Suspect by Robert Crais

in a careful, measured tone.
    “Scott? Are we talking about a dog now, or you? Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”
    “My dog. I’m asking about my dog. She can’t come talk it out with you, Doc.”
    “If you’re having trouble, we can increase the anxiety medicine.”
    Scott was wishing he had taken a fistful of anxiety meds that morning when he saw Leland’s dark blue pickup pull into the lot. Leland saw him as he got out of his truck, and scowled, no doubt pissed off because Scott was still in his car.
    Scott said, “I’m asking about my
dog
. She’s an eighty-five-pound German shepherd named Maggie. I’d let you talk to her, but she doesn’t talk.”
    “You seem irritated, Scott. Did yesterday’s regression cause an adverse reaction?”
    Scott lowered the phone and took a few breaths. Leland hadn’t moved. He was standing beside his truck, scowling at Scott.
    “I’m talking about this dog. Maybe I need a dog psychiatrist. Do they make anxiety meds for dogs?”
    Goodman hesitated for another several seconds, thinking, but this time he sighed before he answered.
    “Probably, but I don’t know. I
do
know that dogs suffering from PTSD can be retrained. I would guess that, as with people, the results are varied. You and I have the advantage of medicines that can augment or temporarily alter our brain chemistry. You and I are able to discuss what happened over and over until the event loses much of its emotional potency, and becomes something more manageable.”
    Goodman had gone into lecture mode, which was his way of thinking out loud, so Scott interrupted.
    “Yeah, we bore it to death. Is there a short version of this, Doc? My boss is watching me, and he doesn’t look happy.”
    “She was shot. Like you, her subconscious associates the sound of a gunshot, or any surprising noise, with pain and the fear she felt in that moment.”
    Leland tapped his watch, and crossed his arms. Scott nodded to acknowledge him and held up a finger. One second.
    “She can’t talk about it like me, so how do we deal with it?”
    “I’ll find out if there are canine anxiety medicines, but the therapeutic model will be the same. You can’t take the bad experience away from her, so you have to reduce its power. Perhaps you could teach her to associate a loud noise with something pleasurable. Then introduce more noises, until she realizes they have no power to harm her.”
    Leland had gotten tired of waiting, and was now striding toward him.
    Scott watched him approach, but was thinking about the possibilities in Goodman’s advice.
    “This is going to help, Doc. Thanks. I gotta go.”
    Scott put away his phone, hooked up Maggie, and got out as Leland arrived.
    “Guess you and this dog good to go, you got time to yak with your girlfriends.”
    “That was Detective Orso at Robbery-Homicide. They want me back downtown, but I put them off until lunch so I can work with Maggie.”
    Leland’s scowl softened as Scott expected.
    “Why all of a sudden they want you so much?”
    “The lead changed. Orso’s new. He’s trying to get up to speed.”
    Leland grunted, then glanced at Maggie.
    “How’d you and Miss Maggie here get on last night? She pee on your floor?”
    “We walked. We had a long talk.”
    Leland looked up sharply as if he suspected Scott was being smart, but he softened again when he concluded Scott meant it.
    “Good. That would be very good. Now let’s you go work with this animal, and see what y’all talked about.”
    Leland turned away.
    “Can I borrow your starter pistol?”
    Leland turned back.
    Scott said, “Can’t have a police dog shit out when a gun goes off.”
    Leland pooched out his lips, and studied Scott some more.
    “You think you can fix that?”
    “I won’t quit on my partner.”
    Leland stared at Scott for so long Scott squirmed, but then Leland touched Maggie’s head.
    “Won’t do, you shootin’ the gun if you’re workin’ with her. Might hurt her ears, bein’