Greening nodded and led her back inside. As he was walking her to the interview room, a uniform was escorting Andrew out. He looked at her with the same unflappable expression he’d displayed earlier. This wasn’t true of the cop, who glared at her. She guessed she was guilty of ruining a quiet night in Bishop.
Greening knocked on the interview-room door and the chief of police opened it. Craig Cook sat in the farthest corner with a table in front of him. With his size and the small room, he looked like an oversize kid in elementary school. He also looked ruffled. She guessed he’d gotten a hard time during questioning. The chief pointed to the chair opposite Cook, and she sat down. If Cook was expecting privacy, he wasn’t getting it. The chief and Greening remained in the doorway.
“Zo?, they told me what happened to you, and I just want to say how sorry I am. I can’t imagine what you and Holli went through. If I had heard about this back then, I would have come forward to tell the police I had seen you that night.”
All Cook’s bravado was gone, and Zo? felt bad for putting him through all this. “It’s OK. Sorry for doing this to you.”
“I don’t blame you. I would have done the same if I were you. I just wish I knew something that could help the investigation.”
“Are you sure you don’t? Is it possible you remember some little thing that happened that night?”
He shook his head. “I was pretty buzzed. I just remember having fun.”
She reached across and took one of his large hands in hers. His hand tensed, but for only a second, then he gave hers a light squeeze. “Please think. Someone roofied us, and I think it happened at the Smokehouse. Did anyone muscle in on you or get in our face? Or . . . was anyone a little too interested in us? Did you see anyone leave when we left?”
But Cook was shaking his head. “No. Nothing like that springs to mind. To be honest, we were so oblivious that Elvis could have made a surprise appearance and we wouldn’t have noticed. I promise you that I’ll talk to Andrew and people who were there that night, and if I get anything useful, I’ll let these guys know. I really want them to get this asshole.”
Craig Cook was a sweet guy. “Thanks.”
Greening nodded for her to go. He shook hands with the chief, who promised to stay in touch if he got any leads. Then they found themselves back on the street.
“Is your car still at the Smokehouse?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll drive you back.”
Bishop was so small, it was just a matter of minutes before Greening pulled up behind her rental car.
“So, I guess you being here means you’re on a trip down memory lane.”
Zo? wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. I get it. So what’s the plan?”
“To go home.”
“Now?”
The dashboard clock said it was coming up on 3:00 a.m. If she left now, she’d get back to San Francisco by rush hour.
“Yes.”
“Do you have to be back tomorrow?”
She looked at Greening. She didn’t know what he was getting at. “I should be, but I don’t have to. Why?”
“Well, we’re both here trying to find out what happened to you and Holli, so let’s do it together. Let’s retrace your journey and see what else we discover.”
Marshall Beck let himself into Urban Paws for his nightly visit with Brando. He enjoyed sharing his feelings with the dog. The fact Brando would never betray his confidence made it so much easier for him to disclose his innermost thoughts. Thoughts he even struggled to face himself. He’d never had a relationship with anyone like this before. There’d never been a friend or lover he’d been able to open up to the same way. This was new territory for him—and he liked it.
He let himself into the Assessment Annex. The former fight dogs stirred. Two of them barked but not for long. They were getting used to his late-hour visits. Naturally, Brando didn’t react to Beck’s arrival.
“Hey, Brando,” he said. “Doing well?”
He spoke to the dog like a person and not like an infant. It’d be an insult to treat him as less than a human. He never understood why people used baby talk on their pets. No wonder there were so many animals in pounds.
He unlatched Brando’s cage and opened the door. The dog remained inside his pen. That was OK. He’d come out of his own free will when he was ready. That day wasn’t far off. Beck was sure of that. Today had been the first time he’d been allowed to work with Brando directly. Tom Fisher and he had worked on techniques to test Brando’s temperament and to domesticate him. Brando being Brando had been cool and aloof. Tom had seen it as a problem, as it made it hard to read the dog. Beck had seen it as a display of Brando’s self-control.
“I admire you, Brando. You have patience. Patience I wish I possessed, but I bet you’re tired of sitting in there. I suppose you’d like to get out of here for a while, yes? I know I’d want to if I were you.”
He reached for one of the slip leashes that hung on the wall. They were temporary tethers for the handlers to move the dogs from pen to pen or for prospective owners to walk the animals, before making a decision.