Praying for Sleep by Jeffery Deaver

Fennel and Heck walked toward the tan hearse, beside which stood a young man in a pale-green jumpsuit.
    "Not much of a search party," Heck said to Fennel.
    The trooper answered that they were lucky to have what they did. "There's a concert letting out at midnight or so down at the Civic Center. You hear about that?"
    "Rock 'n' roll," Heck muttered.
    "Uhn. Don sent a buncha troopers over there. They had some boy got shot at the last one."
    "Don't they have security guards for that sort of thing?"
    "Was a guard who shot the kid."
    "Doesn't seem like a brilliant use of taxpayers' money riding herd on a bunch of youngsters paying to deafen themselves."
    Then too, Fennel added, the captain had put a good portion of the troops on highway detail. "He figures what with the storm, they'll be picking 'em off the pavement. Say, there's a reward for catching this crazy." Heck kept his eyes on the grass in front of him and didn't know what to say.
    "Listen," Fennel continued in a whisper, "I heard about your situation, Trenton. I hope you get that money. I'm rooting for you."
    "Thanks there, Charlie."
    Heck had a curious relationship with Charlie Fennel. The same bullet that had left the shiny star-shaped wound in Heck's right thigh had passed first through Fennel's brother's chest as he crouched beside their patrol car, killing the trooper instantly. Heck supposed that some of the man's (living blood had ridden the slug into his own body and that because of that he and Charlie Fennel were blood brothers, once removed. At times Trenton Heck thought that he and Fennel ought to be closer. The more time the men spent in each other's company, however, the less they found they had in common. They occasionally talked about a hunting or fishing trip but the plans came to nothing. It was a secret relief to both of them.
    Heck and Fennel now paused beside the coroner's meat wagon. Heck lifted his head and inhaled air fragrant with decomposition so prominent on damp autumn nights like this. He sniffed the air once more and Fennel looked at him curiously.
    "No wood smoke," Heck said in response.
    "Nope. There don't seem to be."
    "So wherever this Hrubek's got himself to, it wasn't toward a house he could smell."
    "You learn that from Emil? Heh."
    Heck asked the coroner's attendant, "What happened exactly?"
    The young man glanced at Fennel, silently asking permission to answer a civilian. Heck had gotten used to the demise of his own authority. When the attendant received a grunt of approval from Fennel, he explained how Hrubek had escaped then added, "We chased him for a ways."
    "Chased him, did you?" Heck couldn't resist needling, "Well, it's not hardly your job to catch him. I wouldn't' blamed you if you'd just hightailed it out of here, to hell with a madman."
    "Yeah, well. We didn't. We chased him." The attendant shrugged, young and far above shame.
    "All right. Let's get to it." Heck noticed that Fennel had put the tracking harnesses on his dogs some time ago. This had worked them up and confused them. If they weren't immediately going on track, scenting dogs should wear only their regular collars. Heck almost said something to Fennel but didn't. How the trooper ran his dogs was his business; Trenton Heck was no longer a man-tracking instructor.
    He took the red nylon harness and quarter-inch nylon track line from his pocket. Emil tensed immediately though he stayed rump-to-ground. Heck hooked him up and wrapped the end of the line around his own left wrist, contrary to the general practice of right-hand grip; drugged up and giddy though this big fellow might be, Heck remembered Haversham's warning and he wanted his shooting hand free. He then took the bag from his other jacket pocket. He opened it, pulling back the plastic from the wad of cotton shorts.
    "Jesus," the Boy said, wrinkling his nose. "Dirty Jockeys?"
    "Musk is the best," Heck muttered. "Yum..." He pushed the dingy underwear toward the young trooper, who danced away.
    "Trenton, stop