    “My wife’s pretty upset.”
    “I can see why. Tell you what: I’ll send a patrol car up there two, three times a day and once or twice at night. He’ll have a spotlight on the vehicle so he’ll be able to keep a good lookout. And I’ll call the dogcatcher for you, just as I said.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I know you people have been through a mess, but you can’t let it get the best of you.”
    “You’re right.”
    “And I’ll speak to Charley or Ken later tonight, just to be sure Ken didn’t take on a dog.”
    “This one would have to be along in years, at least four or five,” Sid said.
    “Okay,” Michaels said. He put the cigar back in the corner of his mouth. “Seems a shame that smokin’ has to be so bad for ya, don’t it?”
    “Yes.” Sid smiled. “Thanks for being understanding.”
    “No problem. Just take care of yourself and tell your wife we’ll be cruisin’ along your street.”
    “I will. Oh, one other thing,” Sid said after he reached the door. “No one else on the street has seen such a dog about. You’d think that if it was a stray, someone might have seen it, too.”
    “That’s a thought, Mr. Kaufman,” Harry Michaels said. He took the cigar out and used it as a pointer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    “Thanks again.”
    After Sid Kaufman left, Harry Michaels sat back in his chair again. People sure can get wacked out of joint, he thought. This was one for the books.
    “I’ll meet you back at the institute at the crack of dawn,” Qwen said. “Just the two of us is all we need. That is, unless this here dog of yours returns tonight,” he added. That twinkle was in his eyes.
    Keven knew the trapper was playing with him. “About six then?”
    “That sounds right,”