“Nothing,” Mason said. “Not a thing. It’s just that I trained that dog, and I know she’s a good one. And before you all go on and get rid of her, I’d like to try to work with her again, see if I can’t iron out whatever mean streak got in her.”

Harwood studied Mason a little longer, like he was trying to take the measure of the man across his desk. Then, abruptly, he sat forward.

“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Burke,” he said. “That dog you say you trained is a proven menace, and it’s the opinion of the county of Makah that she needs to be destroyed. It would be irresponsible of me to do anything else.”

“She hasn’t been destroyed yet,” Mason said. “Looks like you’ve healed up pretty good, so I guess it’s been a while. What’s the holdup?”

Harwood colored. “These things just don’t happen overnight,” he said. “But I assure you, that dog’s good as dead.” He stood. “Now, Mr. Burke, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few other issues to deal with today. I wish you the best of luck in your search for a dog.”

He held out his hand. Mason shook it, let the deputy guide him out of the small office. He crossed the detachment toward the front door, felt every eye in the place watching him, knew there’d be plenty of chatter the moment he stepped outside. Didn’t care.

The dog was alive. That was a start.

The motel owner was still behind the front desk when Mason walked back into the lobby.

“Her name is Lucy,” Mason said before the man had even looked up. “The dog that bit the deputy. I know her, I trained her, and I’m just not willing to believe that she attacked that man without cause.”

The owner stood up slowly, and for about the tenth time already that day, Mason felt himself being studied. Scrutinized. He fought his prisoner’s instincts, made himself hold the man’s eyes.

“You’re a dog trainer?” the man said finally.

“No, sir.” Mason hesitated, but there was no way to do it but just come out and say it. “I’m an ex-con. There was a program where I was locked up; they brought in dogs who needed rehabilitation, gave them to guys like me who needed something to do.”

The man didn’t say anything. “That dog was a scared little runt when they brought her to me,” Mason continued. “Pretty much nobody gave her a chance. But we got to each other somehow. And I didn’t train a dog who’d go attacking people for no reason.”

“Oh, son,” the man said. He said it gentle, like maybe Mason would freak out and get violent if he pissed him off, like Mason was some kind of damaged person who needed extra care.