“Actually,” I said, bending and patting the dog's muscular neck, “he gets the credit. Pulled a sneak attack from the back that allowed me to jump Keffler. Plus he overcame his water phobia—ran right up to the pond.”

“No kidding?” Smile. “Okay, I'll put him up for sainthood.” He bent, too, and rubbed the dog behind the ears. “Congrats, St. Doggus, you're a K-9 hero.”

The driver of one of the black-and-whites looked up at us and Milo waved him on.

“Good boy,” I said to the dog.

“Seeing as he's saved your kneecaps, Alex, don't you think he deserves a real name? My vote's still for Rover.”

“When I was trying to intimidate Keffler, I called him Spike.”

“Very manly.”

“Only problem is,” I said, “he's already got a name—someone's bound to come get him. What a drag. I'm getting kind of attached to him.”

“What?” He elbowed my ribs, gently. “We're afraid of getting hurt, so we don't reach out for intimacy? Give him a goddamn name, Alex. Empower him so he can fulfill his dogly potential.”

I laughed and rubbed the dog some more. He panted and put his head against my leg.

“Keffler's not the one who killed the koi,” I said. “When I mentioned it, he fuzzed over completely.”

“Probably,” he said. “That tree branch was too subtle for the Priests. They would have taken out all the fish and mashed 'em up, maybe eaten them and left the bones.”

“Back to our “bad love' fiend,” I said. “Anything new on Lyle Gritz?”

“Not yet.”

“I was over at the library this morning, checking out the professional directories. No current listings on Rosenblatt or Katarina de Bosch. Harrison moved to Ojai and has no phone number, which sounds like retirement—and the social worker, Lerner, was suspended from the social work organization for an ethics violation.”

“What kind of violation?”

“The directory didn't say.”

“What's it usually mean? Sleeping with a patient?”

“That's the most common, but it could also be financial shenanigans, betrayal of confidentiality, or a personal problem, like drug or alcohol addiction.”

He rested his arms on the top of the railing. The squad cars were gone now. My pond was a dry hole and the sump pump was sucking air. I went down to the garden, dog at my heels, and turned it off.

When I got back, Milo said, “If Lerner was a bad boy, he could have done something that pissed off a patient.”

“Sure,” I said. “I looked up de Bosch's writings on “bad love.' Specifically, it refers to abuse of parental authority leading to alienation, cynicism, and, in extreme cases, violence. De Bosch actually used the term “retribution.' But, pardon the whining, I still don't know what the hell I could have done.”