“He wouldn’t eat.” Jury pulled the minced beef out of his pocket. “Maybe this wasn’t the best thing.”

Kavitz smiled. “Not surprising he wouldn’t eat it; he’d have lost his appetite.” He was scratching the dog’s neck. The dog had his eyes wide open now. “What we’ll do is keep him overnight, get him hydrated and eating. We’ll see how he does. It was his brilliant luck, you finding him. I’m afraid he’d have been dead by the morning.”

It made Jury’s blood run cold, that it was so close. “He didn’t look like he’d last very long.”

“No. Well, you can be thinking of what to do with him. There’s the RSPCA, of course, or one of the animal refuge places. If you can’t keep him yourself, that might be the solution.” Dr. Kavitz regarded the dog. “You know, I’ve a person who’s been looking for one of these. I can get on to her about him.”

Jury was puzzled. “One of these?”

“He’s an Appenzell, you know, one of the mountain dogs. A cattle dog. But this one-the Appenzell-is the hardest of the lot to find.”

“You mean, he’s purebred?”

“Oh, yes. And as I said, they’re not common.”

“What would such a dog be doing in a doorway? And with no tags or anything?”

Dr. Kavitz shrugged. “Got lost, maybe. And he did at one time have identification. A collar.” The doctor indicated a line round the neck where the coat looked worn. “Somehow, he lost it. Or someone took it off. It’s possible his owner took off the collar and dumped him.” Dr. Kavitz shook his head sadly. “A dog like this.”

Anything’s likely, thought Jury. He knew what people were capable of. “But more likely he could have got away, as you said. I think I should put an ad in the paper, shouldn’t I?”

“Good idea.”

Jury patted the dog, said, “All right, then. I’ll be back tomorrow morning to pick him up.” He thanked Dr. Kavitz, turned to leave. Behind him, he heard a woof.

Dr. Kavitz laughed. “Appenzells bark like hell. Our friend here’s just warming up. Good night.”

“Good night, Doctor. Thanks.”

Jury left the building, stood on the dark street for a while, feeling a little better.

There were times when you just had to save something.

24

“A dog?” said Carole-anne, and then said it again. “A dog?” Her gaze slid around the room as if one would jump out and verify Jury’s announcement. When one didn’t, she said, “We’ve got a dog.”

“‘We’ do not.” Jury pointed to the ceiling and the flat over his head. “Stone is Stan Keeler’s dog. We do not have a dog.”

Carole-anne was filing her nails with a huge four-grain file. Jury had suggested she bake it in a cake in case he landed in the nick.

“But we don’t need another dog. Especially not one that’s washed up from God knows where.”

Jury had been drinking his morning cup of tea prior to going to Dr. Kavitz’s. Carole-anne was not one to accept change, any change, in the dynamic of their four-flat terraced house: four flats, four tenants. Five, if one included the dog, Stone. That was it, and thus it would remain. Forever.

“I’m surprised,” said Jury, “that you’re not more sympathetic to the plight of homeless animals.” No, he wasn’t. Carole-anne had to see homelessness in situ. An actual dog in trouble would arouse her sympathy. She was no good at dealing with abstractions, such as “homelessness.”

“You’re gone all day. What’s the poor dog to do?”

“Go on walks with you and Stone.”

She flounced on the sofa. Only Carole-anne could come up with a real flounce-sending up little tufts of dust, bobbing her ginger hair into waves and curls, derigging cushion arrangements. Jury enjoyed the flouncing.

“Don’t forget, will you, that I have a job, too,” she said.

“Yes, but it’s more haphazard than mine.” Could any work be more haphazard than his?

“Haphazard? That’s what you’re calling it? Andrew has us on a very tight schedule.”

Andrew was Andrew Starr, owner of Starrdust, the little shop in Covent Garden where she worked. “Andrew,” said Jury, “has the moon, sun, stars, and peripheral planets on a tight schedule, but not his employees.” Andrew was an astrologist, a very popular one. Possibly because he really was an astrologist, a meter-out of good and bad fortunes, but mostly good. “All I mean is, your schedule is more flexible than mine.”

Jury wondered why he was winding her up. He had just that morning put ads in the papers. The dog would probably never see this house or his flat. He would be taking it straightaway to the shelter that Dr. Kavitz had mentioned. He must be telling Carole-anne about the dog just in case. In case of what?

“Anyway, I’ve got to pick him up at the vet’s this morning.” He had his raincoat on and his keys in hand. Was she going to leave? Apparently not.

She sat there filing away. “Ta, then.”

“Don’t bother getting up. I’ll see myself out.”

Jury was surprised at the change in the dog: the coat was softer, with even a hint of shine to it. And the dog’s face, his whole head, was structurally beautiful. Jury didn’t know why he hadn’t seen that.

“Astonishing powers of recovery,” said Dr. Kavitz. “Incredible resilience. These dogs are extremely tough and hardy. But the thing is, they’re not meant to be an urban dog. They need a farm, something like that.”

Jury said, “I put an ad in the Times and Telegraph. I was wondering, if somebody answers the ad, how will I know they’re really the owners? You know the way dogs get stolen and sold for research. And I couldn’t put a price on him because I’m looking for his owner.” He felt absurd. A detective superintendent and he couldn’t sort bogus claims of identity from the real thing? Good Lord.

“Good question. In the ad you placed, how did you describe him?” The doctor was checking the dog’s teeth.

“Well, I said midsized, black, white, copper coat, collar missing. Found in the Farringdon Road.”

“You didn’t say he was an Appenzell mountain dog.”

“No.”

“That should do it, then. Anyone calls, ask them the breed. It’s rare, so if they’re guessing, they’ll never get it. And if they say they’re speaking for the real owner and don’t know the breed, well, you know where you can stick that one, I’m sure.”

Jury smiled. “I do.”

The doctor had placed the dog in a large dog carrier, holes cut into it for seeing out as well as for breathing.

Jury took it from him and thanked him again for all the trouble he’d taken.

“If I can’t take a little trouble, I shouldn’t be in this business, should I? Emergencies are common; I imagine you face the same thing-one emergency after another. Here’s the address of the place in Battersea, True Friends shelter. I’ll call them up and tell them you’re coming; that is, if you like.”

“Yes. That would be fine.”

“Okay, good luck, then.” He reached his finger in to let the dog give him one last lick. “Swear to God, if I didn’t live in a tiny little mews house, I’d take him, myself. But they need space. That might be what happened: dog got bored, couldn’t stand it, ran off, then couldn’t get back.”

Jury thought Dr. Kavitz seemed not to want to let go.

The girl in the reception area of True Friends was a great improvement over the one in Dr. Kavitz’s. Her pleasant, almost sunny disposition was more in keeping with animal rescue, thought Jury.

She was telling him Dr. Kavitz had rung and told her about the dog. “Hello,” she said to him, opening the carrier and running her hand over his back. “You found him in a doorway, he said.” She had the dog out, and his eves-they were a beautiful walnut color-almost sparkled. She picked him up and put him over her shoulder while she filled out some kind of form. On the counter beside the forms was a little stack of white caps with “True Friends” written along the side in dark blue.