Burning Man Read Free

both loved.
    I made encouraging sounds. Sirius was no bloodhound, but his sense of smell was still about a million times better than mine. LA police dogs do a lot of cross-training, and tracking was a frequent exercise.
    “ Such !” I encouraged, using the German pronunciation, tsuuk, and telling Sirius to track or find, but even more often than that I said “Good dog” or the German words of praise “ So ist brav. ”
    In stops and starts, we continued into the canyon, the elusive scent drawing us forward. We traveled on anything but a straight line. Sirius tugged me one way and then the other. Most of the time his nose was to the ground, but sometimes he raised it up and sniffed the breeze, doing his best to pick up the scent over the smoke that filled the air. He seemed oblivious of the nearby fire; I was anything but.
    We navigated our way through patches of laurel sumac, lemonade berry, and sagebrush. With the Maglite I tried to sweep the area to avoid yucca and patches of cactus and jumping cholla. Sirius forged his way through thick patches of chamisa, and I followed him through the obstacle course.
    The wind was driving an ever-more-muscular fire. Embers and sparks were being lifted and sent sailing. I raised my head andwatched as hundreds of cinders came parachuting down around us. Most of the fiery offshoots were burning out before hitting ground, but I could see a few were getting footholds. Soon I’d have more than one fire to worry about.
    No one would fault me for calling off the search. It was possible, maybe even likely, that if we kept going the fire would outflank us and cut off our escape route. And yet I was sure if we didn’t continue the Strangler would get away, and once free he would kill again and keep killing. The Strangler was twisted, evil, and smart; in short, law enforcement’s worst nightmare. There had been few breaks to come out of his cases; this was our chance to nail him.
    Sirius sneezed, and without thinking I said, “God bless you.” My partner acknowledged my words with a little wag of the tail and then he put his nose back to the ground and started sniffing. He wasn’t thinking about quitting. Judging by the bounce in his step and his vigorous pulls on the line, he was locked on his target.
    I took the leash in one hand, and with the other I pulled my Glock G28 from my holster. The glow from the fire allowed some limited visibility, but it was still difficult to see because of the curtain of smoke hanging over the canyon.
    Sirius started tugging harder and making excited sounds that indicated he had the suspect on target lock. I was tempted to release the missile, but that would have violated protocols. Sirius wasn’t the only one that had been trained. The department had pounded it into our heads to announce our presence and the imminent threat we presented. Opposing lawyers always argue that police dogs are just as much of a weapon as a firearm. Most of LA’s canyons have squatters, transients, and undocumented workers that throw their bedrolls down in the midst of the brush. It was possible, with the smoke and bad conditions, that Sirius had mixed up the Strangler’s scent with some other human’s. As unlikely as that was, I couldn’t take a chance.
    I reined Sirius in and huddled with him in the darkness, making us as small a target as possible.
    “K-9 unit!” I shouted. “Come out with your hands up or I’ll send the dog!”
    Over the crackling fire, I tried to hear or see any signs of flight. There was no answer to my summons. I called out again, this time in Spanish. My bilingual attempt also met with silence.
    My right hand rested atop the crest of my partner’s neck. Sirius’s hundred-pound frame was tensed and ready to go. I never liked sending him into the unknown, but that was sometimes part of the job.
    “ Still ,” I whispered, telling him to be quiet in German.
    As silently as we could, we closed in on a formidable stand of chamisa. The thicket was