LITMIR.BIZ

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      He stepped in close and pushed the brim of his hat up with a finger. His turquoise eyes studied me over the top of his sunglasses. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

      I nodded without blinking.

      The wind ruffled the feathers that dangled from my walking stick. David’s eyes honed in on my left hand.

      I held the staff in a death grip. I forced my fingers to relax.

      David pushed his hat back down on his forehead and straightened his legs. “Okay, let’s do it.”

      I walked beside him toward the chaos.

      “Hey! Where did she come from?” Blue Suit barreled toward us, his useless phone pointing the way as if he intended to joust with it. “Get her and that damned dog out of here right now!”

      Sundara, who’d been walking by my side, took two leaps forward. She lowered her head and growled.

      Blue Suit stopped in his tracks. The only sane response, really, when faced with the toothy end of a one hundred and twenty pound wolf.

      “Easy, everyone.” David held out his hands, palms down.

      Blue Suit kept his eyes on Sundara. He spoke with authority albeit with a quieter tone. “This is a crime scene. She has no business here.”

      “Actually she does. This is Abra Forrester, our best search and rescue tracker. Sundara,” David smirked, “you’ve already met. She’s our best sniffer.”

      “Deputy, need I point out, this isn’t a search and rescue mission. We’ve got a dead Jane Doe, and — ”

      “And a killer who needs to be tracked,” David said.

      “Excuse me, gentlemen.” Herb stepped into the fray. “Let’s keep our eye on the ball.”

      “This is my crime scene,” Blue Suit said, “and I decide who’s on it.”

      Herb said, “Son, this is my crime scene until we ascertain it is the work of a federal suspect. Now I gave you guys a heads-up because I believe we’ll discover that that’s the case, but even then, you’d do well to remember that you’re in our territory.”

      Blue Suit wasn’t ready to back down. While they argued jurisdiction, Sundara and I signed in with the security officer, and then waited for David by the side of the road.

      Off the road and to the right of the cordoned area, the land under the butte had eroded away, leaving a steep dark crevice. Sundara sniffed the air rising from below, and then stood at attention to alert me that she smelled something suspicious. I’d sensed it too. Nothing grew down there on the smooth shale, but it was more than that, it felt like nature itself was holding her breath.

      Blue Suit was still blowing wind, and I was done waiting. I gave Sundara the go ahead, and we slid under the ledge.

      Sundara led me to a jagged cave, a tent formed by fallen rock. Two eyes peeked out at us.

      The dog was a Heinz 57. His fur was matted with blood. He tried to stand, but he was too weak. He fell back to the ground.

      “Shh.” I crawled to him. “It’s okay, little one. I got you now.”

      I gently touched the dog and focused on his life force until his heart signature pulsated in my ears, then I shifted my awareness into that part of the brain where an artist first sees the intangible images their soul wants to draw, paint, or sculpt into form.

      Billowing snow filled my vision, then, like adjusting a rabbit ears antenna on an old-fashioned television set, the dog’s most prominent memories popped out of the static and played inside my head as if they were my own.

      The severity of the dog’s distress was such that, once the connection was made, I couldn’t let go. Vertigo swept through me. The visions slammed into my head; sharp freeze frames, each snapping like a whip.

      Campfire glow. A young woman sang softly. She reached for a log, threw it on the fire. She smiled at me through the curtain of sparks. Her body froze.

      I tried to pull away, to tug my mind back to myself, but it was like holding onto a live electrical line. I squeezed my eyes tighter, turned my head, but the pictures moved with me.

      Her eyes wide with shock then horror. She convulsed as the second then third bullet struck her. Three shots. Three claps of thunder. Her battered body hit the ground. Her chest was destroyed. Her eyes stared with blankness.

      The dog went limp with grief, and I fell back into myself, my heart a jackhammer in my chest. Bile climbed up my throat. My body heaved, struggling to expel the sight of her eyes and the horror they contained.

      “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I chanted, but it would never be okay. His girl had been murdered right in front of him.

      I heard a keening cry and pulled the dog closer before realizing that the sound was coming from me.

      Three shots. Three claps of thunder.

      My father’s killer had claimed his fiftieth victim.

      12:05 p.m.

      Voices called my name in the distance, urging me back into motion. I hated to push the little guy any further, but I had to know everything he knew before the others arrived.

      I waited for the dog to focus in on my mental images then replayed the sound of gunfire in my mind. “What direction did the shots come from?” I asked the question in words to help make my mental picture stronger and easier for him to grasp.

      The dog replayed that section of his memory then whined with frustration. It had been dark at the time, and the blasts seemed to surround him. His head, however, had instinctively turned toward the sound. He’d looked over a watermelon sized boulder that had cracked into two pieces. It resembled a yin-yang symbol.

      Next, I asked him to show me everything that happened after his girl fell down in case the SK had broken form and approached the scene after the kill.

      The dog whimpered as he nudged the stiffening form of his girl. When he didn’t get a response, he lay down beside her, devastated. After some time, coyotes, drawn by the scent of blood, arrived. A coyote lunged out of the darkness, teeth snapping close to my face. The rest of the pack slunk in the shadows.

      The dog’s fear burned down low in my belly. My own lips peeled back in a snarl.

      The coyotes yipped and howled. They surrounded him then began attacking in turns. The little dog held them off for as long as he could; defending his girl with a savagery born of love, loyalty, and terror. When he could do no more, he crawled into this refuge and prepared himself to die.

      “Abra, what have you got?” David asked.

      I shook the visions out of my head. “The victim’s dog, he needs help right away.”

      David shouted for two men, and a tarp to carry the dog on.

      I comforted the dog until they arrived then backed out of the cave.“Take him to Dr. Pema, and tell her I sent him.”

      “What’s going on down here,” Blue Suit demanded, struggling to keep himself upright on this uneven ground.

      “Abra found the victim’s dog.” David smiled. “That’s why we call her ‘The Shaman.’”

      My cheeks flushed. I hated being called that. It sounded so presumptuous. I call my art a gift, but I believe anyone can do what I do. My encounter with the Native American woman had been a one time gig. She hadn’t imbued me with any magical power or given any instruction. She’d simply shown me what was possible. Learning how to do it on my own had taken years of practice, and a lot of trial and error. I am learning still.

      “We don’t have time for this,” Blue Suit said. “Wrap it up.”

      Once the dog was squared away, Sundara and I climbed back up to the road. I reviewed the dog’s memories, slowing down the action, searching for clues.I found

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