“Of course, sir,” Glenn said at his end of the line. “And I apologize for having disrupted your routine—”
“My sleep.”
“Yes, sir. Your sleep—”
“Of which I require eight full hours,” Gilbert said. “You took my contact information off the club’s home page, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Glenn said. That much of his story, at least, had been true. “Mr. Gilbert, I’ve tried to explain—”
“If the times I’m available weren’t posted on the site, you might have some excuse. But they’re quite clear for anyone to read.”
“Understood, Mr. Gilbert. Again, though, I did mention—”
“I know. I have listened. You are here in California on overnight business, flying out to Baltimore at ten o’clock, and need to leave for the airport in an hour,” Gilbert said. “It is still no justification for discourtesy. Rules cannot be ignored simply because they may be inconvenient. Whether you are in town for a day, a month, or a decade, respect and discipline must be observed.” A pause. “Canines no less than humans learn by example, and I suggest you foster these qualities in yourself if you mean to own a Schutzhund trained dog.”
Glenn sat across the kitchen table from Ricci looking wearily frustrated. Having gone the entire night without shutting his eyes except to blink the crust from them, it was hard for him to commiserate with Gilbert. In the long hours since their arrival at Ricci’s apartment, the two men had worked steadily to upload the digital photos of forensic evidence and notes from the Parkville clinic to a desktop computer, sort through what they’d learned, and decide how to move forward with it. Both had centered on the items that first caught Ricci’s attention at the clinic — a numbered and labeled vial containing strands of black fur, and a cross-indexed handwritten entry on Moore’s notepad that read:
9/03
7:00 p.m.
Canine fur & dermal matter extracted from greyhound’s subgingival maxilla and mandible. Primarily lodged bet. right and left upper canines and lateral incisors, lesser quantity collected from inner cheek and anterior premolar surface (see accomp. dental chart). Prelim: grey inflicted bite wound upon another dog. Unusual, follow w/DNA workup of blood at scene. Visual & microanalysis of fur samples (detailed breakdown t.c.) match shepherd characteristics. Prelim: black longhair possible. Rare. (Attack dog?) Follow w/comparison test. Reference specimen needed (FBI Hair & Fiber File?)
Showing Glenn the notes, Ricci had pointed to the phrase “attack dog,” gotten an oddly distant expression on his face, and shaken his head.
“That’s close, but not right,” he had said. “It’d be a Schutzhund. An animal he could totally control.”
“He?”
Ricci had glanced at Glenn, looking almost surprised by the question.
“Whoever took Julia,” he’d said and left it at that. As if no further explanation were needed. “We’ve got to find out who’d sell those dogs in this area.”
And by six A.M. a relatively swift Internet search had furnished an abundance of material about the classification in general, and some very specific information on the North Bay Schutzhund Club, of which Gilbert was founder, president, and breed warden.
Now Glenn held the receiver away from his mouth, ballooned his cheeks, and exhaled to release some of his tension.
“Sir, you can trust I’ll take your advice,” he said after a moment. “I definitely recognize my mistake…”
“I would hope so.”
“But since the harm’s been done, and you’re already out of bed, I’m hoping we can turn that mistake… inexcusable as it is… into something productive—”
“Anagkazo,” Gilbert said abruptly.
“Excuse me?”
“You told me you’d seen an individual walking a black German shepherd from the window of a car.”
Glenn remembered the hastily improvised line he’d fed him. “Yes, that’s right, a taxicab…”
“Told me it was a longhair.”
“Right.”
“Told me you wish to look into acquiring such a dog to guard home and family while you travel on business. Which is commendable.”
“Right… ah, and thanks…”
“I try to recognize positive traits in all species,” Gilbert said with no hint of sarcasm whatsoever. “At any rate, if you’d taken the extra time on your computer, you would have found the Schutzhund USA registry’s online genetic database. It lists DNA-based evaluations of each and every certified dog’s pedigree, physical conformation, and susceptibility to hip dysplasia and other health problems going back five or more generations. It also would have shown you that pure black longhairs are quite scarce. Just a handful of breeders sell them in this country. Virtually all have been imported from Europe or sired by imported breeding stock—”
Glenn wanted to get back to what Gilbert had said at the outset of his lecture.
“I don’t meant to interrupt, sir, but that word you used a minute ago…”
“Word?”
“Started with an ‘A,’ I think… ana-something-or-other…”
“Anagkazo.”
“Right, right…”
“That’s a name,” Gilbert said testily. “John Anagkazo. Good respectful fellow up in the hills. Our homepage has a link to his Web site. If the shepherd is indeed Schutzhund qualified and was purchased in the state of California, you can be guaranteed his farm is where it came from.”
About eighty miles west of San Jose, the Anagkazo ranch sat on multiple acres of rolling grassy field laid with training tracks, hurdles, agility and obstacle course equipment of various configurations, and a large open pen area for the dogs out back of the main house, a restored wood-frame that might have been a century old.
Ricci and Glenn found the breeder waiting at his door when they drove up at nine o’clock. As they exited their car, Ricci turned on his cellular and saw a half dozen new voice messages for him. The log showed four with Thibodeau’s office number. The two most recent ones had come from a phone with Caller ID blocking — Breen at Gordian’s house, he would have bet. Ricci wasn’t prepared to return any of them. The Parkville Vet Clinic didn’t open till ten, but he figured the cops outside would have awakened by now. Or if they hadn’t, they’d have been found by their fellow police checking up to see why they hadn’t responded to routine radio checks. Erickson would know the clinic had been broken into, recognize it was a slick job, smell right away it was tied to the kidnapping. But Ricci had left nothing out of place, and that would throw some question marks into his head. Anything Erickson thought couldn’t be more than be a guess. And whoever made Julia disappear would probably top his suspect list. Would UpLink be on it? Not as an organization. Ricci thought he might rate on his own, though. Maybe high enough for Erickson to conduct some inquiries before eliminating him… even if that other detective, Brewer, was too afraid of getting jammed to admit he’d given him a peek at that crime scene diagram. Erickson nosing around UpLink could be trouble, and Ricci couldn’t afford to worry about it until later.
He turned off the phone, snapped it back into his belt clip, and a moment later joined Glenn at the door.
“Hi, I’m John Anagkazo.” The breeder smiled through a thick beard, putting out his hand for them to shake. “I saw your car from way down the road… I’m guessing you must be Misters Ricci and Glenn. With Uplink International, is it?”
Glenn nodded and showed his Sword ID.
“Corporate security, Mr. Anagkazo,” he said.
“Sure, sure. You told me over the phone. I hear super things about you folks.” Anagkazo looked curious. “C’mon in… and call me John, please. No need to wrestle with the second name.”