“We know you been through everything with the police, ain’t about to put you on that go ’round again,” he said.

Howell cast his sunken eyes down at the ground a moment. Then he raised them to Thibodeau’s face and shrugged. “It’s all right. If it can help you find Julia, I don’t mind.”

Ricci looked at him. “Julia,” he said, “and the people who took what they did from you.”

Howell turned his way.

“My daughter was only six months old,” he said.

Ricci remained tunneled on his eyes, noticing their glazed appearance. Tranquilizers. A CNS depressant. Probably lorazepam.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I got a call from him this morning, you know. The detective in charge. He didn’t want me to talk to anybody about what happened, mentioned you two in particular. In case you showed up at Merry’s.”

“He say why?”

“I guess just what you’d expect,” Howell said. “Something about how they don’t want their investigation compromised by outside parties.”

“You’re allowed to talk to whomever you want. Nothing legal they can do to stop you.”

“I figured that,” Howell said. “And if he’s right and we’re wrong, I can always claim not to remember his words.”

Ricci nodded a little.

“The medication,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Besides,” Ricci said. “We aren’t at Merry’s.”

A faint, desolate smile touched Howell’s lips, revealing little white flecks of dried saliva at their corners. He checked on the dogs with a glance over his shoulder, thrust his hands back into his pockets, and quietly bowed his head toward the synthetic grass again, his thoughts slipping into their own nebulous, faraway space.

“We were at the center before,” Ricci said. “The cops gave us a look around. Probably decided to phone you because I got on their nerves asking questions they didn’t want to answer.”

Howell brought up his head, slowly, working against the heavy resistance of the tranqs.

“What sort of questions?”

“There was blood on the floor of the shop,” Ricci said. “Near the door. The detective was ready to tell me it wasn’t Julia’s, but he wasn’t so ready to tell me the blood came from a dog that’d been shot.”

Howell nodded.

“Vivian,” he said.

“That be one of the rescues?” Thibodeau said.

Another nod.

“Julia favors her. The first day she came to work for me, I remember lecturing her about how our policy’s not to become too attached.” Howell gestured toward the whirling dogs behind him with a slight roll of his shoulder. “Being firm’s how I wound up with five of my own.”

Ricci looked at him. “With all the things the police shared with us, we have to wonder how come they kept quiet about the dog. Vivian.”

Howell’s mouth worked.