Free Exit Wounds by J. A. Jance Page B

stood and started toward the door. Then she stopped and turned back. “How long has that little Australian shepherd been here?” she asked. “The one in that last bunch of kennels.”
    “Oh,” Jeannine said. “You mean Little Blue Eyes?”
    “Yes.”
    “Three days,” Jeannine replied. “She’ll be gone tomorrow.”
    “Gone as in adopted?” Joanna asked.
    “No,” Jeannine said. “Gone as in gone.”
    Sheriff Joanna Brady thought about that, but not for long. Butch won’t mind , she thought. “My husband and I live on a ranch out on High Lonesome Road,” she said. “There’s plenty of room for dogs.”
    Jeannine Phillips’s sullen expression brightened slightly. “You mean you’d like to take her?”
    “Yes,” Joanna said. “I think I would.”
    “She’ll need to have her shots, too, and be licensed.”
    “And spayed,” Joanna added.
    “No,” Jeannine said, “you won’t have to worry about that. She’s already been fixed. But you should know, she doesn’t like men much—not even Manny, and he’s a real sweetheart when it comes to dogs.”
    “That’s all right,” Joanna said. “I’m sure we’ll be able to manage.”
    For the first time in Joanna’s memory, the grim set of Jeannine Phillips’s face was replaced by a tentative smile. “Great, Sheriff Brady,” she said. “I’ll get started on the paperwork right away.”
    And I’ll go back to the office, Joanna thought, and see how much progress we’re making in catching Carol Mossman’s killer.

 
    Four
    H alf an hour later, using a bright red disposable leash, Joanna led her new dog out of Jeannine Phillips’s office. The Australian shepherd walked in a demure, ladylike fashion. Clearly someone somewhere had taken the time to give her a bit of obedience training. By the time the dog hopped in through the Civvie’s back door and settled gracefully into the backseat, Joanna was ready to give her a new name.
    “Little Blue Eyes doesn’t suit you,” she said aloud. “But we’ll see what Butch and Jenny want to call you.”
    On the way back to the Justice Center, Joanna stopped off at Dr. Millicent Ross’s veterinary clinic. Joanna emerged from the clinic half an hour later with a properly vaccinated dog and accompanying documentation that would allow her to license an Australian shepherd still officially known as Blue Eyes. Once inside Joanna’s office, the dog disappeared into the cavelike knee-hole under the desk. Joanna left her there and went looking for a dish and some water. Her search took her to the lab, where her latent fingerprint tech, Casey Ledford, liberated an aluminum pie plate that would work temporarily for dog-drinking purposes.
    Joanna peered around the lab. “What are you up to?”
    “I’ve processed the prints I took from Carol Mossman’s back door. The ones I have don’t match the victim.”
    “Have you run them through AFIS?” Joanna asked, referring to the Automated Fingerprint Identification System.
    “Sure did,” Casey replied. “No hits so far.”
    “What about Dave?” Joanna asked, peering around the lab shared by Casey and the crime scene investigator. “Is he back out at the scene?”
    “No,” Casey said. “I’m pretty sure he’s down the hall on his computer. He’s working on the brass they found yesterday.”
    Taking the pie plate with her, Joanna went to the doorway to the crime scene investigator’s cubicle, where she found him staring closely at his CRT. “What’s up?” she asked.
    “Take a look at this, Sheriff Brady,” Dave said, moving aside and allowing her access to his computer. “It’s really interesting.”
    On his screen was a large circle with a much smaller one inside it. Two straight lines went from the outside of the smaller circle to the edge of the larger circle, dividing the larger one in half. At the top of the larger circle was the initial S. At the bottom, the number 17.
    “One of the casings from yesterday’s homicide?” Joanna