Crash & Burn (Tessa Leoni, #3)(9)

Some of the state and local officers were already passing them, heading up as they headed down. Now Barbara and Peter from Fish and Game paused on their return to scratch Annie’s nose. Not having been issued her work command yet, Annie responded by preening happily.

The searchers all looked tired, Wyatt thought, but not dispirited. The search hadn’t been going on long enough to be considered a failure but, at the four-hour mark, was becoming more concerning. How much ground could a young child have really covered in the early hours of the morning? And why wouldn’t she backtrack at the sound of their voices?

They had passed from an easy search into the land of more troubling. These officers, especially Barbara and Peter, were experienced enough to know it.

They arrived at the crashed Audi. Frechette whistled low under his breath as he took it in.

“Damn. Talk about a nose dive. It’s like the thing sailed over a cliff or something.”

Wyatt didn’t comment. Without any results from the Total Station, he wasn’t sure about the “or something.”

Annie took in the wreckage as well, whining low in her throat. She was no longer dashing about, but regarding her handler fiercely. She knew, Wyatt thought. With a dog’s unerring sense, she understood it was time to work.

Frechette told the dog to stay. She whined again but did as she was told. The handler walked around the scene, taking in the broken glass, the bloodstains, the pieces of warped metal. He was looking out for his dog, Wyatt realized, as was his job.

The handler came around, peering in the rear passenger’s side window. “Think the kid sat back here?”

“That’s our assumption,” Kevin spoke up.

“Clean,” Frechette commented.

Wyatt frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, most of us carry a lot of shit in our cars. Extra jacket this time of year, snacks, bottles of water, I don’t know. Mail we haven’t taken into the house yet, dog leashes, random junk. At least, my vehicle has most of that stuff. Bet yours does, too.”

Wyatt couldn’t argue with that. He stepped closer. First time around, he’d been focused on the damage in the front. This time, he saw Frechette’s point. The floor of the rear of the vehicle contained some shards of glass, most likely from the broken whiskey bottle or dragged from the front as the driver had crawled through. But, yeah, the normal detritus of everyday life—old coffee cups, bottles of water, snacks for the child, iPad for playing in the car . . . Nada. The rear seats, cargo area, held nothing at all.

Apparently, the only item the driver thought you needed for a road trip was a bottle of Glenlivet.

“That a problem?” Wyatt asked the handler.

“Not at all. Good news, really. I was worried the back might have more glass, be hard on Annie’s paws. Way I see it, we can load her into the cargo area, have her jump into the rear seats and get to work. Hey, Annie!”

The yellow Lab, still obediently sitting next to Kevin, whined in response.

“Wanna work?”

A single enthusiastic bark.

“All right, honey. Let’s go to work. Come, Annie. Come!”

The dog bolted to his side, a yellow bullet that paused only long enough to home in on her handler’s face, awaiting the next command.

“Up!”

She leapt into the cargo area.

“Go!”

She was in the passenger’s seat, not sniffing, not exploring, big brown eyes still riveted to Frechette’s face.

“Okay, Annie,” Frechette called through the open rear hatch. “Here’s the deal. There’s a missing girl and you’re gonna track her. Track, do you understand?”

Wyatt thought this was a pretty colloquial approach to dog training, but what did he know? Annie certainly seemed to understand, ears pricked, body on high alert.

“Scent up!”

The dog dropped her head, began snuffling over the seat, the door handle, the window. Her lips were peeled back slightly, as if she was taking the scent not just into her nose but into her mouth and tasting it.

“Go find, Annie. Go find!”

The dog whined, now working the rear seats in her own grid pattern, back and forth, back and forth. She was on the hunt, no doubt about it, her attention no longer on her handler, but 100 percent focused on catching scent.

She backtracked. Moved from behind the passenger’s front seat to behind the driver’s seat. More anxious sniffing, another low whine. Exploring both rear car doors thoroughly, up and down, side to side. Then a first exploratory paw, stepping off the seat onto the glass-studded floor.

Thank God for dog boots, Wyatt thought. He couldn’t have watched it otherwise.

More whining, anxious, distressed. Then Annie was back on the seats, side to side, back and forth. Then with a graceful hop she was over, in the rear cargo space, diligently working that space inch by inch.

Some dogs lie down to signal they are on scent. Others barked. Wyatt wasn’t sure of the nuances, but best he could tell, Annie wasn’t having any luck yet. And it was pissing her off.

She glanced at Frechette, whined again, clearly frustrated.

“Scent up!” he repeated.

The dog dropped her head, back to work. She leapt from the cargo area to the rear seats. Then, after another few minutes of careful exploration, backtracked to the middle of the bench seat. She snuffled, paused, snuffled.