They’re here, I thought. Thank God, they’re here.

“This way—under the pool table!” I yelled.

More sirens. More lights. Lots of flying gravel. Emergency vehicles, I thought, must go through tires like there’s no tomorrow.

Maybe, for Bert, there wouldn’t be.

Two guys in blue shirts dropped to their knees and joined the party. I backed out from under and held on to the edge of the table to hoist myself up.

Cops and more medics streamed in through the door.

Russell howled.

I searched the arriving faces for Tucker’s, but he wasn’t there.

“Freeze,” one of the cops ordered, when I started around the bar.

I put my hands out from my sides and froze, trying to see things from his perspective. For all the cops knew, I was the one who’d stabbed Bert, and I could have been going for a gun.

“The dog,” I said pitifully.

Russell low-crawled from behind the bar, his gaze fixed on me, imploring, as if he’d fallen out of a boat into white water, and I was his only lifeline.

I went to him, knelt, wrapped him in my arms.

A gray-haired detective dropped to his haunches, on the other side of Russell, and he seemed kind. His eyes were gentle as he took us both in.

“What happened here?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I live upstairs. I—heard something, and came down to see what was going on.” I nodded in the direction of the pool table. The EMTs had lifted Bert onto a stretcher, and they were sliding him out from under. “I found Bert—all bloody—”

“Take it easy,” the detective said. “Did you see anyone else?”

I did some deep breathing before I answered. Shook my head. “No.”

“The place was empty? Was it closed for business?”

I shook my head again, told him about the cars and bikes flinging gravel as I came down the back stairs.

The EMTs snapped the ends of the gurney down and rolled by with Bert.

Russell yelped and tried to follow.

I held him, and cried.

“Somebody should call Sheila,” I said. Words tumbled out of my mouth, and I was literally terrified that I’d never be able to stop talking. “Can I take the dog upstairs? He’s pretty shook up.”

The detective brought me to a merciful halt by touching my shoulder, considered my request, then nodded. “In a minute.” Translation: as soon as the ambulance pulls away.

Russell barked and struggled furiously to get free. He’d have scrambled into that ambulance with Bert if he’d been allowed to, stayed with him through whatever came.

I cried harder, because there was no way to explain so the dog could understand.

“Does he have a leash?” the detective asked quietly.